Alliances (Star Wars: Thrawn, #2)(105)

“You cannot,” Thrawn said firmly. “This is the danger to your Republic. This is where you must focus your efforts.”

“We’ll reprogram this factory like Artoo’s doing to the other one,” Anakin said, snapping up his arm, aiming his forearm at Thrawn’s wrist to try to break the other’s grasp. Thrawn countered by letting go just as Anakin’s arm swung harmlessly past, then reacquiring his grip. “Stop it, damn you—she’s going to die.”

“We can’t reprogram here,” Thrawn said. “Clone troopers don’t have the droids’ built-in weaponry.”

“I can’t abandon her.”

“We won’t,” Thrawn promised. “But your mission—your true mission—must come first.”

My true mission is Padmé, Anakin wanted to snarl.

But again, he couldn’t. Thrawn didn’t know the truth, and Anakin didn’t dare tell him.

And down deep, he knew the Chiss was right. There was little point in rescuing his wife here only to see her executed in a Separatist purge after Coruscant’s fall. “You have a plan?”

“Yes,” Thrawn said. “Let’s see if our opponents will allow us sufficient time.”



* * *



—

“I’m sure you’ll try your best,” Padmé said, forcing her voice to stay calm. If the rest of Solha’s B2s were as invulnerable as the three Anakin and Thrawn had already tangled with, her husband was in deadly danger.

Behind him, R2-D2’s dome swiveled to face her.

And suddenly she realized something that hadn’t occurred to her. The way the control table was positioned, Solha wouldn’t have seen R2-D2’s data arm on his walk across the room.

More important, he wouldn’t have been able to see that the arm was plugged into the data socket.

But he would see it now if he simply turned around. At all costs Padmé had to keep him from doing that. “Why don’t you tell me about Dooku’s grand scheme?” she asked. “I seem to remember Serennian custom permitting a condemned prisoner a last request.”

“Such dramatics, Senator,” Solha chided. “Really, I’d tell you if I could. But I believe the count is still working out the details.”

“Ah,” Padmé said drily. Right. The Count Dooku she knew would have the whole thing planned down to the centimeter and millisecond by now. Odds were that he did, and that Solha simply wasn’t important enough for such information.

“But really, the plan should be obvious,” Solha continued. “Invulnerable battle droids to destroy your clone armies—”

With a clank, the B2 beside R2-D2 abruptly came to full life. Solha half turned toward it—

Snatching out her S-5, Padmé aimed at the left side of Solha’s lower ribs, a shot that should get his attention without seriously injuring him, and fired. The bolt blazed into the edge of his chest plate.

And disappeared.

Solha jerked back around to face her, a startled look on his face. “You shot me?”

Padmé fired again, more toward the center of his chest this time. Again, there was no effect.

But this time she spotted the distinctive sunburst effect.

Like the B2s, Solha’s armor was wreathed in cortosis fibers.

“So much for a civilized conversation,” Solha snarled, his casual arrogance gone. Slipping his helmet back over his head, he spread his arms wide to both sides. “Go ahead—take your best shot. Then maybe you’ll accept the fact that the Republic is doomed.”

Padmé glanced past his shoulder, to see R2-D2 withdraw his data arm from the console. The reprogramming was finished.

Time to get out of here.

“If you insist,” she said, focusing on Solha again. She sent a final blaster bolt at him, this one sunbursting off his helmet, again with no damage.

Thumbing the S-5’s selector switch, she braced herself and fired her last grapple squarely between his eyes.

The impact snapped his head back, staggering him backward as he fought for balance. Padmé rushed forward, reeling in the grapple as she ran. Solha recovered his stance and started to swing his E-5 back toward her.

And fell flat on his back as she again slammed the grapple into his helmet. Reeling it in again, she reached him and kicked the blaster out of his hand.

He grabbed at her ankle, started to pull himself to his feet. She slammed the grapple off his faceplate one final time, bouncing the back of his helmet against the floor. This time he collapsed and lay still.

“Come on,” she said, beckoning to R2-D2 as she turned and ran toward the north door. Solha’s brother and sister were out there somewhere, and Anakin and Thrawn didn’t know their clone armor was as invulnerable as the B2s’.

They were halfway to the door when Padmé heard the woken super battle droid stir behind them. It made a strange sound deep within itself.

And began lumbering its way toward them.



* * *



—

“Fill it completely,” Thrawn said.

Anakin blinked, looking at the clone trooper helmet in his hands. It was indeed only half full. “Right,” he said, dipping it into the cortosis bin again, his full focus on the sensations coming to him from the east wing. Padmé was still alive, still unhurt, and her anxiety level was back under control. But that was all he could see. He desperately wanted to hand the rest of the prep work over to Thrawn and rush to her aid.