Attack of the Clones (35 page)

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!”

E
ven 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.

His subtlety seemed lost on the brutes programming him, and after a few short hours, they led him out of the room and across the large assembly hall.

It was there that C-3PO heard a plaintive and familiar whine.

“Artoo!” he called, swiveling his head. There was his dome-shaped companion, working at a console. R2-D2 swiveled his head and gave another “
oooo.
”

“Oh, Artoo!” C-3PO wailed, and before he could even consider the action, he brought a laser sight up before his eyes, focusing on the restraining bolt set into his friend.

A single blast flew out, skimming the bolt from R2-D2, then ricocheting about the room.

“Hey!” cried one of the instructor droids, moving fast to C-3PO’s side.

“Looks like this one needs more programming,” another said.

The chief maintenance droid looked about the room and shook his dome. “Nah,” he said. “No damage done. Get this one out to the yard and out of here!”

They led C-3PO away.

Soon after they were gone, R2-D2 rolled away from his console without notice. Since all of the relatively benign droids working in here were restrained by bolts, there were no real guards in the room.

The little droid was out and free soon after.

The tunnel was dark and fittingly gloomy, and quiet, except for the occasional echo of cheering from the huge crowd gathered in the arena stands beyond. A single cart was in there, an open oval with a sloping front end that
somewhat resembled an insect’s head with the top half cut away. Anakin and Padmé were unceremoniously thrown into it, then strapped in place against the framework, facing each other.

Both of them jerked as the cart started into motion, gliding along the dark tunnel.

“Don’t be afraid,” Anakin whispered.

Padmé smiled at him, her expression one of genuine calm. “I’m not afraid to die,” she replied, her voice thick and soft. “I’ve been dying a little bit each day since you came back into my life.”

“What are you talking about?”

Then she said it, and it was real and genuine and warm. “I love you.”

“You love me?” he asked, overwhelmed. “You love me! I thought we decided not to fall in love. That we would be forced to live a lie. That it would destroy our lives.” But her words had brought a wash of contentment over him.

“I think our lives are about to be destroyed anyway,” Padmé replied. “My love for you is a puzzle, Annie, for which I have no answers. I can’t control it—and now I don’t care. I truly, deeply love you, and before we die, I want you to know.”

Padmé leaned against her restraints and craned her head forward, and Anakin did likewise, the two coming close enough for their lips to meet in a soft and gentle kiss, one that lingered and deepened, one that said everything they both realized they should have spoken to each other before. One that, to them, mocked their false heroics in denying the feelings they’d had for each other all along.

The sweet moment was just that, though, a moment, for a crack of the driver’s whip had the cart jerking out of
the tunnel and into the blinding daylight, rolling onto the floor of a great stadium filled with Geonosian spectators.

Four sturdy posts, a meter in diameter, were centered on the arena floor, each set with chains, and one holding a familiar figure.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin cried as he was pulled down from the cart, dragged over, and chained to the post beside his Master.