Attack of the Clones Read Free

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 outduel 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