Robert Salvatore: Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones

Owen and Cliegg grabbed their blaster rifles and rushed out of the house, Shmi and Beru close behind.

"You stay here!" Cliegg instructed the two women. "Or go get a weapon, at least!" He glanced about, indicated a vantage point to Owen, and motioned for his son to take up a defensive position and cover him.

Then he rushed across the compound, blaster rifle in hand, Zigzagging his way, staying low and scanning for any movement, knowing that if he saw a form that resembled either Tusken or bantha, he'd shoot first and investigate after.

But it didn't come to that. Cliegg and Owen searched the whole of the perimeter, scanned the area and rechecked the alarms, and found no sign of intruders.

All four stayed on edge the remainder of that night, though, each of them keeping a weapon close at hand, and sleeping only in shifts.

The next day, out by the eastern rim, Owen found the source of the alarm: a footprint along a patch of sturdier ground near the edge of the farm. It wasn't the large round depression a bantha would make, but the indentation one might expect from a foot wrapped in soft material, much like a Tusken would wear.

"We should speak with the Dorrs and all the others," Cliegg said when Owen showed the print to him. "Get a group together and chase the animals back into the open desert."

"The banthas?"

"Them, too," Cliegg snarled. He spat upon the ground, as steely-eyed and angry as Owen had ever seen him.

Senator Padme Amidala felt strangely uneasy in her office, in the same complex as, but unattached to, the royal palace of Queen Jamillia. Her desk was covered in holodisks and all the other usual clutter of her station. At the front of it, a holo played through the numbers, a soldier on one scale, a flag of truce on the other, tallying the predicted votes for the meeting on Coruscant. The hologram depiction of those scales seemed almost perfectly balanced.

Padme knew that the vote would be close, with the Senate almost evenly divided over whether the Republic should create a formal army. It galled her to think that so many of her colleagues would be voting based on personal gain-everything from potential contracts to supply the army for their home systems to direct payoffs from some of the commerce guilds- rather than on what was best for the Republic.

In her heart, Padme remained steadfast that she had to work defeat the creation of this army. The Republic was built on tolerance. It was a vast network of tens of thousands of systems, and even more species, each with a distinct perspective. The only element they shared was tolerance-tolerance of one another. The creation of an army might prove unsettling, even threatening, to so many of those systems and species, beings far removed from the great city-planet of Coruscant.

A commotion outside drew Padme to the window, and she looked down upon the complex courtyard to see a group of men jostling and fighting as the Naboo security forces rushed in to control the situation.

There came a sharp rap on the door to her office, and as she turned back that way, the portal slid open and Captain Panaka strode in.

"Just checking, Senator," said the man who had served as her personal bodyguard when she was Queen. Tall and dark-skinned, he had a steely gaze and an athletic physique only accentuated by the cut of his brown leather jerkin, blue shirt, and pants, and the mere sight of Panaka filled Padm with comfort. He was in his forties now, but still looked as if he could outfight any man on Naboo.

"Shouldn't you be seeing to the security of Queen Jamillia?" Padme asked. Panaka nodded. "She is well protected, I assure you."

"From?" Padme prompted, nodding toward the window and the continuing disturbance beyond.

"Spice miners," Panaka explained. "Contract issues. Nothing to concern you, Senator. Actually, I was on my way here to speak with you about security for your return trip to Coruscant."

"That is weeks away." Panaka looked to the window. "Which gives us more time to properly prepare."

Padme knew better than to argue with the stubborn man. Since she would be flying an official starship of the Naboo fleet Panaka had the right, if not the responsibility, to get involved. And in truth, his concern pleased her, although she'd never admit it to him.

A shout outside and renewed fighting drew her attention briefly, making her wince. Another problem. There was always a problem, somewhere. Padme had to wonder if that was just the nature of people, to create some excitement when all seemed well. Given that unsettling thought, Sola's words came back to her, along with images of Ryoo and Pooja. How she loved those two carefree little sprites!

"Senator?" Panaka said, drawing her out of her private contemplations.

"Yes?"

"We should discuss the security procedures."

It pained Padme to let go of the images of her nieces at that moment, but she nodded and forced herself back into her responsible mode. Captain Panaka had said that they had to discuss security, and so Padme Amidala had to discuss security.

The Lars family was being serenaded through yet another night by the lowing of many banthas. None of the four had any doubt that Tuskens were out there, not far from the farm, perhaps even then watching its lights.

"They're wild beasts, and we should have gotten the Mos Eisley authorities to exterminate them like the vermin they are. Them and the stinking Jawas!" Shmi sighed and put her hand on her husband's tense forearm. "The Jawas have helped us," she reminded him gently.

"Then not the Jawas!" Cliegg roared back, and Shmi jumped. Taking note of Shmi's horrified expression, Cliegg calmed at once. "I'm sorry. Not the Jawas, then. But the Tuskens. They kill and teal whenever and wherever they can. No good comes of them!"

"If they try to come in here, there'll be less of them to chase back out into the desert," Owen offered, and Cliegg gave him an appreciative nod. They tried to finish their dinner, but every time a bantha sounded, they all tensed, hands shifting from utensils to readied blasters.

"Listen," Shmi said suddenly, and they all went perfectly quiet, straining their ears. All was quiet outside; no banthas were lowing.

"Perhaps they were just moving by," Shmi offered when she was certain the others had caught on. "Heading back out into the open desert where they belong."

"We'll go out to the Dorrs' in the morning," Cliegg said to Owen. "We'll get all the farmers organized, and maybe get a call in to Mos Eisley, as well." He looked to Shmi and nodded. "Just to make sure." "In the morning," Owen agreed.

At dawn the next day, Owen and Cliegg started out from the compound before they had even eaten a good breakfast, for Shmi had gone out ahead of them, as she did most mornings, to pick some mushrooms at the vaporators. They expected to pass her on their way out to the Dorrs' farm but instead found her footprints, surrounded by the imprints of many others, the soft boots of the Tuskens. Cliegg Lars, as strong and tough a man as the region had ever known, fell to his knees and wept.

"We have to go after her, Dad," came a suddenly solid and unwavering voice. Cliegg looked up and back to see Owen standing there, a man indeed and no more a boy, his expression grim and determined.

"She is alive and we cannot leave her to them," Owen said with a strange, almost supernatural calm.

Cliegg wiped away the last of his tears and stared hard at his son, then nodded grimly. "Spread the word to the neighboring farms."

"There they are!" Sholh Dorr cried, pointing straight ahead, while keeping his speeder bike at full throttle.

The twenty-nine others saw the target, the rising dust of a line of walking banthas. With a communal roar, the outraged farmers pressed on, determined to exact revenge, determined to rescue Shmi, if she was still alive among this band of Tusken Raiders.