On the planet Geonosis, Jedi Knight Obi-wan Kenobi discovers a terrible secret: the Confederacy of Independent Systems, led by the enigmatic Count Dooku, have allied themselves with the Geonosians—and constructed an immense droid army intended to overwhelm the Republic’s forces and secure their secession. When he is captured by Dooku’s patrols and sentenced to death, Obi-wan must leverage a familiar strategy in order to escape. A reimagining of the arena battle from Star Wars: Episode II – Attack of the Clones:
When he’d gotten his first view of the Geonosian sky-line, watching inbound from the cockpit of his Aethersprite fighter, it had been just after dawn: a sunrise of orange and ocher, accompanied by a rose-colored light that seemed to paint the canyons below in splendid hues. In other circumstances he might have even called it peaceful.
But this was not dawn, and these were not other circumstances. Now it was midday, and the desert sun had ascended to its peak; baking down so hot that after only a few minutes he could already feel himself sweating beneath his tunic, even worse than he had during that brief misadventure on Tatooine ten years back. The sky was filled with clusters of overhead clouds that glowed yellow as sand, but foreboding, like the fumes from industrial pollution or warnings of a perpetual storm.
All things considered, Obi-wan Kenobi reflected, this would not be a pleasant place to die.
He’d been brought into some sort of arena. All around him circled a high wall—too high for even a Jedi to jump—pocked with many patches of tooth-shaped darkness, that Obi-wan assumed were connected to the series of archways and tunnels that led underground. Above the wall in uneven rows had gathered the Geonosians themselves, crawling and clambering over each other in anticipation of the spectacle to come, or else swooping overhead on their insect wings. Higher-up to his left, in a promontory that stuck out like the prow of a great ship, had been carved a balcony or box-seat: currently empty, though judging from the ornate gothic architecture Obi-wan suspected it served as the preferred viewpoint for the Archduke and his special guests.
Obi-wan tested at his bonds. They’d chained him to one of the four posts that stuck up from the arena’s floor, poking out of the ground like spears. His wrists were secured in binders and then fastened above his head: a single chain connected to the post’s top. They’d captured him just before sundown, caught him snooping outside one of the droid factories and overwhelmed him with droidekas. For what he could only assume were several days he’d been kept imprisoned in a containment field somewhere below-ground, with little company except his own thoughts—mostly focused on the possibilities of torture, although occasionally trying some futile plan of escape—and a single visit from Count Dooku. When his Geonosian guards had finally dragged him from his cell Obi-wan had almost been thankful for the reprieve; until emerging blinking into the sunlight he’d realized what they had in mind for him.
The Petranaki Arena, that was what it was called. Also known as the Arena of Justice; though what justice there could be in condemning unarmed combatants to battle monstrous beasts, Obi-wan hardly guessed. He’d heard of Petranaki gladiatorial fights before, read about them in the Archives—always safe in the Jedi Temple, of course, quite another thing entirely to be a contender in one now. The Archives described them as violent affairs, in which victims were pitted against the most fearsome creatures the Geonosians could find, menageries scoured from across the galaxy. And always to the death.
But there is no death, Obi-wan tried to remind himself, invoking the Jedi Code. There is only the Force.
A sudden movement from one of the archways to his right caught his eye, a flicker of activity and commotion. Obi-wan tensed—but it was no rancor or kell dragon that was dragged snarling through. Only some beast of burden, pulling what looked like a hover-chariot slowly behind it, with a Geonosian driver sitting at the front. In the cart behind the driver, presumably chained to their stations, were two more contestants, a pair of humans: a shorter one clad in a simple jumpsuit of senatorial white, the second, taller one wearing the browns and tans of Jedi vestments…
Obi-wan blinked. It was Anakin—and Padmé?
Their cart was steered about the arena in a lazy circle—much to the cheers of the Geonosian crowd, who crawled and clambered with even greater excitement. Obi-wan couldn’t believe his eyes. What in the Force was Anakin doing here? Surely the Council would have given him strict instructions to remain on Tatooine…if the boy had bothered passing on his report to them, in the first place…
“I have tracked the bounty hunter, Jango Fett, to the droid foundries on Geonosis…The Trade Federation is to take delivery of a droid army here, and it is clear that Viceroy Gunray is behind the assassination attempts on Senator Amidala…The Commerce Guilds and the Corporate Alliance have both pledged their armies to Count Dooku…”
At last the driver finished his circle, stopping in front of the remaining posts that were lined up alongside Obi-wan’s like eager Padawans. Several Geonosian picadors—wranglers armed with static pikes—appeared fluttering down overhead, moving to assist the driver with securing the prisoners and fastening their bonds. Padmé they led off to the further pillar, conducted wordlessly by one of the guards to a position just before the end; while two more began manhandling Anakin towards the middle spot. While they worked at his shackles Obi-wan checked over the boy himself with an appraising look.
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d got my message,” he said finally.
“I retransmitted it just as you had requested, Master,” Anakin insisted. He hesitated a moment. “Then we decided to come and rescue you.”
Obi-wan looked pointedly at the manacles overhead. “Good job!” he snuffed.
Up in the box Archduke Poggle had finally appeared, accompanied by a considerable retinue of dignitaries: Obi-wan spotted Fett among them, along with Nute Gunray and a handful of others. To Poggle’s immediate left hovered Count Dooku himself, tall and regal in his Serennian cloak and perfectly-trimmed beard. He stood watching over the proceedings with his usual air of aristocratic reserve. Traitor! the accusation rang in Obi-wan’s head. Not that Dooku had seemed particularly bothered at the insult, when he’d come to visit Obi-wan’s cell a few days ago:
“Oh no, my friend!” Dooku had protested. He hadn’t even tried making it sound convincing. “This is a mistake, a terrible mistake! They have gone too far—this is madness!”
“I thought you were the leader here, Dooku,” Obi-wan shot back.
“This had nothing to do with me, I assure you. I will petition immediately to have you set free.”
Obi-wan rolled his eyes and tried pulling at that chain again.
At the Archduke’s appearance a sudden hush fell over the crowd, a stillness that seemed to fill the entire arena. Poggle raised his hand and began clicking and chittering a proclamation in the Geonosian language. There was something about an “execution”—Obi-wan didn’t quite catch it—and then the rows were erupting in thunderous cheers. The guards scurried to their positions.
I have a bad feeling about this, Obi-wan thought.
On the far side of the pit were three archways, larger than the others with portcullises that blocked the way. Now at Poggle’s command the portcullises were raised; and out of each appeared a different monstrosity, beasts and brutes that were like visions from a Sith nightmare. From the central gate came a lumbering ungulate, with powerful-looking legs and three large horns poking out from its head. A reek—by the unusual red coloring on its skin Obi-wan knew this one had been raised specially on raw meat, the better to make it angry and aggressive. Lunging out of the tunnel beside it bounded another creature, that reminded Obi-wan of one of those gundarks he and Anakin had tussled with on Vanqor: a catlike frame, with bristly hairs along its back and a fang-filled mouth. A nexu, Obi-wan identified it, from his memory of the Jedi Archives. One of the mounted Geonosians who were circling the arena tried prodding at the animal, jabbing it in the leg with the tip of his static pike—and was promptly pounced for his effort. The crowd let out a wild roar.
But deadliest by far was the third gate, and the thing that materialized from the darkness. It backed-out skittering on six crab-like legs, that each ended in a pair of ridged claws deadly as pincers; scaly reptilian skin was covered in armored chitin. At the top of its head extended a bony plate like a fan, and from its mouth were more rows of grinning needle-teeth—behind them came a howl that sounded like a cross between a hiss and a krayt’s call. Obi-wan could not quite place the beast. The nearest guards eyed it warily.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Anakin said.
“Calm yourself, Anakin.” Obi-wan was acutely aware of his own heart beginning to race; he tried taking a breath, running through some of the Force-relaxation techniques they’d taught him as a Padawan. Don't center on your anxieties, Obi-wan, the tutelage of Qui-Gon Jinn rang through his mind. Keep your concentration here and now, where it belongs. “I don’t suppose you thought to bring Artoo along with you?” he asked hopefully.
“We left him to look after the ship,” Anakin said. “I’m not sure what happened after that. Why?”
Obi-wan made a non-committal grunt. His eyes had started moving up to the rows of spectators circling above them, searching the crowd. It wasn’t easy to make out anything in that mash of Geonosians, even with a few tricks of Force-enhanced vision; but if he’d guessed correctly, Artoo would be lurking somewhere near the stadium upper-levels. Assuming he’d managed to evade Dooku’s guards, of course…
“What are you looking for, Master?” Anakin pressed.
“Just be ready to move at my signal,” Obi-wan instructed. There—there the little droid was, a hidden patch of blue-white visible against the clutter of uniform brown. Trying very hard to stay inconspicuous. “I may have a plan to deal with our problem here.”
“May have?” Anakin sputtered. “What are you up to now, Obi-wan?”
Obi-wan hardly heard him. At last it seemed Artoo had noticed them; or rather, had noticed them noticing him. Obi-wan waved his manacled hands frantically in the droid’s direction. Artoo seemed to hesitate a moment, and then—thank the Force!—started scooting forward into a better position.
“Hurry up, Artoo,” Obi-wan muttered.
From beneath the circle of Artoo’s central eye two lights began blinking: a flash of blue and red, the recognition code for Obi-wan’s cue. He was too far away to have a hope of making it out at this distance, but in Obi-wan’s mind he could still envision it: the appropriate flap suddenly retracting on the top of Artoo’s domed head, revealing a dark compartment hidden underneath—
Up in his balcony, Poggle gave the final command for the games to begin.
The picadors started driving their charges forward, leading them in a line toward the three contestants; from the middle of the pack, Obi-wan saw that blood-eyed reek rear up and charge. At the very same moment, there was a puff of motion from atop Artoo’s head: and a metallic projectile launched soaring into the air above. It traveled in a wide arc overhead—over even the handful of Geonosians that remained fluttering about, eager for a better view—went sailing across the arena, a sliver of silver against the yellow sky…
…And landed right into Obi-wan’s waiting hands.
He didn’t waste time. Immediately he had the hilt flush against the chain and pressed at the red activator button; and with a loud snap-hiss the lightsaber’s green-white blade flashed blazing into life. In an instant the chain was cut, freeing Obi-wan’s arms and dropping him to the ground. Not a moment too soon. Obi-wan had barely tumbled into the sand below before the reek was bearing down on him, its head lowered and its horn raised. He had just enough time to roll aside when the beast came crashing into the post behind him, with enough force to fracture the stone near its base.
Then Obi-wan was up on his feet, raising the lightsaber into en garde position. He had Anakin’s own chain cut in one swipe, with Padmé’s not far after. “Get behind me!” he instructed them, scanning the arena. Out of the corner of his eye he was dimly aware of that nexu, rearing in from the right with its claws outstretched. Another swing from the lightsaber—this time a sweeping uppercut, directed at the nearest post—and with a loud crack the pillar split and began toppling between them. Anakin and Padmé barely scurried out from underneath it; the nexu sprang away—but not before one of the pieces landed onto its long, whipcord-like tail. It let out a terrible wailing.
“Are you all right?” Anakin huffed, but he wasn’t talking to Obi-wan.
“I’m fine, Anakin,” Padmé assured him, brushing aside his concerned hands. “What now?”
Obi-wan’s focus shifted back to the rest of the arena. “Anakin, see what you can do about that reek,” he said. The beast appeared to be staggering—it must have dazed itself harder than anticipated in that charge—but Obi-wan knew it was only a matter of seconds before the Geonosians had it back on its feet. “Remember: the Force can have a strong effect on the weak-minded.”
“What about Padmé?” Anakin demanded.
“I’ll look after the Senator.” Obi-wan lifted the lightsaber. “Don’t worry yourself about us, my young apprentice!”
The lightsaber. He examined the weapon humming in his hands. Not his own—that had been confiscated by the Geonosians when he’d been captured, presumably now in the property of Count Dooku. No, this was the lightsaber that had belonged to his old master: the very same with which Obi-wan had defeated the Sith assassin Darth Maul, sending his body tumbling into the Theed reactor shaft at the Battle of Naboo. But Obi-wan had not quite been able to commit it to the fire with the rest of Qui-gon’s things: a small sentimentality, even if it was one unbecoming a Jedi. Hadn’t Qui-gon always said This weapon is your life? So after the battle he’d entrusted it instead to the care of Artoo, for stashing and safekeeping—
“Obi-wan!” Padmé exclaimed, grabbing at his arm.
On the other side of the shattered post the nexu had finally squirmed itself free. With another roar it leapt atop the pillar, glaring down at Obi-wan with all four of its beady red eyes. From behind his green-white blade Obi-wan stared back, reaching out and probing the creature’s mind with the Force. But though it was a part of the galaxy’s living tapestry, its energy connected and bound to all other life in the universe, he could sense nothing within to suggest it might be persuaded or reasoned with, no small hint of kindness or sympathy. Instead he found only violence; a hostile consciousness shaped on battle-regimens intended solely to keep it mean and feral.
The nexu frowned at Obi-wan a moment, almost as if it sensed his intrusion. Then, leaning back on muscular haunches, it launched itself toward him.
In a single motion Obi-wan slipped aside and cut the nexu in half.
A speechless silence fell across the crowd. Far above them Obi-wan was distantly aware of a Neimoidian voice—Nute Gunray’s, most likely—complaining to the others about cheating. Obi-wan looked up at the Archduke’s box, saw Count Dooku glaring down at him almost as angrily as the nexu had. Beside him Poggle chittered something again, and this time Obi-wan had no trouble translating: “Bring forth the acklay!”
On the other side of the arena the last creature was pressed forward. An acklay! Obi-wan had read about those too, in the Jedi Archives—apex predators from the Vendaxa system, deadly beasts popular in the Petranaki games. The combat profile outlined in the Archives suggested that acklays were most likely to attack with those forward pincers, swiping and stabbing at their prey like oversized daggers. It was recommended trying to incapacitate the legs first, rendering them vulnerable to a more direct assault; though the primary recommendation was to avoid the things entirely, if possible.
“Any ideas?” Padmé asked, from where she was still crouching safely behind him.
“I’m on top of it!” Obi-wan said.
In a single Force-leap he bounded onto the pillar himself. From this vantage he could see the acklay clearly, clattering toward them and chomping with its sharp teeth; behind it circled the Geonosian picadors, urging the creature onward from their saddles. The acklay snapped at the nearest guard, nipping at his heels—then its own eyes fell upon Obi-wan. The beast let out an undulating shriek, an ominous warning to this arrogant bug that dared to challenge it. Even without the flicker of premonition from the Force Obi-wan noticed the sudden tension in its legs, as the creature crouched ready to spring.
Taking a deep breath, he set the lightsaber’s activator to lock; and then hurled it at the acklay with all his strength.
At that distance it should have been an impossible throw. But to a Jedi, nothing was impossible. Before the lightsaber had made it halfway Obi-wan had it secured in a Force-grip, sending it spinning end-over-end in a deadly arc of green-white light. The twirling blade flew toward the acklay, an unwavering line aimed straight for its sinuous neck—
And sliced the head clean off.
This time the speechless silence was even worse than before: a crushing weight that seemed to press down on the entire arena. Beneath it the hum of Qui-Gon’s lightsaber sounded unnaturally loud as Obi-wan summoned it back to his hand. The acklay buckled and toppled, collapsing into the sandy dirt below; but Obi-wan was already turning his attention back behind him. There was still that reek to contend with… Yet even as he plucked the lightsaber spinning from midair there came the sound of an almost gentle purring below him, and looking down Obi-wan discovered—to his own surprise, he inwardly confessed—that his young apprentice had managed to handle this one, after all. At the foot of the post stood the reek, stumbling up onto its feet at last: beside it was Anakin, crouched nearby with a comforting hand placed on its leathery head while he whispered soothingly into one ear. Some variation of the animal bonding techniques Obi-wan had taught him, or so Obi-wan guessed: offhand he couldn’t remember having ever seen it used so effectively on something that big before. Despite himself, Obi-wan was impressed.
Up in the box Nute Gunray was still ranting. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!” he fumed, before Dooku could hush him. “Do something!”
“My apologies, Viceroy,” Obi-wan called to them. “It appears we’ve ended your entertainment earlier than expected.”
Dooku gritted behind his beard. “Master Kenobi. Qui-gon always said you had a stubborn streak.”
“A tendency I’m unlikely to break, I’m afraid,” Obi-wan confessed. He waved invitingly. “Unless you’d prefer to come down here and give me a lesson, Count?”
The Count laughed—a quick dismissive thing, as if he were amused at Obi-wan’s bluster. And it was bluster: Obi-wan had heard plenty of stories from both Qui-gon and Master Yoda about Dooku’s skills with a lightsaber. “I’ve something better in mind for you, young Obi-wan. Since you performed so admirably against the Archduke’s pets, perhaps you’ll enjoy one of my own challenges?”
Obi-wan tensed. “Battle droids?” he guessed. A typical Baktoid battle droid was hardly a threat, especially for a Jedi (Obi-wan himself had cut through hundreds in his time) though the Baktoids’ primary strategy tended towards overwhelming their opponents with the things by sheer numbers. One of the benefits of cheap manufacturing, Obi-wan supposed—Qui-gon had spoken often about the strengths that could come from presumed weaknesses.
But there’d been something in Dooku’s voice just then, a smirk visible on his usually reserved lips. And then Obi-wan remembered that eavesdropped conference beneath the droid foundry, and the stuttering words from the Baktoids’ Techno Union representative: With these new battle droids we built for you, you’ll have the finest army in the galaxy… “New battle droids!” Obi-wan puffed.
He heard the tramping footsteps a second before he put it all together: an almost unnaturally precise rhythm, a steady clanking coming up from the main tunnel to his right. It was a sound that was all too familiar; and yet, to Obi-wan—who knew the report of droid marching as well as anyone, who had spent years battling the things on Naboo and elsewhere—there was something strangely off about it. A moment later he could see them: first just a cluster of dark silhouettes gathered beneath the archway; and then, as they emerged stepping into the Geonosian sun, a full phalanx in their shiny panoply. They were battle droids, all right…but none quite like Obi-wan had encountered before. Each seemed all torso-and-shoulders, hunched over with heavy gauntlets wrapped around their forearms like carapaces. Obi-wan frowned, unable initially to spot any blasters or other weaponry on them. Then the nearest droid raised up its armored wrist, and pointed it aiming in his direction—
“Get down!” Obi-wan snapped at Padmé.
The droids opened fire—a sudden barrage of angry red bolts, that gnashed chewing into the stone-work underfoot. Instantly Obi-wan was in the air, flipping off the pillar in a backwards arc that put him behind the relative cover of the broken post. Padmé was already waiting for him there, positioned in a low crouch that seemed to be doing a decent enough job of keeping her safe. For once, it appeared, she had followed his instruction. “Nice work,” she gritted. “You don’t think you could have tried something a little more politic? I thought Jedi were supposed to be trained in diplomacy.” A particularly close shot made her flinch. “Or is this one of those so-called ‘aggressive negotiations’ I hear so much about?”
Several choice comments came to Obi-wan’s mind. “Please keep your head down, Senator,” he advised instead, as clouds of flakes and dust continued to sputter around them.
“At the moment I’m more worried about Anakin,” she fired back.
Anakin. Obi-wan risked a peek around the pillar, searching for signs of his apprentice. If the boy hadn’t possessed the sense to find cover, himself… But once again Anakin surprised him. With a quick hop he had leapt atop the reek’s back, finding a spot near the top ridge-crest that served him nearly as well as a saddle; and in a great spurt was charging toward the oncoming droids like another of those Geonosian picadors. The reek beneath him had its head bent and its horns raised, as it came suddenly smashing through the droids’ middle: they barely had time to adjust their aim toward this new threat that had unexpectedly appeared on their flank before the front line was sent scattering into pieces.
Not a bad strategy, actually. “Would you mind stepping back, Senator?” Obi-wan requested, rolling up his sleeves. “You might want to watch your fingers.”
He held up a hand, himself; and then reaching out with the Force Obi-wan pushed. All Master Yoda’s platitudes during his Youngling training came back to him, about the supposed unimportance and irrelevance of size—platitudes Obi-wan had always been a little suspicious of, to be honest, even after he’d passed the Trials and earned his Knighthood. But today, at least, the Force was with him. For the briefest moment the pillar seemed to tremble and quiver in the sand in front of him; then suddenly it was launching forward, barreling towards the remaining droids like an unstoppable avalanche.
These new battle droids didn’t even try avoiding it. Programmed apparently to prioritize holding the line over their own self-preservation, they continued firing—uselessly—at the stone juggernaut that was steamrolling at them: until at last it went smashing through their very midst. There was a great crash as the pillar slammed into the arena’s farther wall—a sudden flurry of wings, as the Geonosians up in the front rows fled scattering—and in the pillar’s wake only a handful of bits and broken parts to mark that the droids had ever been there.
Obi-wan had hardly lowered his arm before he felt something tugging, pulling at the other elbow…but it was just Padmé, panting beside him. “Good job!” she said, and this time it sounded like she meant it. “But what now? We can’t do this all day!”
“I’ve got help on the way,” he assured her, turning his attention back towards the main tunnel. Beneath the arch new figures could be seen, emerging from the wall of blackness like Gungan warriors out of the swampy mists: a full platoon at least, more of these super battle droids stumbling forward on their unsteady stilt-like legs. Padmé was right; even a quick once-over showed there were far too many for him and Anakin to handle, certainly not without help. Obi-wan took a breath, raising his lightsaber again into en garde position…and then he finally spotted him, scootering out of the darkness behind. A little shadow almost lost among the chaos crackling around—a familiar blue-and-white shape—
“Ar-too!” Anakin called out, from where he was still rampaging atop the reek’s back.
“Artoo!” Obi-wan greeted. “It’s good to see you, my little friend! How are your transmitters working?”
The droid twittered something back that sounded to Obi-wan like a positive. “Good,” he said, taking a best guess. They were too far out to get any kind of message to Coruscant directly, of course; Obi-wan had learned that the first time he’d tried sending out a broadcast. But perhaps a little closer to home… “I want you to see if you have enough range to summon the Senator’s ship on the beckon remote.”
Artoo chittered again; and another of those trapezoidal panels slid back, this time releasing a small signal dish that came popping out. Obi-wan had no idea the kind of distance Artoo could reach with the thing, but at the moment it didn’t really matter—either the Force would stay with them, or it wouldn’t. He tried pushing such thoughts out of his mind, returning his attention to the barrage of blaster fire that was picking up again on their flanks. More battle droids were pouring out now, and not just along the main tunnel: from every one of those tooth-shaped archways they appeared, models old and new alike, surrounding on all sides. With his lightsaber hand Obi-wan moved to block the first of the incoming bolts; with the other he tried corralling Padmé safely behind him, dimly aware even through his battle meditation of her growing irritation at the gesture. He pushed that out of his mind, too. The more distracted he allowed himself to become, the more likely a missed shot would find its way through his defenses and hit the Senator… “Artoo!” he barked, after another minute. “How are we coming on that transmission?”
Artoo warbled a reply too complicated for Obi-wan to make sense of; but even as he started on a clarification there was a high-pitched roar overhead, and a silver-chromed yacht swooped suddenly into view through the hole above. It was a little smaller than Obi-wan had anticipated—a Nubian H-type, it looked like, not nearly so impressive as the J-327 Padmé had employed during her tenure as Queen—but it would do. Smaller ships make for smaller targets,Obi-wan reminded himself. “Anakin!” he shouted.
The boy was already sprinting across the arena, moving double-time towards the waiting rampway that had opened in the ship’s rear. Padmé wasn’t far after, deserting her spot behind Obi-wan in a race to try and beat Anakin to it. Obi-wan let any protests die on his lips: at the sight of this new target the droids began ignoring the three of them entirely and redirecting their firing overhead—forgetting, perhaps, that most Naboo vessels didn’t carry any weapons. Obi-wan deflected one last stray bolt before switching down the lightsaber and hurrying toward the ship himself.
Padmé did indeed beat Anakin to it, reaching the ramp just a few seconds behind Artoo and disappearing inside. Anakin dawdled around long enough to allow Obi-wan to join him before following suit. “This is your big plan?” the boy huffed as Obi-wan trotted up.
“Not now, Anakin,” he chided, glancing at the Archduke’s box one last time. That great prow was largely empty now, most of Poggle’s guests apparently abandoning the spot—including Poggle himself—in the hopes of somehow scrambling to stop Obi-wan’s escape. But there remained a solitary figure, still standing at his post and still staring down at the arena behind those stolid, patrician eyes. Obi-wan offered Dooku a final lightsaber salute—noticed (or perhaps only thought he did) a lingering smile crease beneath that trim beard—before he clambered after Anakin and Padmé into the ship.
Inside he discovered a slightly more cramped version of the Royal Starship interior he remembered so well from ten years ago: all elegant curves and soft lighting, testament to the luxury and sophistication that was the trademark of the Naboo people. What was unfamiliar was the battered-looking protocol droid hovering nervously at the ramp’s top, his tarnished gray plating decidedly out-of-place against the cabin’s otherwise pristine white. “Master Anakin!” the droid chittered; and belatedly Obi-wan recalled that the boy had tried his hand at constructing a similar unit during his Tatooine youth. “Thank the Maker! You can’t imagine the time I’ve had in your absence—”
“Later, Threepio,” Anakin hushed it, pushing past into the forward cockpit. He found Padmé already working at the co-pilot’s station, running through the ship’s flight sequences. “How’s it look?” he asked.
“Everything appears to have stayed on standby,” she said. “Artoo’s got the repulsors at full power, and the sublight engines should be ready any second.”
“Can you get us out of here?” Obi-wan asked Anakin, coming in behind him.
“I can try,” Anakin said, as he dropped into the pilot’s seat. “I know, I know,” he assured Obi-wan, over his shoulder. “There is no try.”
“I don’t think it’s going to be that easy,” Padmé warned them both. “Even with the sublights we’ll still have to get through whatever blockade Dooku has waiting in orbit. This is a counselor ship, remember—we don’t carry any weapons aboard.”
“Not a problem,” Obi-wan smiled. “Don’t you know, Senator? Anakin here is probably the best pilot in the galaxy!”
“Is that true?” she asked him. Obi-wan couldn’t decide whether she looked more skeptical or more impressed.
“All of it,” Anakin told her. “Except for the probably.”
Without another word he grabbed at the stick for the throttle controls; and then had them shooting back up into the sky. It took only a handful of seconds for the little yacht to clear the arena, blasting through the gap that yawned atop the open roof—and Obi-wan barely had time to grab at the pilot’s headrest before Anakin was switching the sublights to full power and rocketing on towards ocher clouds and deep space. “We’re clear,” he declared, after a moment.
“Any sign of pursuers?” Obi-wan asked. He doubted Dooku would make it that easy.
Padmé was studying her sensor display. “Nothing on the scope yet…wait! Two ships are emerging from one of the canyons. They look like starfighters—the computer identifies them as Nantex territorial defense ships.”
Obi-wan glanced out the viewport. Yes, he could see them: a pair of needle-nosed craft, like pinnaces, each with a bubble-domed cockpit situated on the top; rising up out of the near valley and moving into trailing positions behind. Their gold-hulled plating made them barely visible against the red-topped hills and sandy dunes. “Anakin?”
“I can lose them,” he assured them. “Hang on!”
Suddenly the nimble little yacht was spinning beneath their feet, as Anakin sent them into a spiraling twist Obi-wan would not have thought the ship particularly capable of. Not a moment too soon! Anakin had barely started the maneuver before the two pursuers were opening fire, deadly salvos of purple laser that lanced through the space the Nubian was occupying only seconds before. Obi-wan held his breath; but somehow neither attacker was able to find his mark, the pair of shots going wide as Anakin weaved his way through the barrage before pulling a tight one-eighty that branched off on a new vector away from the fighters.
“That was close,” Obi-wan coughed. He’d always hated flying; but something about the way Anakin did it made him especially queasy.
“We’re not out of it yet,” Padmé advised, still staring at her scope. “They’re closing in for another attack.”
“We might be able to shake them in the asteroid field,” Obi-wan suggested.
Anakin shook his head. “No need—I’ve got this!”
He was throwing the ship into another spiral, this one somehow even tighter than the previous, just as the two Geonosians finished their turn and slipped once more behind the Nubian’s drive. A second time they opened fire; but now Anakin was ready for them. He kicked the ship into a drop loop, a hard up and then down that didn’t quite succeed in splitting their pursuers. Obi-wan hadn’t gotten a chance to observe that podracing performance at Boonta Eve so many years ago, but he’d always imagined it had gone something like this: heady, fast, with last-second twists to avoid collision with both the course and other competitors. Anakin had a light hand on the controls, juking left and right as the two pinnaces homed in for a final shot—and it took Obi-wan a moment to realize he’d intentionally permitted them to get so close. It felt like the boy waited until they were practically on top of them before making his real move: a sharp sideslip to port that only the right-hand attacker was apparently quick enough to follow. There was a bright flare across the view, as the first ship veered directly into the path of his slower wingman; a pair of brilliant explosions that flashed on Padmé’s sensor screen; and then they really were clear.
“Now we’re out of it,” Anakin said. He turned around in his chair for a moment, to smile at the both of them.
“You can brag to the Senator about your flying skills later,” Obi-wan chastised, looking out the viewport at the blanket of star-lit space beyond. “Instruct Artoo to start calculating the jump to lightspeed. Did we clear Geonosis’s gravity shadow yet?”
“It’ll be another minute,” Padmé said, after a check at the appropriate monitor. “I’m not picking up any more planetary fighters, though.”
“No,” Obi-wan agreed darkly. He didn’t sense anything, himself—but it wasn’t planet-side that worried him. On his inbound flight the space above Geonosis had been mostly empty, save for the ring of asteroid debris that circled round its meridian; but on the surface he’d noticed a bevy of familiar shapes, a city of spheres that sprouted from holes in the ground like Venedlian sandmoles. Obi-wan had stood on the decks of enough Trade Federation freighters to know one of their command modules when he saw it. And hadn’t Padmé mentioned something a minute ago about a blockade—?
Yes, there they were, about ten kilometers out: a cluster of donut-shaped silhouettes, dotting the curve of the horizon; the all-too-recognizable profiles of Lucrehulk-class battleships. “Anakin…”
“I see them,” Anakin confirmed, banking in the opposite direction. On his own monitor a new series of dots had started blinking: the sensor signals of Xi Char vulture droids, swarming in patrol positions along the fleet’s perimeter. As one they suddenly shifted and turned, heading off in the yacht’s direction—but at this distance there was no way they could catch up in time. “It looks like an entire battle fleet. But I haven’t heard of one that big since…”
“Since the Federation’s invasion on Naboo,” Padmé finished for him. Her face looked even paler than usual. “What exactly is Dooku up to here?”
Obi-wan ignored them. His sharp eyes had noticed additional silhouettes farther out; smaller shadows, barely visible against the black backdrop, that surrounded the Federation ships as if mynocks around a power cable. They weren’t a design he recognized: almost pod-like, with cone-shaped snouts and a collection of fuel-cells clumped further behind. Most certainly not Trade Federation ships—contributions from the Techno Union, perhaps? The end of Dooku’s secret conference came rushing back to him…
I am quite convinced that ten-thousand more systems will rally to our cause with your support…Our friends from the Trade Federation have pledged their support, and when their battle droids are combined with yours we shall have an army greater than any in the galaxy. The Jedi will be overwhelmed…
“Artoo’s finished charting the hyperspace jump,” Anakin announced, interrupting Obi-wan’s thoughts. He looked up from the navicomputer. “Where to, Master?”
Still Obi-wan didn’t answer. All he could hear was Dooku’s voice, repeating in his head like a bad data recording. And other words, later words, confided in secret at Obi-wan’s cell: What if I told you the Republic is now under the control of a Dark Lord of the Sith? Hundreds of Senators are now under the influence of a Sith Lord called Darth Sidious! Obi-wan still wasn’t sure he believed it.
“Master?” Anakin repeated.
He shook the memory away. “Plot a course for Coruscant,” Obi-wan instructed. “It is crucial I deliver my full report to the Council as soon as possible.” His eyes wandered out the window, at the cluster of distant ships gathered above the planet. “I fear something terrible is about to happen.”
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