Part 11 (1/2)
And C-3P0 had shuffled in behind him, gleaming as though he'd been plated with solid gold.
Padme had lit up, her eyes gleaming, but she had at first tried to protest. ”I can't accept him,” she'd said. ”I know how much he means to you.”
Anakin had only laughed. What use is a protocol droid to a Jedi? Even one as upgraded as 3PO-Anakin had packed his creation with so many extra circuits and subprograms and heuristic algorithms that the droid was practically human.
”I'm not giving him to you,” he'd told her. ”He's not even really mine to give; when I built him, I was a slave, and everything I did belonged to Watto. Cliegg Lars bought him along with my mother; Owen gave him back to me, but I'm a Jedi. I lave renounced possessions. I guess that means he's free now. What I'm really doing is asking you to look after him for me.”
”Look after him?”
”Yes. Maybe even give him a job. He's a little fussy,” he'd admitted, ”and maybe I shouldn't have given him quite so much self-consciousness-he's a worrier-but he's very smart, and he might be a real help to a big-time diplomat . . . like, say, a Senator from Naboo?”
Padme then had extended her hand and graciously invited C-3PO to join her staff, because on Naboo, high-functioning droids were respected as thinking beings, and 3PO had been so fl.u.s.tered at being treated like a sentient creature that he'd been barely able to speak, beyond muttering something about hoping he might make himself useful, because after all he was ”fluent in over six million forms of communication.” Then she had turned to Anakin and laid her soft, soft hand along his jawline to draw him down to kiss her, and that was all he had needed, all he had hoped for; he would give her everything he had, everything he was-And there had come another day, two years later, a day that had meant nearly as much to him as the day they had wed: the day he had finally pa.s.sed his trials.
The day he had become a Jedi Knight.
As soon as circ.u.mstances allowed he had slipped away, on his own now, no Master over his shoulder, no one to monitor his comings and his goings and so he could take himself to the vast Coruscant complex at 500 Republica where Naboo's senior Senator kept her s.p.a.cious apartments.
And he had then, finally, two years late, a devotion-gift for her.
He had then one thing that he truly owned, that he had earned, that he was not required to renounce. One gift he could give her to celebrate their love.
The culmination of the Ceremony of Jedi Knighthood is the severing of the new Jedi Knight's Padawan braid. And it was this that he laid into Padme's trembling hand.
One long, thin braid of his glossy hair: such a little thing, of no value at all.
Such a little thing, that meant the galaxy to him.
And she had kissed him then, and laid her soft cheek against his jaw, and she had whispered in his ear that she had something for him as well.
Out from her closet had whirred R2-D2.
Of course Anakin knew him; he had known him for years-the little droid was a decorated war hero himself, having saved Padme's life back when she had been Queen of Naboo, not to mention helping the nine-year-old Anakin destroy the Trade Federation's Droid Control s.h.i.+p, breaking the blockade and saving the planet. The Royal Engineers of Naboo's aftermarket wizardry made their modified R-units the most sought after in the galaxy; he'd tried to protest, but she had silenced him with a soft finger against his lips and a gentle smile and a whisper of ”After all what does a politician need with an astromech?”
”But I'm a Jedi-”
”That's why I'm not giving him to you,” she'd said with a smile. ”I'm asking you to look after him. He's not really a gift. He's a friend.”
All this flashed though Anakin's mind in the stretching second before his comlink finally crackled to life with a familiar fwee-wheoo, and his heart unclenched.
”Artoo, where are you? Come on, we have to get out of here!”
High above, on the wall that was supposed to be the floor, the lid of a battered durasteel storage locker s.h.i.+fted, pushed aside by a dome of silver and blue. The lid swung fully open and R2-D2 righted itself, deployed its booster rockets, and floated out from the locker, heading for the far exit.
Anakin gave Obi-Wan a fierce grin. Let someone he loves pa.s.s out of his life? Not likely. ”What are we waiting for?” he said. ”Let's go!”
From Invisible Hand's bridge, the s.h.i.+p's spin made the vast curve of Coruscant's horizon appear to orbit the s.h.i.+p in a dizzying whirl. Each rotation also brought a view of the lazily tumbling wreckage of the conning spire, ripped from the s.h.i.+p and cast out of orbit by centripetal force, as it made the long burning fall toward the planetary city's surface.
General Grievous watched them both while his droid circuitry ticked off the seconds remaining in the life of his s.h.i.+p.
He had no fear for his own life; his specially designed escape module was preprogrammed to take him directly to a s.h.i.+p already primed for jump. Mere seconds after he sealed himself and the Chancellor within the module's heavily armored hull they would be taken aboard the fleeing s.h.i.+p, which would then make a series of randomized microjumps to prevent being tracked before entering the final jump to the secret base on Utapau.
But he was not willing to go without the Chancellor. This operation had cost the Confederacy dearly in s.h.i.+ps and personnel; to leave empty-handed would be an even graver cost in prestige. Winning this war was more than half a matter of propaganda: much of the weakness of the Republic grew from its citizens' superst.i.tious dread of the Separatists' seemingly inevitable victory-a dread cultivated and nourished by the CIS shadowfeed that poisoned government propaganda on the HoloNet. The common ma.s.ses of the Republic believed that the Republic was losing; to see the legendary Grievous himself beaten back and fleeing a battle would give them hope that the war might be won.
And hope was simply not to be allowed.
His built-in comlink buzzed in his left ear. He touched the sensor implant in the jaw of his mask. ”Yes.”
The Jedi almost certainly escaped the conning spire, sir.” The voice was that of one of his precious, custom-built IG 100-series MagnaGuards: prototype self-motivating humaniform combat droids designed, programmed, and armed specifically to fight Jedi. ”We recovered a lightsaber from the base of the turbolift shaft before the spire tore free.”
”Copy that. Stand by for instructions.” One long stride put Grievous next to the Neimoidian security officer. ”Have you located them, or are you about to die?”
”I ah, I ah-” The security officer's trembling finger pointed to a schematic of Invisible Hand's hangar deck, where a bright blip slid slowly through Bay One.
”What is that?”
”It's, it's, it's the Chancellor's beacon, sir.”
”What? The Jedi never deactivated it? Why not?”
”I, well, I can't actually-”
”Idiots.” He looked down at the cringing security officer, considering killing the fool just for taking so long to figure this out.
The Neimoidian might as well have read Grievous's thought spelled out across his bone-colored mask. ”If, if, if you hadn't-er, I mean, please recall my security console has been destroyed, and so I have been forced to reroute-”
”Silence.” Grievous gave a mental shrug. The fool would be dead or captured soon enough regardless. ”Order all combat droids to terminate their search algorithms and converge on the bridge. Wait, strike that: leave the battle droids. Useless things,” he muttered into his mask. ”A greater danger to us than to Jedi. Super battle droids and droidekas only, do you understand? We will take no chances.”
As the security officer turned to his screens, Grievous again touched the sensor implant along the jaw of his mask. ”IG-One-oh-one.”
”Sir.”
”a.s.semble a team of super battle droids and droidekas-as many as you can gather-and report to the hangar deck. I'll give you the exact coordinates as soon as they are available.”
”Yes, sir.”
You will find at least one Jedi, possibly two, in the company of Chancellor Palpatine, imprisoned in a ray s.h.i.+eld. They are to be considered extremely dangerous. Disarm them and deliver them to the bridge.”
”If they are so dangerous, perhaps we should execute them on the spot.”
”No. My orders are clear that the Chancellor is not to be harmed. And the Jedi-”
The general's right hand slipped beneath his cape to stroke the array of lightsabers clipped there.
”The Jedi, I will execute personally.”
A sheet of s.h.i.+mmering energy suddenly flared in front of them, blocking the corridor on the far side of the intersection they were trotting across, and Obi-Wan stopped so short that Anakin almost slammed into his back. He reached over and caught Palpatine by the arm. ”Careful, sir,” he said, low. ”Better not touch it till we know what it is.”
Obi-Wan unclipped his lightsaber, activated it, and cautiously extended its tip to touch the energy field; an explosive burst of power flared sparks and streaks in all directions, nearly knocking the weapon from his hands. ”Ray s.h.i.+eld,” he said, more to himself than to the others. ”We'll have to find a way around-”