Chapter 1. Gone
So he's dead, then.
When I saw his name on the list, I thought that it was a mistake. I always read the lists of names that appeared in the newspaper every day, after every battle. I felt it was respectful, and certainly informative as to the state of the military. Occasionally, I saw the name of someone I was acquainted with, either in passing, or more intimately, and it stung. I suppose, now, on a subconscious level I was already looking for his name, scanning the list as reassurance that even though I wasn't hearing from him, he was still alive and well and couldn't wait to get home to me.
He's good and gone, it would seem.
God, it hurts.
I'm ashamed to say I didn't even see it at first. The list was usually ten to forty names long, jedi and non-com officers, however on this particular day, it was comparatively longer because of the campaign on Toydaria— there had been half a dozen skirmishes over the planet in a single day. I scanned the list, flipped the page, and then, frowning, flipped back. I had an uneasy feeling in my gut as I skimmed the list a second time, like I was missing something equally terrible and important. And there it was. Right between Saketh, Durane and Sy, Narec. I don't know how I could have missed it.
Skywalker, Anakin.
And right beside it, in big red letters: KIA.
Oh.
I telephoned the newspaper office, holding the paper in one hand and pinching the phone under my chin so I could carry my coffee with me as I paced the room.
"Hello," I said. "This is Galactic Senator Padme Amidala of Naboo. You've made a mistake on today's list of battle casualties." I had to pause as they hurried to inform me, rather impatiently, that the lists were government supplied and therefore my accusation could in no way be true. "Yes, but you've put Anakin Skywalker's name on it."
They told me it wasn't a mistake. Hadn't I heard? It was all over the Holonet. There had been a massive battle over one of the moons of Felucia in the past twenty-four hours, a devastating ambush by the Seperatists. Seven cruisers had gone down, one of which had been the Resolute, crippling the Republican forces in the area and resulting in massive loss of life. As no communications with any of the troops had since been established, the General was presumed to be dead with the rest of his crew.
"If this is a joke," I said, "then you are some very sick men." I hung up.
I stood there holding the phone for a few moments, turning over what I had just been told. I took a sip of my coffee and then I crossed the room to the holo, taking the phone with me. I punched the power button on the holo, and it came to life, blaring a news feed about a new kind of squid they'd dredged up on Utapau. I sat down on the bed, changing the channels, and pulled up my knees under my nightgown to keep my feet warm. The newspapermen had lied, there wasn't anything on the Holonet. Of course not. If it were true, the Jedi Council had probably pulled everything, not wanting to upset the public, and were now pretending that nothing was wrong. Anakin had always told me they were very good at that. I checked all thirty channels, twice, punching the buttons as hard as I could, and there wasn't as much as a mention in passing. I turned the holo off, tossed the remote on the bed beside me, and finished my coffee, by now cold and bitter. My detachedness frightened me, the cool way I considered the situation. I was not widely known for my calm. Yet even though there was a very real chance that my husband was dead, I couldn't make myself react.
I realized it was because I didn't believe it. I had seen Anakin last less than seventy hours before, the close proximity of our interaction eclipsing any possible grief. It wasn't possible for him to be dead, he was fine when I saw him. We'd had a wonderful time. We'd eaten salty takeout and watched Lifetime Original movies and the news, with the sound off so we could give the newscasters stupid voices, and eventually he'd fallen asleep with his head in my lap so I was stuck on the couch but I wasn't angry because I couldn't be angry at him, ever. And then I'd said good-bye to him the next morning at five-thirty because he was heading out to the campaign on Felucia and he wouldn't be back for at least a few weeks and he was so excited because Mace Windu had personally chosen him to participate in the planetary negotiations, and he promised me that he would call me once he got to the camp on Felucia, but he never had and I'd just written it off as forgetfulness. He was so forgetful.
There was another possibility, though. Panic began to rise in my chest.
Maybe he'd never even made it there.
Oh. Oh, no. I swallowed hard and squeezed my eyes shut, swaying slightly. I didn't want to think about this anymore.
The telephone rang. I picked it up and it was Obi Wan.
"I'm so sorry," he said in lieu of greetings. "Have you heard?"
That was it. I threw the handset out the window. The last thing I wanted was Obi Wan's self-righteous pity.
