Star Wars - [Episode 2] - Attack Of The Clones (by R A Salvatore)

Star Wars Attack of the Clones

by

R. A. Salvatore

Prelude

_His mind absorbed the scene before him, so quiet and calm and... normal._

_It was the life he had always wanted, a gathering of family and friends--he knew that they were just that,

though the only one he recognized was his dear mother._

_This was the way it was supposed to be. The warmth and the love, the laughter and the quiet times. This

was how he had always dreamed it would be, how he had always prayed it would be. The warm, inviting

smiles. The pleasant conversation. The gentle pats on shoulders._

_But most of all there was the smile of his beloved mother, so happy now, no more a slave. When she

looked at him, he saw all of that and more, saw how proud she was of him, how joyful her life had

become._

_She moved before him, her face beaming, her hand reaching out for him to gently stroke his face. Her

smile brightened, then widened some more._

_Too much more. For a moment, he thought the exaggeration a product of love beyond normal bounds,

but the smile continued to grow, his mother's face stretching and contorting weirdly._

_She seemed to be moving in slow motion then. They all did, slowing as if their limbs had become

heavy._

_No, not heavy, he realized, his warm feelings turning suddenly hot. It was as if these friends and his

mother were becoming rigid and stiff, as if they were becoming something less than living and breathing

humans. He stared back at that caricature of a smile, the twisted face, and recognized the pain behind it,

a crystalline agony._

_He tried to call out to her, to ask her what she needed him to do, ask her how he could help._

_Her face twisted even more, blood running from her eyes. Her skin crystallized, becoming almost

translucent, almost like glass._

_Glass! She was glass! The light glistened off her crystalline highlights, the blood ran fast over her smooth

surface. And her expression, a look of resignation and apology, a look that said she had failed him and

that he had failed her, drove a sharp point straight into the helpless onlooker's heart._

_He tried to reach out for her, tried to save her._

_Cracks began to appear in the glass. He heard the crunching sounds as they elongated._

_He cried out repeatedly, reached for her desperately. Then he thought of the Force, and sent his

thoughts there with all his willpower, reaching for her with all his energy._

_But then, she shattered._

* * *

The Jedi Padawan jumped to a sitting position in his cot on the starship, his eyes popping open wide,

sweat on his forehead and his breath coming in gasps. A dream. It was all a dream.

He told himself that repeatedly as he tried to settle back down on the cot. It was all a dream.

Or was it?

He could see things, after all, before they happened.

"Ansion!" came a call from the front of the ship, the familiar voice of his Master.

He knew that he had to shake the dream away, had to focus on the events at hand, the latest assignment

beside his Master, but that was easier said than done.

For he saw her again, his mother, her body going rigid, crystallizing, then exploding into a million

shattered shards.

He looked up ahead, envisioning his Master at the controls, wondering if he should tell all to the Jedi,

wondering if the Jedi would be able to help him. But that thought washed away as soon as it had crossed

his mind. His Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, would not be able to help. They were too involved in other

things, in his training, in minor assignments like the border dispute that had brought them so far out from

Coruscant.

The Padawan wanted to get back to Coruscant, as soon as possible. He needed guidance now, but not

the kind he was getting from Obi-Wan.

He needed to speak with Chancellor Palpatine again, to hear the man's reassuring words. Palpatine had

taken a great interest in him over the last ten years, making sure that he always got a chance to speak

with him whenever he and Obi-Wan were on Coruscant.

The Padawan took great comfort in that now, with the terrible dream so vivid in his thoughts. For the

Chancellor, the wise leader of all the Republic, had promised him that his powers would soar to

previously unknown heights, that he would become a power even among the powerful Jedi.

Perhaps that was the answer. Perhaps the mightiest of the Jedi, the mightiest of the mighty, could

strengthen the fragile glass.

"Ansion," came the call again from the front. "Anakin, get up here!"

Chapter One

Shmi Skywalker Lars stood on the edge of the sand berm marking the perimeter of the moisture farm,

one leg up higher, to the very top of the ridge, knee bent. With one hand on that knee for support, the

middle-aged woman, her dark hair slightly graying, her face worn and tired, stared up at the many bright

dots of starlight on this crisp Tatooine night. No sharp edges broke the landscape about her, just the

smooth and rounded forms of windblown sand dunes on this planet of seemingly endless sands.

Somewhere out in the distance a creature groaned, a plaintive sound that resonated deeply within Shmi

this night.

This special night.

Her son Anakin, her dearest little Annie, turned twenty this night, a birthday Shmi observed each year,

though she hadn't seen her beloved child in a decade. How different he must be! How grown, how

strong, how wise in the ways of the Jedi by now! Shmi, who had lived all of her life in a small area of

drab Tatooine, knew that she could hardly imagine the wonders her boy might have found out there

among the stars, on planets so different from this, with colors more vivid and water that filled entire

valleys.

A wistful smile widened on her still-pretty face as she remembered those days long ago, when she and

her son had been slaves of the wretch Watto. Annie, with his mischief and his dreams, with his

independent attitude and unsurpassed courage, used to so infuriate the Toydarian junk dealer. Despite

the hardships of life as a slave, there had been good times, too, back then. Despite their meager food,

their meager possessions, despite the constant complaining and ordering about by Watto, she had been

with Annie, her beloved son.

"You should come in," came a quiet voice behind her.

Shmi's smile only widened, and she turned to see her stepson, Owen Lars, walking over to join her. He

was a stocky and strong boy about Anakin's age, with short brown hair, a few bristles, and a wide face

that could not hide anything that was within his heart.

Shmi tousled Owen's hair when he moved beside her, and he responded by draping an arm across her

shoulders and kissing her on the cheek.

"No starship tonight, Mom?" Owen asked good-naturedly. He knew why Shmi had come out here, why

she came out here so very often in the quiet night.

Shmi turned her hand over and gently stroked it down Owen's face, smiling. She loved this young man as

she loved her own son, and he had been so good to her, so understanding of the hole that remained

within her heart. Without jealousy, without judgment, Owen had accepted Shmi's pain and had always

given her a shoulder to lean on.

"No starship this night," she replied, and she looked back up at the starry canopy. "Anakin must be busy

saving the galaxy or chasing smugglers and other outlaws. He has to do those things now, you know."

"Then I shall sleep more soundly from this night forward," Owen replied with a grin.

Though she was kidding, of course, Shmi did realize a bit of truth in her presumption about Anakin. He

was a special child, something beyond the norm--even for a Jedi, she believed. Anakin had always stood

taller than anyone else. Not physically--physically, as Shmi remembered him, he was just a smiling little

boy, with curious eyes and sandy blond hair. But Annie could do things, and so very well. He was the

first human ever to win one of the Podraces, and that when he was only nine years old! And in a racer

that, Shmi remembered with an even wider smile, had been built with spare parts taken from Watto's

junkyard.

But that was Anakin's way, because he was not like the other children, or even like other adults. Anakin

could "see" things before they happened, as if he was so tuned to the world about him that he understood

innately the logical conclusion to any course of events. He could often sense problems with his Podracer,

for example, long before those problems manifested themselves in a catastrophic way. He had once told

her that he could feel the upcoming obstacles in any course before he actually saw them. It was his

special way, and that was why the Jedi who had come to Tatooine had recognized the unique nature of

the boy and had freed him from Watto and taken him into their care and instruction. "I had to let him go,"

Shmi said quietly. "I could not keep him with me, if that meant living the life of a slave."

"I know," Owen assured her.

"I could not have kept him with me even if we were not slaves," she went on, and she looked at Owen,

as if her own words had surprised her. "Annie has so much to give to the galaxy. His gifts could not be

contained by Tatooine. He belongs out there, flying across the stars, saving planets. He was born to be a

Jedi, born to give so much more to so many more."

"That is why I sleep better at night," Owen reiterated, and when Shmi looked at him, she saw that his grin

was wider than ever.

"Oh, you're teasing me!" she said, reaching out to swat her stepson on the shoulder. Owen merely

shrugged.

Shmi's face went serious again. "Annie wanted to go," she went on, the same speech she had given Owen

before, the same speech that she had silently repeated to herself every night for the last ten years. "His

dream was to fly about the stars, to see every world in the whole galaxy, to do grand things. He was

born a slave, but he was not born _to be_ a slave. No, not my Annie.

"Not my Annie."

Owen squeezed her sho ulder. "You did the right thing. If I was Anakin, I would be grateful to you. I'd

understand that you did what was best for me. There is no greater love than that, Mom."

Shmi stroked his face again and even managed a wistful smile.

"Come on in, Mom," Owen said, taking her hand. "It's dangerous out here."

Shmi nodded and didn't resist at first as Owen started to pull her along. She stopped suddenly, though,

and stared hard at her stepson as he turned back to regard her. "It's more dangerous out there," she said,

sucking in her breath, her voice breaking. Alarm evident in her expression, she looked back up at the

wide and open sky. "What if he is hurt, Owen? Or dead?"

"It's better to die in pursuit of your dreams than to live a life without hope," Owen said, rather

unconvincingly.

Shmi looked back at him, her smile returning. Owen, like his father, was about as grounded in simple

pragmatism as any man could be. She understood that he had said that only for her benefit, and that

made it all the more special.

She didn't resist anymore as Owen began to lead her along again, back to the humble abode of Cliegg

Lars, her husband, Owen's father.

She had done the right thing concerning her son, Shmi told herself with every step. They had been slaves,

with no prospects of finding their freedom other than the offer of the Jedi. How could she have kept

Anakin here on Tatooine, when Jedi Knights were promising him all of his dreams?

Of course, at that time, Shmi had not known that she would meet Cliegg Lars that fateful day in Mos

Espa, and that the moisture farmer would fall in love with her, buy her from Watto, and free her, and only

then, once she was a free woman, ask her to marry him. Would she have let Anakin go if she had known

the changes that would come into her life so soon after his departure?

Wouldn't her life be better now, more complete by far, if Anakin were beside her?

Shmi smiled as she thought about it. No, she realized, she would still have wanted Annie to go, even if

she had foreseen the dramatic changes that would soon come into her life. Not for herself, but for

Anakin. His place was out there. She knew that.

Shmi shook her head, overwhelmed by the enormity of it all, by the many winding turns in her life's path,

in Anakin's path. Even in hindsight, she could not be sure that this present situation was not the best

possible outcome, for both of them.

But still, there remained a deep and empty hole in her heart.

Chapter Two

I can help with that," Beru said politely, moving to join Shmi, who was cooking dinner. Cliegg and Owen

were out closing down the perimeter of the compound, securing the farm from the oncoming night--a

night that promised a dust storm.

Smiling warmly, and glad that this young woman was soon to be a member of their family, Shmi handed a

knife over to Beru. Owen hadn't said anything yet about marrying Beru, but Shmi could tell from the way

the two looked at each other. It was only a matter of time, and not much time at that, if she knew her

stepson. Owen was not an adventurous type, was as solid as the ground beneath them, but when he

knew what he wanted, he went after it with single-minded purpose.

Beru was exactly that, and she obviously loved Owen as deeply as he loved her. She was well suited to

be the wife of a moisture farmer, Shmi thought, watching her methodically go about her duties in the

kitchen. She never shied from work, was very capable and diligent.

_And she doesn't expect much, or need much to make her happy,_Shmi thought, for that, in truth, was

the crux of it. Their existence here was simple and plain. There were few adventures, and none at all that

were welcomed, for excitement out here usually meant that Tusken Raiders had been seen in the region,

or that a gigantic sandstorm or some other potentially devastating weather phenomenon was blowing up.

The Lars family had only the simple things, mostly the company of each other, to keep them amused and

content. For Cliegg, this had been the only way of life he had ever known, a lifestyle that went back

several generations in the Lars family. Same thing for Owen. And while Beru had grown up in Mos

Eisley, she seemed to fit right in.

Yes, Owen would marry her, Shmi knew, and what a happy day that would be!

The two men returned soon after, along with C-3PO, the protocol droid Anakin had built back in the

days when he had Watto's junkyard to rummage through.

"Two more tangaroots for you, Mistress Shmi," the thin droid said, handing Shmi a pair of

orange-and-green freshly picked vegetables. "I would have brought more, but I was told, and not in any

civil way, that I must hurry."

Shmi looked to Cliegg, and he gave her a grin and a shrug. "Could've left him out there to get sandblasted

clean, I suppose," he said. "Of course, some of the bigger rocks that are sure to be flying about might've

taken out a circuit or two."

"Your pardon, Master Cliegg," C-3PO said. "I only meant--"

"We know what you meant, Threepio," Shmi assured the droid. She placed a comforting hand on his

shoulder, then quickly pulled it away, thinking that a perfectly silly gesture to offer to a walking box of

wires. Of course, C-3PO was much more than a box of wires to Shmi. Anakin had built the droid.

Almost. When Anakin had left with the Jedi, 3PO had been perfectly functional, but uncovered, his wires

exposed. Shmi had left him that way for a long time, fantasizing that Anakin would return to complete the

job. Just before marrying Cliegg had Shmi finished the droid herself, adding the dull metal coverings. It

had been quite a touching moment for Shmi, an admission of sorts that she was where she belonged and

Anakin was where he belonged. The protocol droid could be quite annoying at times, but to Shmi,

C-3PO remained a reminder of her son.

"Course, if there are Tuskens about, they'd likely have gotten him under wraps before the storm," Cliegg

went on, obviously taking great pleasure in teasing the poor droid. "You're not afraid of Tusken Raiders,

are you, Threepio?"

"There is nothing in my program to suggest such fear," 3PO replied, though he would have sounded more

convincing if he hadn't been shaking as he spoke, and if his voice hadn't come out all squeaky and

uneven.

"Enough," Shmi demanded of Cliegg. "Oh, poor Threepio," she said, patting the droid's shoulder again.

"Go ahead, now. I've got more than enough help this evening." As she finished, she waved the droid

away.

"You're just terrible to that poor droid," she remarked, moving beside her husband and playfully patting

him across his broad shoulder.

"Well, if I can't have fun with him, I'll have to set my sights on someone else," the rarely mischievous

Cliegg replied, narrowing his eyes and scanning the room. He finally settled a threatening gaze on Beru.

"Cliegg," Shmi was quick to warn.

"What?" he protested dramatically. "If she's thinking to come out and live here, then she had better learn

to defend herself!"

"Dad!" Owen cried.

"Oh, don't fret about old Cliegg," Beru piped in, emphasizing the word _old._ "A fine wife I would make

if I couldn't out-duel that one in a war of words!"

"Aha! A challenge!" Cliegg roared.

"Not so much of one from where I'm sitting," Beru dryly returned, and she and Cliegg began exchanging

some good-natured insults, with Owen chiming in every now and again.

Shmi hardly listened, too engaged in merely watching Beru. Yes, she would certainly fit in, and well,

about the moisture farm. Her temperament was perfect. Solid, but playful when the situation allowed.

Gruff Cliegg could verbally spar with the best of them, but Beru had to be counted among that elite lot.

Shmi went back to her dinner preparations, her smile growing wider every time Beru hit Cliegg with a

particularly nasty retort.

Intent on her work, Shmi never saw the missile coming, and when the overripe vegetable hit her on the

side of the face, she let out a shriek.

Of course, that only made the other three in the room howl with laughter.

Shmi turned to see them sitting there, staring at her. From the embarrassed expression on Beru's face,

and from the angle, with Beru sitting directly behind Cliegg, it seemed obvious to Shmi that Beru had

launched the missile, aiming for Cliegg, but throwing a bit high.

"The girl listens when you tell her to stop," Cliegg Lars said, his sarcastic tone shattered by a burst of

laughter that came right from his belly.

He stopped when Shmi smacked him with a piece of juicy fruit, splattering it across his shoulders.

A food fight began--measured, of course, and with more threats hurled than actual missiles.

When it ended, Shmi began the cleanup, the other three helping for a bit. "You two go and spend some

time together without your troublemaking father," Shmi told Owen and Beru. "Cliegg started it, so Cliegg

will help clean it up. Go on, now. I'll call you back when dinner's on the table."

Cliegg gave a little laugh.

"And if you mess up the next one, you're going to be hungry," Shmi told him, threateningly waving a

spoon his way. "And lonely!"

"Whoa! Never that!" Cliegg said, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender.

With a wave of the spoon, Shmi further dismissed Owen and Beru, and the two went off happily.

"She'll make him a fine wife," Shmi said to Cliegg.

He walked up beside her and grabbed her about the waist, pulling her tight. "We Lars men fall in love

with the best women."

Shmi looked back to see his warm and sincere smile, and she returned it in kind. This was the way it was

supposed to be. Good honest work, a sense of true accomplishment, and enough free time for some fun,

at least. This was the life Shmi had always wanted. This was perfect, almost.

A wistful look came over her face.

"Thinking of your boy again," Cliegg Lars stated, instead of asked.

Shmi looked at him, her expression a mixture of joy and sadness, a single dark cloud crossing a sunny

blue sky. "Yes, but it's okay this time," she said. "He's safe, I know, and doing great things."

"But when we have such fun, you wish he could be here."

Shmi smiled again. "I do, and in all other times, as well. I wish Anakin had been here from the beginning,

since you and I first met."

"Five years ago," Cliegg remarked.

"He would love you as I do, and he and Owen..." Her voice weakened and trailed away.

"You think that Anakin and Owen would be friends?" Cliegg asked. "Bah! Of course they would!"

"You've never even met my Annie!" Shmi scolded.

"They'd be the best of friends," Cliegg assured her, tightening his hug once again. "How could they not

be, with you as that one's mother?"

Shmi accepted the compliment gracefully, looked back and gave Cliegg a deep and appreciative kiss.

She was thinking of Owen, of the young man's flowering romance with the lovely Beru. How Shmi loved

them both!

But that thought brought with it some level of discomfort. Shmi had often wondered if Owen had been

part of the reason she had so readily agreed to marry Cliegg. She looked back at her husband, rubbing

her hand over his broad shoulder. Yes, she loved him, and deeply, and she certainly couldn't deny her

joy at finally being relieved of her slave bonds. But despite all of that, what part had the presence of

Owen played in her decisions? It had been a question that had stayed with her all these years. Had there

been a need in her heart that Owen had filled? A mother's need to cover the hole left by Anakin's

departure?

In truth, the two boys were very different in temperament. Owen was solid and staid, the rock who

would gladly take over the farm from Cliegg when the time came, as this moisture farm had been passed

down in the Lars family from generation to generation. Owen was ready, and even thrilled, to be the

logical and rightful heir to the place, more than able to accept the often difficult lifestyle in exchange for

the pride and sense of honest accomplishment that came with running the place correctly.

But Annie...

Shmi nearly laughed aloud as she considered her impetuous and wanderlust-filled son put in a similar

situation. She had no doubts that Anakin would give Cliegg the same fits he had always given Watto.

Anakin's adventurous spirit would not be tamed by any sense of generational responsibility, Shmi knew.

His need to leap out for adventure, to race the Pods, to fly among the stars, would not have been

diminished, and it surely would have driven Cliegg crazy.

Now Shmi did giggle, picturing Cliegg turning red-faced with exasperation when Anakin had let his duties

slide once again.

Cliegg hugged her all the tighter at the sound, obviously having no clue of the mental images fluttering

through her brain.

Shmi melted into that hug, knowing that she was where she belonged, and taking comfort in the hope that

Anakin, too, was where he truly belonged.

* * *

She wasn't wearing one of the grand gowns that had marked the station of her life for the last decade and

more. Her hair was not done up in wondrous fashion, with some glittering accessory woven into the thick

brown strands. And in that plainness, Padm Amidala only appeared more beautiful and more shining.

The woman sitting beside her on the bench swing, so obviously a relation, was a bit older, a bit more

matronly, perhaps, clothes even more plain than Padm's and with her hair a bit more out of place. But she

was no less beautiful, shining with an inner glow equally strong.

"Did you finish your meetings with Queen Jamillia?" Sola asked. It was obvious from her tone that the

meetings to which she had referred were not high on her personal wish list.

Padm looked over at her, then looked back to the playhouse where Sola's daughters, Ryoo and Pooja,

were in the midst of a wild game of tag.

"It was one meeting," Padm explained. "The Queen had some information to pass along."

"About the Military Creation Act," Sola stated.

Padm didn't bother to confirm the obvious. The Military Creation Act now before the Senate was the

most important piece of business in many years, one that held implications for the Republic even beyond

those during the dark time when Padm had been Queen and the Trade Federation had tried to conquer

Naboo.

"The Republic is all in a tumult, but not to fear, for Senator Amidala will put it all aright," Sola said.

Padm turned to her, somewhat surprised by the level of sarcasm in Sola's tone.

"That's what you do, right?" Sola innocently asked.

"It's what I try to do."

"It's _all you_ try to do."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Padm asked, her face twisting with puzzlement. "I am a Senator, after

all."

"A Senator after a Queen, and probably with many more offices ahead of her," Sola said. She looked

back at the playhouse and called for Ryoo and Pooja to ease up.

"You speak as if it's a bad thing," Padm remarked.

Sola looked at her earnestly. "It's a great thing," she said. "If you're doing it all for the right reasons."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

Sola shrugged, as if she wasn't quite sure. "I think you've convinced yourself that you're indispensable to

the Republic," she said. "That they couldn't get along at all without you."

"Sis!"

"It's true," Sola insisted. "You give and give and give and give. Don't you ever want to take, just a little?"

Padm's smile showed that Sola's words had caught her off guard. "Take what?"

Sola looked back to Ryoo and Pooja. "Look at them. I see the sparkle in your eyes when you watch my

children. I know how much you love them."

"Of course I do!"

"Wouldn't you like to have children of your own?" Sola asked. "A family of your own?"

Padm sat up straight, her eyes going wide. "I..." she started, and stopped, several times. "I'm working

right now for something I deeply believe in. For something that's important."

"And after this is settled, after the Military Creation Act is far behind you, you'll find something else to

deeply believe in, something else that's really important. Something that concerns the Republic and the

government more than it really concerns you."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it's true, and you know it's true. When are you going to do something just for yourself?"

"I am."

"You know what I mean."

Padm gave a little laugh and a shake of her head, and turned back to Ryoo and Pooja. "Is everyone to

be defined by their children?" she asked.

"Of course not," Sola replied. "It's not that at all. Or not just that. I'm talking about something bigger, Sis.

You spend all of your time worrying about the problems of other people, of this planet's dispute with that

planet, or whether this trade guild is acting fairly toward that system. All of your energy is being thrown

out there to try to make the lives of everyone else better."

"What's wrong with that?"

"What about _your_ life?" Sola asked in all seriousness. "What about Padm Amidala? Have you even

thought about what might make your life better? Most people who have been in public service as long as

you have would have retired by now. I know you get satisfaction in helping other people. That's pretty

obvious. But what about something deeper for you? What about love, Sis? And yes, what about having

kids? Have you even thought about it? Have you even wondered what it might be like for you to settle

down and concern yourself with those things that will make your own life fuller?"

Star Wars - [Episode 2] - Attack Of The Clones (by R A Salvatore)

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