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Author Topic: ~ Wait For Me ~ Revenge of the Sith AU written by Jedi_Riniel
Jedi_Riniel 
Registered: Dec '07
24201_Anakin and Padme
Date Posted: 1/22 8:07am Subject: RE: ~ Wait For Me ~ Revenge of the Sith AU written by Jedi_Riniel
Chapter Seven
Dissonant Repose

Anakin’s retreat from the cockpit and Obi-Wan’s interrogative presence echoed dully through the corridors of the skiff.
He went the long way to the conference room, staring at his feet as the corridor looped around the cargo hold before reaching the main intersection at the center of the ship. He halted, dragging in deep breaths of filtered air as he struggled to suppress the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. Snatches of his tense conversation with his former Master floated above the steady rumble of the hyperdrive engine, ringing in his ears.
“…from this moment on, your wife and children will be fugitives from the Empire.”
“…weigh the consequences of every decision…”
“…how much you value your family.”
Anakin clenched a fist; his temper boiling to the surface as it had when Obi-Wan had first delivered that blatantly insightful remark.
The Jedi Master had no idea how deep Anakin’s feelings were for his family. He valued them more than his loyalty, his integrity, his conscience, his honor…and his life.
His love for Padmé had kept him tethered to sanity while leading the raid on the Jedi Temple. He would go to the fringes of depravity and ruthlessness and throw himself into the black abyss for her.
And he had proved it.

Yet the currents of the Force had shifted, at his bidding, and altered the motion of the future.
He would probably never know if his choice to become a Sith would have saved his wife from death, and spared him the agony of existing while the knowledge that he had failed her tormented him until his last breath.
Now he was cut off from the Force, and he could not see the future even if he wished – but neither could he influence events as he desired. He was as powerless and as…ordinary as any man.
The thought was equally terrifying and liberating.
Anakin no longer possessed the ability to perceive the Force as threads of energy linking the universe together, or to take those threads and manipulate them at will. He could not peer into its mysteries for hidden truths to guide his choices or grant him a measure of wisdom.
His own voice, sharp and laced with anger, reverberated in his head with stunning clarity. “Are you saying that I’m not strong enough to protect them?”
“No, Anakin. You have more than enough strength. I’m saying that the safety of Padmé and your children depends greatly on your wisdom.”

Anakin blinked, the nature of that observation washing over him like a wave of icy water, instantly cooling his unruly temper. In the span of a few hours, he had become the sole line of defense for the three dearest people in his life, and his one-time instructor had said that his wisdom governed their safety.
He was not wise – more often than not Anakin sought Padmé’s counsel on nearly every issue. Or when they were apart he asked the advice of one of the Masters on the Jedi Council…and Chancellor Palpatine.
No, that was not entirely accurate.
When he could not ask Padmé, either because of distance or his own pride, Anakin simply reacted on whatever impulse he deemed correct – usually with disastrous results. He was not wise. He did not weigh his decisions. Reckless, headstrong, impulsive.
These descriptions had peppered Obi-Wan’s lectures quite frequently.
The Council denied him the rank of Master because of his “obstinate and reckless behavior”, though he never failed to accomplish a mission. He was christened the Chosen One and yet the leaders of the Order rarely sent him into battle without the tutelage and watchful eye of Obi-Wan.

The Masters were so concerned about preparing him to bring balance to the Force that they had not seen he was suffocating under their influence. They coached him to use the knowledge he had been given – but refused to allow circumstances to test that knowledge. Anakin had known the reason from the moment he had set foot in the Jedi Temple.
They were all afraid.
As a ten year-old apprentice, Anakin could use the Force in ways that some Padawans had yet to learn. He had been incredibly lonely during his training with the other children at the Temple.
Some treated him like a god sent to walk among them, with a mixture of awe and fear, not daring to approach…though they stared with wide eyes constantly. The other students reacted with scorn and jealousy, thinking him an outcast because he had not been raised by the Jedi, and watched him surpass his classmates with ill-concealed prejudice. The experience merely served to solidify the philosophy that Anakin learned to live by as a slave on Tatooine: Power is granted to the strong. The strong have the control.
How he wanted to wipe the phrase from his mind.
It had taught him to be hard, to be the best, to remain set apart from other Jedi and gain respect.

Then one day Obi-Wan came to collect him.
As a newly named Knight, Obi-Wan became an odd combination of teacher and comrade.
Typically, their time together had allowed each to serve as master and pupil, untangling the knots of their destinies while building a relationship that some Masters worried was bordering on attachment.
And now that relationship may be irrevocably damaged.
Before Anakin lost himself once again in the angst of his betrayals, a voice came wafting out of the conference room not more than ten feet away. Prim, cultured, and perhaps a trifle fussy, the words of C-3PO filled Anakin’s ears.
“…so glad that we left that dreadful place, Miss Padmé. Although I do wish it had not been so rushed – my circuits are still trying to wind down.”

“You did a wonderful job, Threepio.”
The warm response made the corners of Anakin’s mouth lift slightly, and he took a few silent steps closer to the entryway, content to eavesdrop on his wife and the droid he had built as a child.
“Oh! Well, I…” Clearly flustered by Padmé’s compliment, Threepio recovered his composure, saying, “I was simply following my programming, Miss Padmé.” The protocol droid’s tone became hesitant. “Are you…certain that there is nothing I can get for you, my lady?”
Anakin heard the smile in Padmé’s voice as she replied, “I’m fine, Threepio – truly. Anakin just asked me to wait here until we are well underway.”
“Very well, Miss Padmé.” The droid did not sound entirely convinced – or perhaps he was searching for something to do.
“If you would like, Threepio, you could take my bag to the master suite and unpack.” The words were light and noncommittal, subtly appealing to the droid’s core programming.

C-3PO’s response was exuberant. “Of course, Miss Padmé!” The servomotors in his legs whirred to life, and shuffling footsteps drew nearer to Anakin’s unseen location. He ducked out of sight around a power conduit, watching the golden droid totter down the hall, a black satchel dangling from his stiff arms.
His mouth tipped into a lopsided grin. Since he had presented Threepio as a gift to his new bride shortly after their wedding, Anakin had spent scattered moments of spare time at home tinkering with the droid’s behavioral subroutines. He made miniscule adjustments here and there, improving the droid’s relational modifiers and giving him a personality that could withstand the test of time. When the loneliness of being without his wife bore down upon him like a crushing weight on his chest, it was a small comfort knowing that Threepio was her constant shadow, and a reminder of the boy from Tatooine that had promised to marry her. Heart lifted slightly from the mire of self-abasement, Anakin slid out of his hiding spot and strode confidently to the threshold of the conference room.

Padmé was seated in the chair he had placed her in, a thick coverlet of creamy-yellow draped around her shoulders. Her dark hair had dried haphazardly into a riot of tangled curls, and she was fiddling with something around her neck, oblivious to his entrance. Anakin inched closer, not wanting to startle her, narrowing his eyes to make out what she had in her hands. It was a carved piece of wood, dangling from a silver chain, its surface sanded smooth and symbols etched on each side. He recalled vividly sitting at the workbench in his room all night, shaping the japor snippet until it was perfect – perfect enough for Padmé.
He could still see her young face, brown eyes widened by surprise as he held out his gift.
“It’s beautiful. But I don’t need this to remember you by.”
Anakin felt a flood of emotions swell in his throat as he studied her lowered head, and he knew that he would spend the rest of his life striving to be worthy of this woman. He stepped over to her chair, scuffing his soles on the floor so she would hear his approach.

Padmé glanced up quickly, the japor snippet falling from her fingertips into the folds of the coverlet, and her pale, tired face lit up with a bright smile. “Ani,” she said happily. He bent over and laid a gentle kiss on her forehead, and then crouched down beside her chair, looking up at her with piercing blue eyes that begged to please.
She brushed the tousled locks from his forehead, her soft fingers lingering on his cheek, and Anakin fought to remember what he had come in here to tell her. All he was aware of was Padmé, and the way her eyes sparkled with fragments of starlight, illuminating the irises until he became lost in their depths.
Her hand returned to her lap, and Anakin mentally shook himself. He would not be able to protect his family if he kept acting like a lovesick bantha. Quietly, he announced, “We’re heading for an asteroid mining colony on the Outer Rim called Polis Massa.” Padmé’s expression flashed with uncertainty, but Anakin continued, “Obi-Wan knows the administrator of the MedCenter there. We’ll be safe.”
He was not sure if he added that for her benefit or his.
Padmé nodded serenely, but a trickle of moisture escaped from the corner of her eye. She swiped hurriedly at her face, swallowing the tears burning the back of her throat, hoping that Anakin hadn’t noticed. She glanced sideways at her young husband, and her heart plummeted when she saw that his handsome face was a study of misery. Two large hands reached out to frame her cheeks, and tenderly his thumb brushed the stray tear away. “Please don’t cry,” he said hoarsely.

She nodded, her lips quivering as she whispered tremulously, “I’m so scared, Ani. I’m so scared for the twins. What if something happened to our babies…? What if…?” The words disappeared into a stifled sob, and Anakin heard his heart crack as Padmé averted her gaze, vainly attempting to remain calm.
He swallowed hard, eyes stinging as silent drops of saltwater escaped from beneath Padmé’s thick black lashes. It seems all he ever did lately was make her cry. Her sadness turned into a physical ache in his breast – a wound that bled out all of his strength. He had to fix this. She only deserved happiness. Wordlessly, he unbuckled her crash restraints and helped her to her feet. She wavered for a moment, unsure of her footing, her surroundings blurred by unshed tears and fatigue. Then a pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around her, lifting her off of weakened legs and cradling her against the broad expanse of her husband’s chest. Padmé let out a small, hiccupping sigh, and Anakin held her closer, pressing her body firmly into his until she felt the wild emotions rampaging through her begin to subside.
His footsteps rang throughout the skiff’s corridors, and Padmé tucked her head under his chin, one slender hand splayed over her belly. Anakin carried her into the master suite, dismissing C-3PO with a single nod before closing the door and dimming the cabin lights until everything was bathed in a soft golden glow.

He laid her gently on the bed, the downy mattress cushioning Padmé’s exhausted form, the satin softness of a pillow caressing her cheek. The fabric shifted as Anakin stretched out behind her, pulling a quilt over them, and drew her close, their bodies nestled together like spoons. She felt his lips against her ear as he murmured, “Everything will be all right, Padmé. I promise.” His breath warmed her cheek and tickled the tiny hairs on her temple. She felt completely drained, like a water bucket with a hole in the bottom. The razor-sharp edge of her anxiety was dulled by Anakin’s tender comfort, but it did not vanish.
It lurked in the dark corners of her mind, feeding on her still-burning fear of an unfathomable future.
But while she was tucked securely in her Jedi’s embrace, soaring far away from the malevolence that blanketed the capital, Padmé’s eyelids grew heavy, coaxing her into blissful rest.

Anakin sensed his wife’s tense muscles loosen, and her breathing deepened. She was so tired, and still hurting from that blaster injury, but she would never let any weakness deter her in a crisis. He knew that her self-control had reached its limit when tears had spilled down her face. She rarely cried in front of him; he suspected that the reason was to spare him the agony of witnessing her sorrow. Anakin’s eyes fell as he listened to her breathe. She was strong – so much stronger than him, and it had nothing to do with the Force or any other cosmic power. The strength came from inside her. Padmé possessed an indomitable spirit and an iron will, as well as an abundance of compassion and morality.
She would never fall to the dark side.
In the space of one shuddering breath, Anakin realized that if he stayed in the darkness, he would lose her. He supposed that knowledge had come upon him earlier, when the terror in Padmé’s gaze stemmed from his approach – but he had refused to think of it. He had already made too many mistakes.

His thoughts drifted to the source of Padmé’s worry – their tiny hopes cocooned inside her. His palm trailed down her forearm and curled around the bulge, feeling the warmth there.
“This is a happy moment. The happiest moment of my life.”
He had meant every word. To be a father was a blessing that no Jedi ever dreamed of hoping for, and Anakin counted himself as the most fortunate man in the universe by receiving Padmé’s love and the indescribable gift of seeing himself represented among future generations. If anything had happened to them… He squelched the bitter thought. The skiff would arrive at Polis Massa in twelve standard hours, and everything would be all right. He rubbed his hand gently over Padmé’s stomach, and in her sleep, her palm slid over his, covering the swelling with their intertwining fingers.
Anakin smiled drowsily into the dark curls of her hair, brushing his lips over her cheek, and whispered, “I love you.” He floated into the soothing blankness of sleep, unafraid – perhaps for the first time in his life – that nightmares would torment his unconscious mind. He no longer dreaded the night.
The barest of movements, like the tentative beating of a butterfly’s wings, stirred under the slumbering couple’s fingertips, but the encompassing embrace of weariness kept them unaware.

------------

He had been staring at the same exact spot on the wall for over an hour.
Obi-Wan rubbed the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes closed as flashes of color burst behind his eyelids. Blinking the cockpit into focus, his gaze flitted over to the navicomputer and R2-D2, who was still resolutely monitoring the skiff’s course. The little droid’s optical receptor rotated and burbled a query.
Obi-Wan read the translation on the console – he never could understand droids the way Anakin did – and replied, “No, that’s quite all right, Artoo. I have complete confidence in your navigational skills.” He slowly stood, feeling every bruise, and his expression twisted into a painful grimace. Single-mindedness had diverted his attention from his injuries, but now that this particular crisis was over, he required treatment. Normally, the Jedi Master would sink into a meditation trance and allow the Force to heal his body, but…well.
He supposed a trip to the medicinal supply container was in order.

Obi-Wan limped to the cockpit doorway, and Artoo whistled after him. He waved a hand over his shoulder absently, scouring his memory for the layout of this craft. The constant thrum of the engines filled each chamber and hall, and he walked through the corridors cautiously. His body ached, but that was only part of the reason for his watchfulness. The vacant passageways served as a physical manifestation of the hollowness he felt in the caverns of his heart.
Obi-Wan was alone – body and soul – for the first time in his life.
The Force had eluded him, and the connection may never be restored. His family, the Jedi Order, was being hunted down and exterminated by a Sith Lord who had dominion over the galaxy. And Anakin…his Padawan, his friend, his brother…he did not even know him anymore. Hopelessness was all-too-familiar territory for Obi-Wan Kenobi. He pitied the common folk of the universe – the everyday beings that trudged throughout their lives as empty shells, oblivious to the currents surrounding and connecting them.
He chuckled – a puff of breath – at the irony. The great General Kenobi, the Negotiator, victor over General Grievous, and member of the Jedi Council…now counted among the “common folk.”

Obi-Wan passed a storage room with a few canisters stacked in a corner, and backpedaled to investigate. Opening the nearest one, he fished out a handful of healing patches and a few pain pills.
He briefly considered removing his tunic to apply a patch to a particularly sore spot on his torso, but decided instead to find sleeping quarters. Gathering the supplies in his arms, Obi-Wan started off down the left hallway, noting the slight limp on his right leg. Then he passed the only closed portal he had seen on the skiff and paused, staring at the doorway with an indefinable expression.
“I’m going to take Padmé to the master suite so she can rest.”
He sighed heavily, turning his gaze from the portal. He had already made his peace with his mistakes, but that did not make them any easier to bear. Two doors past the master suite Obi-Wan found a room outfitted with a cluster of bunks – crew quarters, no doubt.
He deposited the medical supplies on the lower bunk near the threshold, and peered over his shoulder. At this angle, he had a clear view of the master suite door. It gnawed at his conscience to spy on the young couple, and the Jedi Master resolved to close the door so that he would not dwell on the unknowns. He raised a hand to gesture – and halted in mid-wave, feeling utterly foolish. Obi-Wan pressed a button on the control panel inset on the wall, eyes fixed on that far door as it disappeared from view.

He shed his burnt and torn tunic, pulled off his boots, and padded barefoot to the utilitarian refresher unit, clutching some healing patches in a fist. The reflection in the mirror made him pause.
Obi-Wan saw a middle-aged man that seemed to have grown old overnight. Deep, shadowed circles hung under his blue-grey eyes, and the expression of sorrowful defeat in those eyes caused him to look away, redirecting his gaze to his injuries. There was a large, mottled bruise on his left side, above the ribcage.
He massaged his fingertips over it timidly, hissing at the sharp jab of pain, and promptly covered the mark with a kolto patch.
Turning sideways, Obi-Wan caught sight of a long, raised burn on his right arm, curving around the bicep. Slapping on another patch, he activated the water pump in the small sink. Tossing a pill into his mouth, he cupped water in a palm and swallowed. The liquid tasted faintly metallic from recycling through the skiff’s replenishing systems.

Ignoring the broken man in the mirror, Obi-Wan settled onto the bunk, his leg twinging, but that wound would have to be treated at the MedCenter on Polis Massa. The mattress was surprisingly comfortable for a crewman’s bunk, but Naboo was financially stable and Padmé had always been generous to those in her service. Though it most likely would not help, he closed his eyes and began concentrating on his breathing, beginning the initial phase of a meditation trance.
In…out…in…out…
He sank deep inside himself, dredging up the embittered questions and erratic feelings that he had shoved into the dark places of his mind in order to concentrate on the present moment. He did not want to confront them – the wounds that those experiences had inflicted were still raw and bleeding. But Obi-Wan knew that if such memories were ignored, they would cause far more damage.
He let the most heartbreaking subject rise to the surface.
“I cannot kill Anakin. He is like my brother. I cannot do it.”
He had pleaded with a desperation beyond anything he had faced in the past, and Yoda had only looked at him with sad eyes, waiting for him to accept.
Accept. It was a simple word, and one that every Jedi learned to practice at an early age.
It never got any easier.

In…out…in…out…
Through the indigo haze of their crossed blades, Obi-Wan had forced himself to see the black shadows hidden behind Anakin’s well-known face. He had dismissed the anguish that weighed like heavy stones in his chest as he searched for an opening to strike down his best friend. And the question arose.
Would he have done it?
Would he have killed Anakin?
No.
The answer carried both relief and sadness. While staying his hand may have allowed Anakin to find redemption, it also meant that Obi-Wan had failed in his duty, and as a Master. He could not accept the death of his old Padawan – no matter what he had done.
Obi-Wan was as much at fault as Anakin, for they had both broken the Jedi Code.
Attachment is forbidden.
He was no longer certain if he believed that tenet. Obi-Wan had witnessed firsthand how Anakin’s attachment to Padmé had driven him to the seductive embrace of the dark side – but he had also seen how Padmé’s attachment to Anakin had transformed into a lifeline, pulling the young man from the shadows and back into the light. Perhaps attachment was not the dangerous emotion the Jedi Council perceived it to be.

Obi-Wan released his speculations into the ether and called upon another.
“You have been blinded for a long time, Anakin. Open your eyes.”
The profound sense of failure that had tormented the Jedi Master since learning of Anakin’s conversion was rooted in time.
Many Council members, even Obi-Wan himself, had reservations about his Padawan conversing so often with the Supreme Chancellor. At first, Obi-Wan had seen it as a blessing. The boy had lost his mother and many things he had held dear, and Obi-Wan heard of his alienation from the other pupils within the Temple. Another role model from a different walk of life would assist Anakin on the path to his destiny and keep the galaxy in perspective.
In…out…in…out…
They had all been deceived.
Anakin began spouting phrases of the Chancellor as though they were great pearls of wisdom, and the young man sought his advice on nearly every issue. When the war intensified, Chancellor Palpatine subtly prodded the Council to assign Anakin to the most critical missions, solidifying his arguments with hints that the Jedi considered their “Chosen One” to be unprepared for what awaited him.
And the Council gave in to the Chancellor’s suggestions, again and again. Anakin gained the moniker “The Hero With No Fear”, which he wore with pride, and the citizens of the Republic recognized his face in all corners of the galaxy, certain that the intense Jedi Knight would save them.
The plan was ingenious.

Free of the murky cloud of the dark side that had permeated the Force for decades, Obi-Wan’s blinded eyes were opened to the concealed devices of the Sith. The Jedi had willingly surrendered the pliable mind of the Chosen One to the Chancellor, and Palpatine had acted upon their error eagerly, feeding Anakin’s arrogance and notions of glory with cunning. During Anakin’s training, he guaranteed his position as the young Jedi’s counselor and friend, patiently awaiting the moment when that loyalty would be put to the ultimate test.
Palpatine’s near-obsessive interest in Anakin, the instances during the war when the light and the dark appeared to battle for control over Anakin’s psyche, and his extraordinary strength in the Force finally wove together to form the answer Obi-Wan had needed since the day he made a promise to his Master.
Was Anakin the Chosen One of the prophecy?
Yes.
Obi-Wan did not truly understand the implications of the prophecy. Bringing balance to the Force was an ambiguous task, to say the least. Whatever it entailed, he was convinced that Anakin would succeed.
The young man burned with power; sometimes it seemed as if his skin was the only thing containing the Force energy fused in every cell of his body. Yet, the Council had agreed to Qui-Gon’s last request and given Anakin to a newly titled Knight for training.
Obi-Wan wanted to believe that it had been an act of trust, and maybe it had been to some – but he wondered why one of the Masters on the Council did not offer to guide the boy instead. And then he remembered what Yoda had told him he sensed in the future.

“The Chosen One the boy may be. Nevertheless, grave danger I sense in his training.”
Indeed, the danger had already swept over the galaxy. The dark side had smothered Anakin like a shroud, influencing his thinking and coercing him into deeds of unspeakable malice. Perhaps being the Chosen One did not limit itself to the realms of extremes – light or dark, good or evil, savior or tyrant. Perhaps the Chosen One is destined to tread the precarious edge between all things – to become all things in order to achieve balance.
And Obi-Wan realized that Anakin would need his friendship now more than ever.
He did not wish to condemn Anakin; his mistakes, though misguided and catastrophic, were all too human. Astonishing power, a weighted destiny, and an unusual birth did not change the fact that Anakin Skywalker was just a man – a young man who had followed his heart and bartered his soul in an effort to save the woman he loved. Anakin must find his own internal balance before setting out to face his destiny.

A swirling myriad of questions consumed Obi-Wan’s thoughts, but he put them firmly aside, refocusing on the soft inhale and exhale of his lungs.
In…out…in…out…
He began emptying his mind of all thought, and tried to expand his awareness outward – a rudimentary skill for the youngest of the Jedi Order. There was nothing. Obi-Wan heard his heartbeat thudding dully in his ears, his chest rising and falling as he breathed, but he felt trapped within his own flesh.
Frustrated, Obi-Wan pushed his perception as far as he could, extending tendrils of thought into a void that had once teemed with life. Beads of sweat rolled down his wrinkled brow as he fumbled blindly in the darkness for the slightest trace of the Force.
A sudden glimmer flashed at the fringes of his vision, darting away from his mental touch, and Obi-Wan felt an unexpected rush of hope. He was not dead to the Force – the connection had been severely attacked, but it could be mended. He fought for tranquility, quieting his thoughts, and the tiny glimmer returned.
Keeping to the far reaches of Obi-Wan’s consciousness, this wisp of Force energy appeared drawn to the Jedi Master. He found it almost impossible to interpret the motivation of whoever or whatever was generating the spark of awareness. It sounded like a voice, and yet not a voice, and there were no completely formed thoughts – only strains of vague emotions. It was as if the Force Sensitive mind trying to communicate was not fully…
It can’t be.

The shock jolted Obi-Wan out of his inner self, and his brief contact with the Force evaporated.
He wiped his brow with a sleeve, and he felt winded, like he had run a great distance. Inwardly, he was reeling from a supposition that was too fantastic to be real. But there was no other explanation.
The glimmer that had awakened as Obi-Wan labored to rejoin the Force was the untrained mind of one
of Padmé’s twins. It had sought him out in the vacuum, most likely because the little one did not sense their father. The idea that an unborn child of Anakin Skywalker possessed enough Force sensitivity to reach into the universe raised mingled feelings of optimism and uncertainty in Obi-Wan’s heart.
But he would be glad to report to Padmé that the babies were unharmed.
The Jedi Master lay back wearily, descending into a contented sleep, musing inwardly at how much that small mind reminded him of Anakin.

------------

Commander Cody was a soldier.
It was what he had been created to do, and he made certain that he did his job better than any other clone in the Grand Army of the Republic. I suppose it’s the Empire now, Cody reflected blandly. Not that it mattered much to him – or any of the troopers in his squadron. The Emperor had issued a direct order, and, unlike his botched assignment on Utapau, Cody would not fail this time.
Failure was a sign of weakness in a leader.
And he was human enough to feel the icy touch of dread at reporting another failure to Sidious.
The gunship swung in a final arc around Five Hundred Republica, and Cody leaned with the inertia, peering out into the rainstorm.
The thermal sensors built into his helmet were having a difficult time reading anything in the dense, swirling fog.
It made him wary.

He had listened stoically to the debriefings of various ARC troopers stationed all around the Rim, and heard them boast that the Jedi had been completely blindsided. ‘Like shooting nunas in a barrel,’ one of them had said smugly. Frankly, Cody preferred more of a challenge. It struck him as a bit odd that sheer numbers had overwhelmed the Jedi so easily. Commander Bacara, serving on the frozen world of Mygeeto, implied that the element of surprise had been key in defeating Master Ki-Adi-Mundi. But that in and of itself seemed unusual to Cody. Jedi always seemed to know what was around the next bend. He had seen Kenobi preempt a droid ambush and save hundreds of troopers’ lives by “sensing” the attack. And he had watched Skywalker, with a strange gleam in his eye, point at an ostensibly empty space on the battlefield and map out targets that only he could see.

The Emperor had informed Cody that Skywalker – or Vader, as he called him – was an ally and therefore exempt from Order 66, which made Cody’s task a little more straightforward.
Alone, Kenobi would prove to be a challenge, but Cody understood many of his tactics. It was one of the reasons they worked so well together during the war. When Skywalker joined Kenobi, however…the entire battle would change. In all of his observations, Cody had never witnessed a fight that pair of Jedi could not win. They were the perfect compliment to one another – from a soldier’s point of view – and together they formed a single entity that laid waste to any in their path.
Truthfully, he hoped that Skywalker had worn Kenobi down before the younger man had fallen.

His pilot announced that a landing area had been sighted, and Cody braced his armored legs for the descent. He was unsure what role the Senator of Naboo had in this escapade, but he did not question orders. It was not in his nature. Lord Sidious demanded that she be brought to him alive and unharmed, and Cody would do so. He had run a dozen scenarios in his head regarding Kenobi’s capture, but none of them seemed practical. He decided to tell the squadron to simply shoot the Jedi on sight.
Cody suspected that Kenobi would simply bat the laser bolts aside with his lightsaber, but still…
The gunship slowed and was brought to hover above a ruined stone veranda. Cody used hand signals to deploy his squadron, and the troopers disembarked one at a time, fanning out around the area.
After notifying the pilot to maintain altitude five meters above the building to watch for any escaping aircraft, Cody swung off the gunship, a DC-17 rifle held self-assuredly at his side.

The gunship rose into the rain-soaked sky, and Cody glimpsed a flash of silver through the thickening clouds. “Man down!” A trooper yelled from the far left, and Cody’s head whipped around, half-expecting to see a blue bar of light cut through the fog. The trooper knelt beside the body of a fellow clone, the helmet nowhere to be seen, and laid two fingers under his jaw. “Dead, sir,” he reported grimly.
Cody stepped forward to examine the body when he suddenly remembered that metallic glimmer he had spotted within the storm clouds. He immediately looked to the northeast, but there was nothing but rain and grey mists. He activated his wrist comlink and said, “Pilot, are you detecting any transponder readings in the vicinity?”
“Negative, Commander,” the pilot’s response came back, crackling with static.
Cody pondered a moment in silence. He could send the gunship northeast to track whatever he had seen, but there were too many “ifs” in that course of action. Besides, if the squadron did come in contact with the Jedi Master, he would need to be able to call in reinforcements.
“Sir?”
Cody cut off his comlink and glanced at the approaching trooper. “What is it, Captain?”
“We found more bodies, sir.” He gestured to the right, at two other troopers carrying a body to place next to the dead squad leader. “So far we’ve counted six.”
“Now we know what happened to that missing squadron,” Cody remarked stiffly.

“We also found this.” The captain held out a black and silver cylindrical object. Cody stared at it a moment in silence, and then extended his palm. The captain slapped it into his padded glove as if frightened that the weapon would magically come to life and slice him in half.
Cody spoke sharply, “Once you have finished your sweep of the veranda, take the squadron inside and search the apartment. Use the utmost caution, Captain. Dismissed.” The captain saluted briskly, and spun on heel, striding across the rubble toward the faint outline of pillars emerging from the fog.
With a guarded downward glance, Cody studied the Jedi lightsaber in his hand.
He had seen dozens of these weapons during his service in the Clone Wars, and no two lightsabers were alike. The Jedi said that a lightsaber was an extension of the body, and was as unique as the individual that wielded it. This one was sleek and elegant in its simplicity, with contrasting elements of matte black and gleaming silver. A wide grip encircled the casing, and the slightly sloped emitter allowed for precise control of the blade, which Cody knew for certain to be a fierce blue-white. His thumb passed hesitantly over the activator stud, lost in thought.
This was Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber – he would stake his life on it.

The Emperor had stated that he was dead, but Cody’s squad had located only six bodies. Deeply troubled, Cody made his way over to the medic, who was efficiently inspecting the corpses for cause of death.
“Only these six, then?” he asked brusquely.
“As far as we know, sir,” the medic answered without pausing from his examination.
“Have you determined the cause of death?” Cody peered sidelong at the nearest clone, his confusion mounting when he saw no gashes on the trooper’s body.
“There are no signs of physical trauma, other than the traces of blood on the ears and nostrils. My hypothesis is that the cause of death was psychological, sir, resulting in some type of brain aneurism. It also appears that all six members of the squadron were killed by the same assailant at the same time.”
A cold shiver of apprehension wormed its way into Cody’s gut. “The same time?”
The medic finally looked up at him, his bare face showing a hint of worry, and replied, “Yes, sir. By my estimations, TOD for all six is only microseconds apart.”

As the rain drummed steadily on his helmet, Cody turned aside from the dead and stared unseeingly at horizon, fingering the lightsaber resting in his fist. In his reasoning, psychological damage to a being’s mind equaled the Force. And the explosion that had rocked the capital and sent battalions of soldiers among the populace to restore order had unknown origins. Cody’s eyes darted to the crumbling veranda beneath his feet. There were oddly spherical ruptures in the stone, almost like ripples in a pond. Cody noticed that they spread in ever-widening arcs from a point near the building. He followed the wrinkles to an untouched section of the veranda, where the destruction appeared to spread out in all directions, like the epicenter of an earthquake.
He knelt and scrutinized the intact marble with increasing concern. This investigation was beyond his scope. Whatever had caused the widespread devastation of Galactic City may have been the same thing that had killed those clones, and perhaps Skywalker as well.
But Cody had never seen a Jedi use his or her power in a deliberate act of obliteration, so Kenobi could not have done this…or so he speculated.
Cody suddenly found himself wishing that the Jedi was not here.

His communicator hissed. “Commander Cody,” a tinny voice issued from the device.
Cody checked the frequency before replying – even he could not tell one clone from another just by voice alone. “Report, Sergeant.”
“We’ve swept the residence, sir – no life signs.” Cody exhaled quietly, unaware that he had been holding his breath. The sergeant continued, “There is evidence of recent activity but no indication of forced entry or violence within the apartment.”
“Did you find Skywalker’s body?”
There was a brief second of silence. “No, sir,” he replied. “But we did find something that you should come and see.”
Cody signed off and began walking toward the massive winged statues hovering outside the apartment, hooking the discarded lightsaber on his ammo belt. He pulled off his helmet in the darkened interior, the Jedi weapon thumping softly against his white body armor.
A trooper signaled him from a smaller room near the turbolift access. Cody crossed the threshold as the sergeant looked up from a scanner that he held poised over a large piece of material lying on the plush carpeted floor. “Here, sir,” the sergeant gestured at the readout on the scanner, tilting the screen so that Cody could see the data. “There’s blood on this blanket.”

Cody blinked, startled. He bent down for a closer look, and found the scant droplets of crimson on the velvety coverlet. “Can you determine whose blood this is?”
The sergeant shook his head. “This scanner has limited capabilities, sir. It will have to be taken to a lab for full analysis. The only thing I can tell you with some certainty is that the blood came from two individuals, and judging from the chromosome total of a sample, one is a human male.”
“Very good, Sergeant,” Cody nodded in approval. “Get that to a MedLab right away, and have them test the male sample for a midichlorian count.”

If the sergeant was curious about his orders, he didn’t show it, but his tone altered subtly as he answered, “Yes, sir.” He saluted Cody, and then called over two troopers to assist him in packaging the blanket in preparation for travel through the curtains of rain.
Cody watched them for a few minutes, tucking his helmet under an arm while he wandered idly throughout the Senator’s home.
As an ARC trooper, Cody was an uncomplicated man – give him a mission, and he would carry it out, as simple as that. What he had thought would be a clear-cut excursion had morphed into a twisted tangle of mystery and intrigue with no beginning or end in sight.
Cody had more questions now than answers, and he doubted that some even had a logical explanation.
The only assurance Commander Cody held in his perplexed brain was that the galaxy had become a far more complicated place.

------------

Senator Amidala’s skiff dropped out of lightspeed at approximately 4.2 standard hours of travel, precisely when Artoo had programmed the navicomputer to disengage. The reliable little astromech had coordinated 5 small jumps as Master Anakin had ordered, even though Threepio had insisted that the ship keep going for the sake of the Senator’s health. Artoo was inclined to agree, but his careful observations of the humans indicated that Master Anakin considered Miss Padmé’s well-being the highest priority.

Artoo’s optical processors analyzed the imagery outside the cockpit viewport. Three parsecs from the prow of the skiff – as Master Anakin had asked – the small planetoid of Polis Massa hung suspended in orbit while a tumbling ring of asteroids endlessly circled its gravity well.
The droid’s blue and white body swiveled one hundred and eighty degrees, and Artoo started the servomotors controlling the wheels that gave him mobility. Whistling at Threepio to stay in the cockpit on watch, Artoo rolled down the ship’s main corridor toward the master suite.
They had arrived.

 

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For you I'd wait, till kingdom come
Until my day, my day is done
And say you'll come and set me free
Just say you'll wait
You'll wait for me
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padawan_learner86 
Registered: Aug '05
19543_Obi-Wan Kenobi
Date Posted: 1/22 1:35pm Subject: RE: ~ Wait For Me ~ Revenge of the Sith AU written by Jedi_Riniel
Once more brilliant! love

In the space of one shuddering breath, Anakin realized that if he stayed in the darkness, he would lose her. So glad he finally got that through that thick skull of his. I guess there's hope for the future.

He raised a hand to gesture – and halted in mid-wave, feeling utterly foolish. Poor Obi-Wan, I felt as sad reading this line, as this one: “I’m so scared, Ani. I’m so scared for the twins. What if something happened to our babies…? What if…?” The words disappeared into a stifled sob, and Anakin heard his heart crack as Padmé averted her gaze, vainly attempting to remain calm. applause

I also love the further insights into C3PO, R2D2 and Commander Cody. Can't wait for more. hypnotized

 

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One who accepts only the SW movies as canon. Thus, refuses to read any of the SW books. ^^;
*Fics in Bio*
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HandmaidenVeme 
Registered: Jun '04
23998_Anakin
Date Posted: 1/22 10:53pm Subject: RE: ~ Wait For Me ~ Revenge of the Sith AU written by Jedi_Riniel
Great update!!!!
Thanks for the PM!

 

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Angel #1 the "Mischievous" one
"Anakin Skywalker's Towel Girl"
Team Edward!
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Jedi_Riniel 
Registered: Dec '07
24201_Anakin and Padme
Date Posted: 1/29 8:50am Subject: RE: ~ Wait For Me ~ Revenge of the Sith AU written by Jedi_Riniel
Chapter Eight
Paradigm Shift: Prelude

A soft two-tone chime stirred Anakin from a blissfully dreamless sleep, and he blinked gritty eyes in disorientation. The chime rang again, and he slowly untangled his limbs from Padmé and clambered to his feet, tucking the quilt carefully around her. Satisfied that she did not awaken, he plodded over to the door and released the electronic lock, yawning mightily. With a barely audible hiss the door slid aside, and he squinted into the brightly lit corridor as a lively chirrup echoed through the vacant ship. “Shh,” Anakin shushed, waving hastily at Artoo to quiet down as he threw an anxious look over his shoulder at the motionless figure on the bed. He stepped out into the hall, the metallic floor cold under his bare feet, and muttered to the little astromech droid, “Are we there?”

Artoo replied in a subdued series of tweets, his domed head rotating in the direction of the suite door. Anakin noticed the motion and wondered once again how someone could see a droid as nothing more than a utility, like a moisture vaporator. “She’ll be fine, Artoo,” he soothed, touching the blue and silver dome with his gloved hand. “Head back to the cockpit and plot a course for the settlement; tell Obi-Wan that I’ll be there after he speaks to their Port Control.”
Artoo whistled a short burst of notes, drawing out the last one questioningly. “Obi-Wan’s not in the cockpit? Where did he go?”
Artoo beeped – the equivalent of a shrug. Anakin sighed wearily, running a hand through his disheveled hair. In all likelihood his old Master had bedded down in one of the crew quarters to get some much needed rest. The prospect of searching him out while things were so tense between them, however, was not an idea that Anakin wanted to entertain. “Okay,” he said nonchalantly, as though it didn’t really matter to him, “why don’t you check the crew quarters for Obi-Wan and I’ll plot a course to Polis Massa.”

Artoo trilled in response and began rolling down the corridor, intent on his task to find Obi-Wan. Anakin stared after him, shaking his head good-naturedly, and then crept back into the master suite. He brought up the lights and sat on the edge of the mattress beside his sleeping wife. “Padmé,” he murmured, stroking the back of his fingers along her cheek. Her eyes fluttered behind their lids, and he smoothed her curls away from her face. “Padmé,” he called again, “we’re here.”
Padmé heard someone calling to her, but the desire to stay immersed in her dreams was too strong to resist. A gentle hand rubbed her shoulder, and then a warm palm caressed her neck, urging her to awaken with tentative sweetness. Her mouth bowed into a sleepy smile as she whispered throatily, “I’m awake.”
Soft breath wafted across her face. “Then open your eyes,” Anakin teased before giving her a brief kiss, wisps of his hair brushing against her forehead. She blinked groggily, and her husband’s handsome face swam hazily into view, flashing her a reassuring grin. Padmé lingered in the peacefulness between asleep and awake until the ache in her shoulder and the drone of spacecraft engines brought her to full consciousness.
“Have we arrived?” She asked, shifting her body on the mattress and using an arm to prop herself up. A movement that she immediately regretted, as the dull ache of her injury blossomed into a searing pain that scorched her raw nerves. She gasped sharply and fell back against the pillows with a whimpering cry. Anakin leapt to his feet, hovering over her anxiously, his eyes two large azure pools burning in his white face.
“Are you all right?” He pressed his flesh hand to her cheek urgently, the fear that he had buried in the recesses of his thoughts exploding to the surface.

Padmé drew in several deep breaths, her muscles shaking in the aftereffects of the sudden pain. When she was convinced that her voice would not reflect the agony she still felt, Padmé raised her eyes and assured her worried husband, “I’m all right, Ani. I just forgot about my shoulder and it surprised me, that’s all.” Anakin remained silent, settling himself on the bed, his thumb endlessly stroking her cheek while his other hand curled gently around her upper arm. Encircled by Anakin’s tender but somewhat troubling embrace, Padmé searched his face for telltale clues of what was rushing like a fierce gale through his thoughts. His eyes had darkened from the soft blue of an afternoon sky to the smoky cobalt of twilight. The muscles in his cheekbones flexed, and he swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths, fighting to regain his center. And all the while he touched her – tracing the elegant lines of her face and arms as if he were frightened that she might disappear – evaporate like the mist that rose from the snow-capped mountains on Naboo.
Padmé sighed quietly to herself. “The Hero With No Fear” was an apt title for Anakin Skywalker on the battlefields of the Clone Wars. The reports she had received in Senate meetings and her own personal experience in the execution arena on Geonosis four years ago testified that Anakin paid no heed to thoughts of his own safety. She did not know whether to call that fearless…or reckless.

But anything that threatened her safety or that of their unborn twins – and the fear that he successfully ignored all of his life closed over him like deep water, drowning him into submission. Ani felt every emotion so strongly, and in some ways she envied that ability.
His passion for her was so deep, so intense and pure, that she never had reason to doubt his love. Hers was no less intense than his – it was just that she let other circumstances overtake areas of her mind and heart, and she could not focus solely on her feelings for him. Padmé twisted slightly under Anakin’s fervent caresses to raise a slender hand and frame his strong jaw. His eyelids quivered as they slid closed, and a ragged breath drifted across her fingers before he turned his head and his lips warmed her palm. “Anakin,” she spoke in a quiet murmur, but the emotion behind her words commanded his attention. “Look at me.” Reluctantly, smoldering blue eyes met her gaze, and Padmé stared intently into those familiar orbs, concentrating on the beautiful soul that she knew yet lingered within. “I’ll be fine – we’ll all be fine. You don’t need to think about saving me…” Her fingers threaded into his golden tresses as a caring smile brightened her face. “You already have.”

Padmé suddenly found herself wrapped in Anakin’s arms, holding her with tender carefulness, his eyelashes brushing the smooth skin of her neck. Despite the muted throb of the blaster wound, she returned his embrace, her hands splaying his broad back. He had saved far more than her life – on numerous occasions. Anakin had saved her from a life bound to the self-sacrificial mindset that she had adopted since her appointment as Senator – a life devoid of the incomparable joy of belonging to the one she loved, and knowing that he belonged to her, no matter the obstacles or consequences. She wished so desperately to share this new life that she had been given with him – the twins had been her conduits for that wish. Perhaps when Ani saw their tiny faces and cradled them to his chest, he would finally shed the shackles of his past and welcome the future.
Anakin let his senses become consumed by Padmé as he held her close, her confident promise soothing the beast that was his fear, calming its roars to a barely audible growl. Even without the ability to submerge in her essence in the Force, he lost himself in the warmth of her body, the silky softness of her skin, and the scent of her hair. “Thank you,” he whispered into her ear, laying a gentle kiss on her cheek before pulling away to see her expression. As their noses brushed together, Padmé captured his lips with her own, and the devoted sweetness of her kiss caused his heart to clench. He needed her so much…he did not know what he would do or what he would be without her. They slowly parted, and Anakin sat back on the mattress, struggling to concentrate on the present moment. “Yes, we’ve arrived at Polis Massa. Artoo went to find Obi-Wan so he can speak to Port Control and clear us for an unauthorized landing.”

“Does the Repub –’’ she paused, and corrected herself awkwardly, “The Empire have a presence in this quadrant?”
Anakin shook his head. “No, this sector of the Outer Rim for the most part was unaffected by the war. And Obi-Wan claims that the administrator of the MedCenter here is an old friend of the Jedi.” He had said almost all of this earlier, but his wife had been exhausted and worried about their babies…
As the thought arose, his gaze flicked to Padmé’s swollen belly, and he hesitated briefly before laying a palm on her abdomen.
Padmé noticed the change in his face and followed his gaze just as she felt his hand come to rest over the twins. “Have they moved at all yet?” he asked in a hushed tone, staring fixedly at the bulge.
“I’m not sure,” Padmé answered quietly. “I thought that maybe they moved while I was sleeping, but I got so used to it over the past few months that I might have imagined it.”
Anakin’s gaze darted to hers – a swift flash of blue – before returning to his long fingers spread over her belly, biting his lower lip.
She watched every movement, inwardly pondering these outward manifestations of his mood, and she slid her fingers over his. “Are you going to tell me what happened now?” she asked softly, keeping her voice low and gentle. She desperately wanted to know what had happened in that missing piece of her life; the slice of time that had brought destruction to the capital, given determination to Obi-Wan, tamed Anakin’s rage, and stilled the little stars in her womb.
He froze, and Padmé knew that whatever had happened, he felt that he was responsible. He hated to speak of his failures – whether it was a mission or a discussion with the Council, he could not bear to seem unworthy of her love. She never gave him a reason to feel that way. It was something he did to himself.

Anakin felt his heart thundering in his chest, and he lowered his eyes, feeling the hot rush of shame wash over his skin. He had to tell her now, before the twins were born; she would have some time to think before she banned him from ever holding their precious ones in his arms after she realized what he had done. Clinging to the memory of Padmé enfolding him in her love on the rain-soaked veranda, Anakin took a deep breath and willed himself to meet her velvety gaze. “After you were hurt…I – I lost control of my power. I was so…angry at the Force, at myself…I wanted to make it stop.” His voice cracked, and Padmé was struck to the core at the forlorn remorse filling his cerulean orbs. “I let all my rage, my helplessness, and my pain turn into a weapon, and I used to – hurt the Force. All of the connections around me dissolved, and…” Anakin inhaled deeply, his battered soul pleading for him to still his tongue, but he continued doggedly. “And what I did – made ripples in the Force, making things happen all over the galaxy.”
“So,” Padmé said in a small voice, just above a whisper, “the clones on the veranda, the shattered windows, the speeder accidents…” He gave the barest nod. “That was you?”

“I think I – survived – because I was the cause, but I can’t use the Force anymore, and neither can Obi-Wan. He must have…withdrawn from the Force somehow, so it didn’t affect him as strongly.”
He paused, and Padmé’s trembling fingers resting over his knuckles made his eyelids sting. Her dark eyes had grown wide throughout his monologue, and her mouth opened as if she wanted to speak, but for a few moments the words refused to come.
Finally she asked haltingly, “But, Ani…” He felt a fleeting burst of hope that she could call him by that name, “I don’t understand. If you…hurt the Force and it caused all those disasters, why…?”
“Why didn’t it kill you?” Anakin finished bleakly. “I think it was because our twins protected you, and themselves.” Padmé blinked at him, taken aback. “Both of them are very strong in the Force – I could sense it. That’s why they aren’t active; I think that they used all of their energy shielding you, that…that they need time to recover.”
Padmé’s overwhelmed mind fought to absorb all the revelations that shook her equilibrium. “Then…” She sought a means to define her thoughts with words, “Then you believe that the Force will – return to you and the twins?”
“It never left the twins; but yes, in time, the Force will grow within them.” His sad gaze transformed into a flickering image of his customary lopsided grin. “They’re definitely going to be a handful.”
“What about you?”
Anakin lowered his head. “I don’t deserve to have it back.” In one fluid motion, he slid off the bed and fell to his knees, holding her hand in both of his, praying that she could see his sincerity and his regret for what he was about to confess. “Padmé…you are my soul, my reason for being, and I love you more than anything. I only want you to know that everything I have done…I did it for you.”

Padmé felt an all-too-familiar chill settle in her bones, and she suppressed a shiver. Staring into her husband’s repentant and sorrowful face, she came to an unexpected realization – about Anakin, but most importantly about herself.
“How long is it going to take for us to be honest with each other?”
She had lived in this universe long enough to understand that the foundation of any relationship was honesty – and trust. Anakin trusted her implicitly. He had given her his heart – so strong and yet so utterly fragile – and he opened the door to his soul little by little every day since they were married. The callous existence of a slave and the emotional vacuum of the Jedi Order had taught him to hide – to deny the inner brilliance of his passionate nature. Yes, he trusted her…but years of witnessing the harshness of the galaxy trained him to be cautious, despite the painfully beautiful innocence in the adoring blue gaze he turned to her whenever she entered a room.
They were more alike than they realized.
Padmé’s extensive education at the hands of prestigious tutors on Naboo had admonished her from the beginning to not let her heart overrule her common sense. She had a wonderful mind, they told her, and there was no limit to her potential… But she would never succeed in helping her people if she allowed the heart to sway her thinking. Her experiences with the Refugee Relief on Shadda-Bi-Boran served as a physical reminder of the danger of putting one’s heart wholly into an occupation – or a person.

It was not that she was incapable of love – on the contrary, she cared so deeply for her parents, her sister Sola, and her little nieces Ryoo and Pooja that sometimes she felt as if her chest would explode from the pent-up emotion burgeoning within. She resolved to keep her focus on her work in the Senate to beat back the ever-increasing sense that she was slowly dying inside. And then Anakin came back into her life.
The strong, fiery heart that she had imprisoned by duty and channeled into Senate debates was ignited by the young Padawan’s attention. Whether he had done it purposefully or purely out of recognizing his own desires, Anakin’s wordless whispers of what life could be roused her buried dreams, and she longed to draw closer. That night, sitting before the fireplace at the villa, her heart had begged her to say yes.
Her common sense had won that battle.
And now, here they were again – Anakin, preparing to bare his soul without knowing if she would grant him healing or more pain. And her – wondering if she had the strength to stand firm in her convictions…or submit to the dominion of her heart.

The wisp of thought floated across her mind with uncanny clarity.
No matter the cost, Anakin was willing to risk losing her – all for the sake of honesty. Was she not willing to do the same? Padmé wanted to believe that she was always honest with her husband, but the taste of the lie burned bitterly on her tongue. She had not trusted him to tell him about the twins after their argument – and she had never told him how much it had grieved her when he left her standing on the veranda, the smoke coiling around the distant spires of the Jedi Temple. Anakin was ready to admit to all of the sins that Obi-Wan had heaped upon him during their guarded exchange yesterday, and although her mind yearned for justification – Padmé decided to listen to her heart.

Anakin gazed intently at his wife’s small hands clasped within his own, savoring each precious second that he was allowed to touch her before his words damned him. Mustering the scraps of determination he still carried in his splintered heart, Anakin’s chin rose as he forced himself to look into Padmé’s liquid brown eyes. The words scalded his throat as they hovered there, unspoken, and his courage wilted momentarily. Internally, he reminded himself that she deserved his honesty – and he vowed that he would not let her blame herself for his fall into darkness. He opened his mouth…
…And closed it a heartbeat later as Padmé’s finger laid against his lips. Knowing compassion softened her expression, and she shook her head slightly. “No, Ani,” she murmured tenderly, her eyes glowing with an ethereal light, “You don’t have to tell me anything. Whatever you have done…it doesn’t matter anymore.” Her finger left his lips and traced the line of his jaw to brush the burnished gold locks from his forehead. “That’s not who you are. This,” She laid her palm over his heart, and he automatically covered it with his own, looking at her with the eyes of one who is afraid to hope for salvation. “This is who you are,” Padmé quietly affirmed. “Anakin Skywalker – my husband and the father of my children. You’re a good person, Anakin, and I trust you to take care of us. Knowing what you did will not change the fact that I love you.” His blue eyes glistened with unshed tears, his hand trembling as he lifted hers to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, his intense gaze never wavering from her face.

“I love you,” he whispered fervently. Padmé smiled at him with unabashed affection, just as the door chimed. Anakin gruffly cleared his throat, seeking to regain his emotional control. “It must be Artoo. He’s probably wondering why I didn’t plot a course to the settlement yet.” He started for the door, his fingers sliding through Padmé’s grasp with a gentle caress – when her grip tightened abruptly.
He glanced quickly at her. “What?”
Padmé’s expression was as dazzling as the sunrise and twice as magnificent. Her gaze slowly drifted downwards, and then flew up to his puzzled stare, exclaiming joyfully, “They moved!”

------------

Obi-Wan was startled awake by an insistent buzzing that filled his ears like a swarm of crazed insects. He sat upright in the darkness, tangled in a thin blanket, as he struggled to separate dreams from reality. Bracing himself, Obi-Wan slapped the illumination controls beside his bunk and the cabin lights slowly flared to life. He rubbed his eyes groggily and took a deep breath, squinting in the bright light.
The remnants of the visions he had received as he slept faded in and out of his memory; like droplets of dew on a cobweb, he knew what he had seen – but the images floated just out of reach.
Except for the eyes. It was the one thing the Jedi Master recalled vividly – a child with Anakin’s eyes.
It was only a dream, Obi-Wan told himself, throwing his legs over the side of the bunk. In all likelihood his subconscious had concocted the dream in response to his brief touch with the Force and one of the unborn Skywalker twins. Naturally there was the chance that one of the children would inherit their father’s crystalline blue eyes…and yet Obi-Wan’s feelings whispered of significance in those sapphire orbs – of something else that was passed on to the heirs of the Chosen One…

The buzzing suddenly seemed to rise in volume, and Obi-Wan sighed heavily, his weary body protesting as he climbed to his feet. Stumbling to the doorway, he pressed a button on the control panel and the door slid aside, accompanied by a flurry of high-pitched whistles and tweets. Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut in agony as the noise sent a throb of pain into his head. “Artoo?”
The little blue and white astromech droid chirped in reply while Obi-Wan inhaled slowly, concentrating on driving away the sensation that his skull was being cleaved in two. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
The warbling melody was punctuated by loud beeps and clicks, and the Jedi Master followed enough of the droid’s language to understand that the ship had entered the Polis Massa system. “All right,” Obi-Wan said, his voice hoarse from sleeping, and grabbed his tunic from a nearby chair. “I’ll contact Port Control and get us clearance to land, but Anakin will have to pilot the ship in; I have no exp-” Artoo interrupted with a sharp trill, his domed head rotating to look down the corridor. Obi-Wan straightened his tunic and followed Artoo’s gaze, commenting mildly, “Anakin said that he would plot a course but he hasn’t left the suite yet? We can’t just drift in space – Padmé needs to see a doctor. Besides, if their subspace scanners detect us floating here they might think we are a threat, and that would not go well at all.”
With that said, Obi-Wan yanked on his boots and marched down the hall towards the master suite, Artoo rolling behind with a soft “ooh” of worry. Obi-Wan touched the announcer button and waited, glancing sidelong at the little droid. “Go plot the course, Artoo. Anakin and I will be there shortly.”

Artoo whistled in agreement and trundled slowly around the corner, heading for the cockpit. Obi-Wan heard snatches of muffled conversation coming from within the suite, but he decided to be patient and resisted the urge to press the announcer again. He felt the ship’s engines shudder as power increased, and a delighted squeal filtered through the door, followed by Anakin’s unmistakable cackle. Obi-Wan felt a stab of annoyance that cancelled out any sense of embarrassment. They did not have time for this.
He pressed the button again, keeping it down with his thumb for a few seconds longer than necessary.

------------

Anakin stared at his wife in amazement, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and dancing brown eyes. Quick as a flash, he was beside her on the bed, and she guided his flesh hand to the spot on her rounded belly where she had felt the movement. They sat there in gleeful anticipation, until the small thump made them both jump in surprise. Their eyes met, and Padmé let out a squeal of pure delight as all of her pent-up anxiety fled from their shared joy. Anakin laughed boisterously at his wife’s reaction and with glad relief. He could have sat there for hours enjoying Padmé’s closeness and the movements of their little hopes – but apparently Artoo had other plans. The door chimed again, ringing continually for a few seconds. Anakin sighed in exasperation, but Padmé nudged him to his feet, saying practically, “I still need to get checked out. Go see what Artoo wants.”
He reluctantly stood and headed for the door, flashing her a lopsided grin that made him look like an overeager little boy before he pressed the door release, ready to scold Artoo for his impatience –
Except that Artoo was not at the door.

Instead, the stern, bearded face of Obi-Wan Kenobi appeared in the doorway, and Anakin actually took a step back in surprise – and perhaps a twinge of awkward guilt. Obi-Wan could still make him feel like a disobedient child with just one look. Anakin stifled the feeling with indignance. He was not breaking any rules – not anymore. “Yes?” he said, a bit too abrasively.
Obi-Wan’s eyebrow quirked slightly, regarding the younger man in silence before remarking in a serene tone, “Your presence is requested in the cockpit.” He peered over Anakin’s shoulder and saw Padmé staring incredulously at her husband’s back from her place on the edge of the bed. Deftly, the Jedi Master sidestepped his former apprentice and entered the suite. “How are you feeling?” he asked her gently.
Padmé beamed, and the expression lit up her exhausted face. “We felt them move, just a minute ago,” she breathed cheerfully, a hand resting on her middle.
He returned her smile, happy that the worry had left her slim frame, but he experienced a muted sense of hesitation. Should he tell Padmé and Anakin that he had known their children were all right because he had sensed them with the Force? He glanced back at Anakin and saw the stormcloud of emotions gathering on his face and decided that now was not the time for this particular discussion.

Obi-Wan turned back to Padmé and replied kindly, “That’s wonderful news, Padmé. Now, I’m afraid Anakin and I are needed in the cockpit so we can bring this ship in for a landing.”
“Of course,” Padmé nodded, but a flicker of indecision passed across her dark eyes as her gaze moved from the Jedi Master to her husband. Obi-Wan timidly stretched out with his limited perception and tried to discern the source of Padmé’s reservations. He secretly rejoiced when he brushed her mind in the Force, and although it was much like viewing the universe through one tiny window – he did gain some understanding. She did not want to send Anakin off with him while he was fighting so obviously with his self-imposed defiance. She worried that even the smallest miscalculation would send her husband careening backwards into the shadows.
Obi-Wan inclined his head towards her, silently conceding to her unspoken argument. “I’ll give you a few minutes to prepare. Anakin,” he fixed the younger man with a firm blue-grey stare, “join me in the cockpit when you are ready.” Anakin’s glare flashed blue fire, but he nodded curtly as he caught his wife’s concerned face out of the corner of his eye. The Jedi Master exited the suite, and Anakin shut the door as soon as Obi-Wan crossed the threshold. He leaned against the doorframe, head bent, his back to Padmé as the lingering tentacles of dark side energies provoked his emotions.

Padmé saw the tension in his broad shoulders, and called softly, “Ani.” He slowly spun to face her, conflict written on his pained expression. She opened her arms in silent invitation, beckoning him to her. Anakin strode forward and knelt, folding his arms over her knees and resting his head on her lap. The crown of his head touched the swell of her abdomen, and he sensed a flicker of movement as Padmé began to tenderly stroke his hair. Anakin’s eyes slid closed as her soothing ministrations calmed his stirring temper. He knew that he had lashed out at Obi-Wan because anger was his natural reaction to fear. He was afraid for his wife. The arrival of their twins was fast approaching – even though Padmé had assured him that she had a few weeks to go, there was something about this place that jittered a warning in the back of his brain. As if he had been here before…
He sighed gratefully as Padmé’s fingertips threaded through his tousled locks, brushing the curl of his ear. The sharp needles of helplessness burying themselves into his muscles were dulled by her caresses, and Anakin moved closer, pressing himself against her legs. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” The throaty whisper left his mouth, his face buried in his arms, and Padmé’s hand paused fractionally.

Her slender fingers cupped his chin and gently forced him to look at her. “We’ve been through this. I trust you to protect us, Anakin,” she said with quiet firmness. “You have to let go of your fear.”
“But I can’t use the Force, Padmé.” The anguish in his blue eyes broke her heart. “I can’t protect you from something that I can’t fight.” His hand wrapped around hers, pressing her palm to his cheek.
“I can’t lose you. I can’t lose any of you.”
So it was back to the nightmare again. Padmé closed her eyes, feeling defeated. Anakin was convinced that the Force sought to take away everything he loved. It had taken his mother after he had been tormented by visions of her pain for weeks, and now he believed that every nightmare he had was a premonition of the future. Padmé refused to accept that. She could not believe that a person’s life is determined solely by predestination – it went against everything she had experienced in her lifetime.
She swallowed back an emotional retort and thought hard. Anakin needed her cool logic to ease his fear.
And then she had it – the key to the constricting chains Anakin had wrapped himself in by listening to false counsel and his terror of failing her.

“You told me once that the future is difficult to see because it is always in motion. So how can you be so certain that your nightmares will come true? I’m not talking about what happened to your mother,” she cut him off as he opened his mouth to speak, “I’m talking about what’s happening right now. You just finished explaining to me how you and Obi-Wan were cut off from the Force, and that it created ripples throughout the universe.” Her dark eyes sparkled with triumph. “Isn’t there the possibility that those ripples have changed the future as well?”
Anakin blinked. He had never thought of it that way. Yoda had told him numerous times to be careful when sensing the future, but Anakin had always assumed that he grasped a clearer picture than other Jedi because of his exceptional strength in the Force, and his dreams. He had heard stories within the Temple of Jedi who had glimpsed the future and tried to change it – and ended up either causing the event that they wanted desperately to avoid, or made it worse.
If Padmé was right, then the future was not a fixed moment in time, and every second leading to it influenced its outcome. And if the legends in the Jedi Order were true, and Anakin continued to act upon his visions of a clouded future…he could end up causing his beloved Padmé’s death.
Anakin shivered, and nuzzled his face into her palm. No, that would never happen. Her reasoning still had one major flaw.

“I saw my mother suffering, Padmé. I dreamt about it for weeks – and when I went to save her, she died in my arms.” The memory of watching that bright, lively spark leave Shmi Skywalker’s brown eyes had created a gaping hole in Anakin’s heart. “How can you say that my nightmares about you won’t come true?”
Padmé knew that what she was about to relay would hurt him deeply, but he needed to understand. “Did you see your mother’s death in your nightmares?” He shook his head, looking away. “You only saw her pain, and of course, you wanted to save her because you loved her. But Ani…” She steeled herself and continued, “If you had not gone to Tatooine…would she still have died? The neighboring moisture farms had sent out search parties – they may have found the camp and rescued her.”
“They were torturing her, Padmé!” Anakin cried out, voice breaking. “She was barely alive when I found her!” He did not want to acknowledge that her words rang of truth, for that would mean his worst fears had been realized.
“She was holding on for you, Anakin – she wanted to see you again.” Tears stood in Padmé’s large dark eyes. “And when she saw you in that tent, alive and well and on the threshold of your dreams…she gave up.”

Seeing the sadness in his wife’s gaze destroyed Anakin’s ire over her words, and all he felt was overwhelming grief. “You think that…if I hadn’t gone to her…if I had waited – my mother would still be alive.” The last word was nearly lost in a choked sob, and he pulled away from her, walking to the far corner of the suite. He was trembling violently, his arms crossed tightly across his chest.
Padmé’s voice shook, and she tasted salt on her lips as she said, “I don’t know what would have happened, Ani. I don’t pretend to understand the Force or why you have these dreams. I just want you to see that our future is not decided. We – you and I – have the power to change it. Together.”
Wincing as hot jabs of pain knifed into her body, Padmé pushed herself to her feet and walked over to her young husband. He jerked when she enfolded him in her arms, but to her relief he did not push her away.
“You are so used to carrying the weight of the galaxy on your shoulders – you’ve forgotten that you’re only human.” She looked up at him, studying his profile and the stiff line of his jaw, and added softly, “You don’t have to do this on your own.”

Anakin felt the thick armor of his pride crack, and he returned Padmé’s embrace – his face finding its habitual spot above her collarbone. Once more, he marveled at the twist of fate that had allowed this angel to fall in love with him, and mold her love around the pieces of his fractured soul. He knew that she was right – even without the Force; he sensed the truth of her words deep within his being. His hands pressed against the small of her back, urging her body closer until the curve of her stomach pushed into his ribcage. Her wisdom humbled him, and shamed the combined insight of the venerated Jedi Council.
In a collection of sentences, Padmé had unraveled a great mystery, and helped him recognize facets of his character. What he had told her earlier was genuine: he did not know what he would do without her.
Anakin slowly raised his head and gazed down into his wife’s beautiful face, resting his hands on her waist and smiled. It was a smile that Padmé had never seen on his handsome face. His expression radiated such…peace, and his eyes captured her with a smoky stare that she remembered well. Before she willingly fell into the blueness, Padmé reminded, “Obi-Wan is waiting for you.”
Instead of an irritated frown, Anakin merely sighed in resignation, his smile fading into a half-hearted smirk, as he made no effort to move. Padmé chuckled under her breath, placing her palms on his chest as she rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Go on, now,” she ordered affably, giving him a gentle shove. Rolling his eyes, Anakin marched over to a small bureau built into the suite’s wall and opened the bottom drawer. Digging through a compartment that for all intents and purposes contained an assortment of silk wraps and fur stoles, he uncovered a neatly folded dark brown tunic and pants. Since he could rarely predict when and where he might see his wife away from the prying stares of the galaxy, Padmé had agreed to stash Jedi uniforms at several locations – including this skiff and the Lake Country villa on Naboo.

He quickly shed the ruined nightrobe and donned the outfit he had worn continually for over three years – the uniform of a Jedi Knight. He slowed as he straightened the folds of his tunic. He was no longer a Jedi – not after what he had done at the Temple. He was not sure what he was anymore. But at least the clothes were dry, and were not marred by blaster scorch marks or flecks of blood. Anakin tugged on his boots and stood to see Padmé waiting in his immediate line of sight, holding a utility belt in her hands.
He took it from her with a wordless nod of thanks and buckled it around his waist. “Better?” he asked, a teasing glint in his cerulean eyes.
Pursing her lips mock-seriously, Padmé ambled closer and smoothed out his tunic, pinching the fabric here and there. “Perfect,” she declared, fluffing the burnished blond tresses on his forehead.
In response, Anakin lifted her heavy curls and arranged them around her shoulders, framing smooth cheeks that had lost their pallor and were now tinted with a vivacious rosy hue.
“Perfect.” His deep voice sent a shiver racing down her spine, and his fingers curled lightly around the nape of her neck, bringing his head down for a kiss.
Tilting her chin, Padmé waited until she could feel his breath on her lips and then grinned impishly, “Go see Obi-Wan.” Anakin groaned in exasperation, glaring at her with half-lidded eyes.
“You love doing that, don’t you?”
Her brows rose in a picture of childlike innocence. “It’s not every day I get to see you squirm.”

Anakin’s blue eyes flashed with a roguish gleam, and caught her in his arms, kissing her passionately. When Padmé felt as if she had melted into a puddle on the suite floor, he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers as he murmured huskily, “We can fix that.” She wriggled in his firm embrace, struggling to catch her breath as she blushed over his statement. Anakin loosened his hold and she scurried back a few steps, her gaze silently rebuking him for his boldness, but he knew that she had teased him purposefully.
The skiff suddenly yawed to the side, and Padmé fell into Anakin’s broad chest with a gasp. He snickered and shook his head in amazement. “And he calls me impatient.”
Anakin caressed Padmé’s upper arms and softly promised, “I’ll be back.” Then he swung around and headed out into the corridor, his long strides carrying him swiftly to the cockpit. He tried to hold onto the sense of carefree happiness his time with Padmé had given him as he neared. He would not permit Obi-Wan to bury him with guilt anymore. He took care of that on his own.

------------

Artoo wailed as the skiff’s momentum sent him rolling to the opposite side of the cockpit.
Obi-Wan stabilized the craft with practiced ease, and the little astromech wheeled back towards the main console, buzzing a reprimand at the Jedi Master. He ignored the droid, wondering instead over the lack of emotional control he exhibited in causing the ship to lurch. While it was sure to get Anakin’s attention, it was an action that Obi-Wan would not have even considered before – in fact, it was exactly the kind of thing Anakin himself would do.
With that disquieting thought tumbling in his head, Obi-Wan set the skiff back on autopilot as he heard pounding footfalls echoing from the corridor. Artoo’s dome swiveled around and whistled a greeting as Anakin breezed into the cockpit, garbed in a fresh Jedi uniform that was tailored in his distinctive style.
So he has learned to plan ahead, Obi-Wan remarked to himself. Of course, preserving the secrecy of a forbidden marriage would no doubt stretch anyone’s contingency tactics to the limit.

His old friend looked every bit like the dashing Jedi Knight whose face was splashed daily over the HoloNet. A face that was oddly expressionless as Anakin settled into the pilot’s seat and flipped off the autopilot. Obi-Wan studied him surreptitiously. He had expected another outburst similar to the younger man’s behavior towards him in the master suite – but, as always, Anakin remained impossible to predict. The Jedi Master sent out the tiniest tendril of Force energy that he could muster, testing a theory that he had been mulling over in his mind.
His theory was correct.
The Force told him that Anakin just wasn’t there; nothing was sitting in that chair but empty space.
Obi-Wan did not even sense the faintest hint of his essence at all. It was not like Anakin had died…no, it was like Anakin had disappeared altogether.
Chilled, Obi-Wan withdrew his perception and continued to scrutinize his former Padawan’s face. His gaze was intent on the star-strewn blackness of space outside the viewport as he guided the skiff past slow-moving asteroids towards the colony. Other than that, Anakin’s entire countenance was opaque to the Jedi Master, with no visible display of what he was feeling or thinking – Padmé’s political coaching, he assumed.

“You keep staring and your eyeballs are going to freeze open,” Anakin said offhandedly.
Obi-Wan blinked, his brow wrinkling in annoyance. “I was not staring.” He realized how childish that sounded after the fact, and added gruffly, “And who told you that ridiculous notion about eyeballs freezing open?”
“You.”
Anakin bit the inside of his cheek to keep back a grin as Obi-Wan huffed and rotated his chair, pointedly showing his back to him. He watched a chunk of rock roughly the size of a Trade Federation control ship lazily spin past the viewport and caught sight of several bubble-shaped buildings grouped together on the surface on an enormous asteroid in the distance. The proximity sensors hummed, and Anakin slowed the skiff’s approach, glancing sideways. “We’ve been detected.”

Obi-Wan activated the comm and spoke in an authoritative tone, “Polis Massa Port Control, this is Naboo Star Skiff. Do you copy?”
The comm speaker crackled, and a polite voice replied, “We copy, Star Skiff. Do you require assistance?”
Obi-Wan smiled humorlessly. “Indeed we do, Port Control. All humanoids on board could use medical attention, and we are in sore need of a place to rest.”
“We will accommodate your requests to the best of our ability. If you will please transmit your ship’s identification code, we will direct you to the hangar bay.”
Now came the hard part. “I regret that I am unable to provide you with our ID code – you see, this skiff could very well be an escapee of the Empire.” Obi-Wan put in the right amount of earnest appeal in his words to gain the controller’s sympathy. He could only hope that it was working.
There was a short pause, and then the voice came through hesitantly, “I am afraid that we cannot –”
Obi-Wan fluidly interrupted, “If you would permit me to speak to Administrator Tuun, I am sure that he would sanction our presence here.”
Again, the hesitation was evident by the silence on the comm. “One moment.”

Obi-Wan thumbed the mute button and looked over his shoulder at Anakin, who was watching the exchange with guarded eyes, his whole body tensed. “After I speak to the Administrator, they will let us land in the private hangar on the southern side of the colony,” he assured the younger man. “We shall have limited contact with other workers and the Empire will stay ignorant of our movements.” A trace of skepticism flickered in Anakin’s hooded blue gaze, but it vanished as the comm hissed and he sucked in a sharp breath.
“This is Administrator Maneeli Tuun.” This voice was considerably more mature than the controller’s, and more confident. “I understand that you wanted to speak with me.”
Obi-Wan took a deep breath, releasing his fear to the Force, and turned off the mute. “Administrator, this is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I am in need of your help.”
A soft noise issued from the comm – almost like a sigh. “What can I do for you, Master Kenobi?”
Anakin slumped in utter relief in his chair, but Obi-Wan was still cautious, even though Tuun’s answer freed a massive burden from his spirit. “There are three humans on board, myself included, that require medical aid and a temporary haven from the Empire’s fleet. We will not stay long; I do not wish to prolong the time that this outpost may be in danger – but our female passenger is six months pregnant and we cannot risk the journey to another MedCenter.”

Tuun replied without reluctance. “The Polis Massans are honored to be counted as friends of the Jedi. Pilot your skiff to the coordinates that are being transmitted to you now and land in the hangar. My finest team of physicians and med droids will meet you there.”
“Thank you, Administrator,” Obi-Wan said with heartfelt gratitude, and signed off. He leaned back in his seat and rolled his shoulders, easing the tension from his muscles. An indicator light blinked on the console, and he punched the receive button. “Coordinates are locked,” he stated. His eyes met Anakin’s for a fleeting second, and then Anakin averted his gaze as he pointed the skiff’s curved nose toward the colony, stars glittering in its wake.

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Aboard the Star Destroyer Subjugator, Bridge Commander ARC-5219 – also known as Kaph – looked out at the twinkling sphere of Coruscant, isolated from the frenzied activity around officers worked frantically to contact HQ on the planet while navigators scanned hundreds of star charts, attempting to pinpoint the location of their “ghost ship.”
That was what Kaph had heard one of the raw recruits tell another after the vessel had blasted out from under them and slipped into hyperspace. Like a ghost, it had appeared and disappeared before most of his crew could blink. Superstition aside, Kaph was ordered to report any and all craft entering or departing the capital, although a more accurate description of the ship would lend greater credibility to his information.

So Kaph stood motionless before the main viewport, studying the far-off stars and placing himself outside of the situation as his ARC training had taught. He reviewed the facts over and over in his head and began to reach a valid hypothesis. The Ghost, as it was labeled on the trajectory board, had drifted into the Subjugator’s shadow on minimum power. Thus, the pilot had known of the limited sensoring capabilities on a Star Destroyer’s underbelly, and that meant military experience.
Secondly, the same pilot had coordinated a jump to lightspeed at a breakneck pace – a feat that was extremely risky, because performing a calculated jump without confirmation from a navicomputer could send a ship on a one-way trip through a gas giant. Therefore, this pilot had to rely on other senses – senses that exceeded the ordinary, and that meant only one thing.
Jedi.

Kaph spun on heel and strode towards the communications blister, pondering his conclusion.
It made sense – only a Jedi would have had the knowledge and skill to execute such a maneuver with success. So now the question was: Where would this Jedi be going?
He analyzed the trajectory board as his navigators worked nervously around him. From the Ghost’s last known coordinates, the ship could be bound for any number of worlds, some of which were known to have significance to the Order. Determining the ship’s design would have been useful in identifying its destination, but the sensors were lucky to have picked up the vessel at all. The thought processes of the Jedi eluded Bridge Commander Kaph – their decisions flip-flopped between logical and absurd at random, and they were based entirely on the mysterious “Force.” There were no patterns, no standardized procedures – a fleet could chase one Jedi around all four corners of the galaxy and never find what they were looking for.

“Sir!” A sergeant ran up to him. “Sir, we’ve reestablished communications with the planet.”
Kaph bypassed the sergeant without a word and marched over to the console. The officer stationed at the terminal flipped a sequence of switches, then nodded and gave the commander a thumbs-up.
“This is Bridge Commander Kaph of the Imperial Star Destroyer Subjugator. I have a Priority One message for Commander Cody of High Command.”

------------

The sleek silver skiff entered the vacant hangar bay and settled effortlessly on its landing struts.
Obi-Wan peered curiously out of the viewport at the small cluster of individuals waiting at the far end. “Our welcoming committee,” he announced to no one in particular. He lowered the boarding ramp as Anakin scrambled out of the pilot’s chair and jogged down the corridor, yelling something about Padmé. Obi-Wan leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling with a deep sigh, suppressing his irritability of the younger man’s impetuous nature. He should be used to it by now.
The Jedi Master began shutting down all systems, and then spoke in a low murmur to the astromech unit at his elbow. “Artoo, before you shut down main power, delete our course from the navicomputer and activate all security programs.” The little droid beeped an affirmative and got to work. Patting Artoo on his domed head – another silly gesture he had picked up from Anakin – Obi-Wan exited the cockpit, moving in the general direction of the skiff’s ramp.

As he rounded a corner he came upon his former Padawan, who was trying to placate an overly excited golden protocol droid. “Threepio, it’s fine,” Anakin was saying soothingly. “I know you were just following your programming, but we’re among friends now.”
“But Master Anakin, their species is not entered in my databank! Surely you can understand how distressed I became!” Threepio sounded like he was on the verge of hysterics. “Perhaps if you had updated my recognition memory I would not have proceeded to initiate my defense procedures!”
Anakin replied softly, yet his eyes were hard, “I said it’s fine, Threepio, don’t worry. Now, go inform Padmé that we have guests and pack up some of her personal items as she instructs.”
Threepio waddled off to carry out his appointed duty, and Anakin watched him go, his flesh hand rubbing the back of his neck in a long-suffering motion. He saw Obi-Wan out of the corner of his eye and his mouth quirked into a funny half-smile. “I guess I made him a little too cautious.”
“Among other things,” Obi-Wan retorted mildly. He gestured at Threepio’s retreating form, asking, “What was that about?”
Anakin raked his hand through his tousled blonde hair. “Well…Threepio was walking through here when the boarding ramp lowered, and when he didn’t recognize the Polis Massans he overreacted and pressed the emergency lock button.”
Obi-Wan’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “So he effectively shut the door in their faces.” Anakin nodded sheepishly. “I’ll talk to them,” Obi-Wan said wearily, “I’m certain they will understand our restlessness in light of our current situation.” Anakin pressed the release mechanism on the wall and the ramp hissed as it opened, depressurizing the corridor. Obi-Wan took a few steps down the ramp, arms held out wide in a universal gesture of friendship and called out, “Administrator Tuun, it’s good to see you.”

Anakin stared, his jaw dropping. He snapped it closed quickly, but his blue eyes were wide as he glimpsed the Polis Massans. Administrator Tuun was about the height of an average human, bipedal, and with two arms – but that was where the similarities ended. They had mottled green, vaguely reptilian skin, long fingers with overlarge, rounded tips, and appeared to be wearing various types of environment suits.
But what disconcerted Anakin the most was that their faces were blank – literally.
White, oval-shaped faces with a pair of small black eyes looked up at him inquisitively, and he resisted the bizarre urge to disappear into the skiff and hide from those strangely empty faces. Obi-Wan seemed unaffected by the Polis Massans’ unusual features, and he walked right up to the Administrator, clasping his hand warmly. Tuun wore a tan-colored hood around his head and neck, and a faintly metallic-sounding voice filtered to Anakin’s ears.
“I am greatly relieved that you escaped the tragedy at the Jedi Temple, Master Kenobi. Tell me, do you know if Master Yoda is safe as well?”
Anakin perked up, feeling a mixture of happiness and incredulity. Of course Yoda was alive – he had to be. Like Obi-Wan, Yoda was too smart and too accomplished to fall victim to Order 66. A flicker of confusion wrinkled his forehead. Not two days ago, Anakin had played a part in the extermination of the Jedi…and now he was glad that the most powerful Master in the Order was still alive?
Perhaps you don’t know yourself as well as you think you do.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his head as Obi-Wan answered quietly, “I…believe so. We have not been in contact with each other for fear of being discovered.”
Tuun rested a large hand on the Jedi Master’s shoulder. “Rest easy, my friend. You will be safe here.”
Anakin heard movement behind him and turned to see Padmé standing beside Threepio, her slim fingers gripping the droid’s stiff arm for support. “Padmé,” he rushed forward and wrapped an arm around her waist. “You shouldn’t be up.”
She leaned heavily against him, but her brown eyes sparked as she replied, “I’m not helpless, Ani.”
He gave her a small lopsided grin. “I know better than to argue with you.”
The young couple shared a secretive smile, and were reminded that they had an audience as a floating med droid zoomed up the ramp, guiding a silvery hoverchair. “Please sit down, madam,” the droid said in a pleasant feminine voice. Padmé settled into the chair with Anakin’s help, sighing in relief as the weight was removed from her aching legs. She glided down the ramp, Anakin and the med droid on either side of her as Threepio shuffled behind, calling for Artoo to hurry up.

Obi-Wan and Administrator Tuun met them at the bottom, and Anakin watched his wife’s reaction to the Polis Massans. Her diplomatic training smoothed her features into a polite smile, but he caught the brief flash of shock in her gaze at the Administrator’s approach. Obi-Wan started the introductions. “Administrator Maneeli Tuun, this is Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo.”
Padmé extended her hand and Tuun took it in both of his. His long fingers completely covered her hand, but his grasp was surprisingly gentle. “It is indeed an honor to meet you, Milady. Stories of your integrity and compassion are well known in the Outer Rim. And I offer my congratulations for your offspring.”
“Thank you, Administrator – for your welcome and your kind words.” Padmé seemed slightly surprised that news of her deeds traveled throughout the galaxy, yet she offered Tuun a warm smile.
Anakin flushed with pride. Padmé had become an angel to many beings in the Republic during the war, but she would always be his angel.
“And this,” Obi-Wan continued, “is Anakin Skywalker.” Anakin glanced sharply at the older man, but Obi-Wan was composed as he gestured in his direction. He had purposefully left the title “Jedi Knight” out of Anakin’s introduction and it stung. The sensation was immediately followed by resigned sorrow.
Obi-Wan had not taken that identity away from him – he had thoughtlessly cast it aside by swearing an oath to Darth Sidious. He felt Padmé’s eyes on him, so he tried to emulate her tactful behavior as Tuun reached for his hand.

“Jedi Skywalker – yes, tales of your adventures have thrilled our colony many times. I must confess that some of your exploits become more…sensational with each telling. Tell me – did you really land half of a Separatist Star Cruiser in the middle of Galactic City?”
Anakin looked straight into Tuun’s blank white face and tacked on his famous lopsided smile. “Yes, I did.” He shook Tuun’s hand briskly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Administrator. And thank you for allowing us to land.”
The Administrator waved away his gratitude. “It is the least we can do for the Jedi.” He motioned for a pair of med droids to come forward. “MD-02 and 05 will escort you to the Maternity ward, Milady. They will take very good care of you.” The droids bobbed in the air as they flanked Padmé’s hoverchair and began steering her towards the door. She threw an anxious look over her shoulder at Anakin and he sprang forward – only