Oops, I've been sitting on this chapter for a few months. I got moderately sidetracked.
Not much to say about this one. Transition chapter is transition chapter. Still, I hope you all enjoy it!
-Becks

Chapter 3

When it really came down to it, being dead wasn't all that bad. Padmé had freedom and anonymity; she could do whatever she needed to spark the rebellion. She had a new name now – Teckla Thorne – and a new job in a service position in the Alderaanian royal palace under the Queen. Of course that was all a front. Behind closed doors she would confer with the Queen and Bail on the best strategies for rebellion. Padmé could devote all her time and effort into this.

Bail didn't have that freedom; he had to keep up appearances in the Imperial Senate. Padmé thought his role was the much more difficult one to play.

It became apparent from the beginning that an armed rebellion would not be possible so early in the game. Not only had the Clone Wars decimated many planets' militaries and fighting forces, but it had also shown the galaxy the strength of the Empire's clone army. Many systems were reluctant to send their soldiers back into war, and those that would have eagerly fought against the Empire were either embroiled in their own civil disputes, like Mandalore, or had quickly been set upon by Imperial forces.

It was no secret that Geonosis had been completely invaded by the Empire's forces as soon as the droids had been shut down. It was a planet-wide extermination. The planet had been bombed to an uninhabitable husk. The Geonosians were no more.

No, open war was not the best option for the rebellion. For now their game was to lay in silence, waiting, plotting, slowly gathering support, supplies, and forces to their cause; slow enough the Empire wouldn't notice until it was too late. Lucky for the Rebellion, Padmé was an expert negotiator, and they had a decent starting point.

The Delegation of Two Thousand—2000 systems of the Republic who had been vocally opposed to Palpatine's ruling. Yes, they were obvious targets of the Empire. Many of the senators no longer held their position in the new Imperial Senate, but they still held some influence over their home worlds. It was still too early for Palpatine to outright execute his political opponents.

There were also the systems whose senators had been wary of adding their names to the Delegation, such as Alderaan. She had to reach them sooner, rather than later.

Then there were Separatists systems. People who did not want to be part of the Republic, and were probably strongly opposed to being part of the new Empire. No doubt Imperial forces had already moved into them, and Governors appointed directly by Palpatine were in power, but there would be underground dissenters gathering. They could be influenced to join the Rebellion as well.

And there were systems whose senators were in the Emperor's pocket, but the people were not. They would be the hardest to get to, and they would take time to reach, but they weren't lost, not entirely.

Padmé had no doubt that all across the galaxy there were other cells of rebellion forming. Small secret groups, gathering in seedy bars and people's homes, trying to figure out how they can fight this new Empire. This would be how the Rebellion grew. It couldn't amass on a single, center point; that would be too obvious. It had to be numerous small cells, each doing what they can to hurt the Empire, but they still had to be united. There had to be a solid base for them to call back to, a rally point when the time was right, so they could know they weren't alone in this fight. And Padmé would be right in the center of it all, coordinating, communicating, leading. It was what she was best at.

And thus, her Rebel persona was born.

The Conductor: prone to wearing heavy, dark cloaks and hoods, a voice modulating mask covering most of their face. Rumors were quick to spread amongst dissenting cells. Sometimes they were tall, imposing, and powerful; sometimes they were diminutive, unassuming, and passive. They were a dead shot with a blaster, and quite capable of fending for themselves when the need arose. The way they spoke to the budding rebels, the ideas they had, the plans they formed, they were a viable threat to the Empire. And as such, they were the best kept secret of the People. Even amongst those who were not on board with the idea of rebellion, but disliked the Empire just the same kept their secret. The Conductor was never mentioned in mixed company, despite the danger and mystery surrounding them. All who encountered The Conductor felt an inexplicable desire to protect them from the Empire. The Conductor was hope.

Padme's waking moments were consumed by The Conductor, by the rebellion, by undermining the Empire. The work kept her busy and distracted; it gave her goals to work towards and missions to accomplish. While she was busy she could almost pretend that things were alright, that she wasn't torn apart inside, that her grief wasn't bleeding like an open wound. And it worked wonderfully. Padme knew how to put up a front, how to put on a mask of strength, how to appear to be solid as a rock. She'd been playing that role almost all her life, it was easy.

But behind closed doors, in the dark, quiet of the night, Padme's facades crumbled. Her grief consumed her. She grieved for Anakin, for what they had, and what they could have had. She grieved for the death of the Republic, and all the people that had died and would die because of it. She grieved for her family, thinking that she was dead, never being able to know otherwise. Sometimes her grief subsided, and her fear overwhelmed her. Fear of the unknown, fear of the future, fear for her children, for the other innocents their rebellion may put in harm's way, fear for Anakin, fear of Anakin.

More often than not, Padme cried well into the night.

And then there was the feeling. It would creep upon her slowly, like a sickness in the night. It was a cold, empty despair. It sank into Padme's very core, into her heart, into her thoughts. It sapped her energy, her motivation. Sometimes she almost thought she could hear a voice, not her own, but a croaking, infernal voice, whispering suggestions when things were quiet and she was alone.

What was the purpose of putting all this effort into the rebellion? It was bound to fail. Why should she still have so much faith in democracy when it had so obviously failed? She was so tired, she was working so hard, wouldn't it be nice to just lie down and never get up again? Wouldn't it be nice to just remove herself from this hardship, from this heartbreak and fade away?

But Padme wouldn't listen. She wouldn't allow that voice to win. She could feel whatever it was, seeping into her soul, trying to take her strength, but she clenched her fists, and held on tighter. She had two ever growing, ever present reasons to stay strong, to continue with this rebellion. Yes, it would be hard, and the odds were not in their favor, but Padme would do anything to secure a safe future for her children.

So she ignored the voice, and every morning she pulled herself out of bed, forcing her heavy limbs to move. She was always tired—due in equal parts to her poor sleep and her pregnancy—she had learned to live with it. And the voice would fade as she prepared for another day, and the cold despair would leave her heart, only to return again when she was alone at night.

And so it went, for a couple months Padme quietly shouldered her grief. She knew she could probably talk to Obi-Wan about it, her fears, her grief, the voice and feeling, but he was also mourning. She wanted to give him the space he needed to grieve. She knew he was in pain, as he knew she was, and when the time was right, they'd both talk about it.

She managed until one very bad day in one particularly long week.

There had been rumors of a rebel cell on Lassan. The Conductor was going to investigate and let the Lassat know they were not alone.

Padme didn't know much about the Lassat, but she knew they were a proud race of warriors. If they could be convinced to join the Rebellion it would help immensely. She was eager to reach out to them.

Padme fidgeted impatiently as she waited for the ship to be prepped.

"Relax, Padme," Obi-Wan said calmly beside her. "Pacing will not make the ship refuel any faster."

Padme sighed. "I'm just anxious to get to Lassan. I want to get to the before the Empire does."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," a man's voice interrupted.

Both Padme and Obi-Wan turned around. Captain Antilles looked mournful.

"I just received word from Senator Organa. The Empire heard about the Lassat rebellion. They purged the planet."

Padme felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Suddenly she felt the feeling creep upon her. "Purged?"

"It was a planet wide genocide of the Lassat. Rumors are any survivors that are off planet are also being hunted. Lassan's whole system has been quarantined."

"Just like Geonosis," Obi-Wan muttered.

Antilles nodded grimly. "It's obvious now that Palpatine is showing his strength. Nobody cared about the Geonosians. Lassan is an obvious message that nobody is safe if they declare open rebellion.

Do you see now? Your rebellion is hopeless. It's useless. You can't change anything. You can't protect anyone. Give up now. You have no meaning, no purpose.

Padme tried to ignore the voice, but it had never spoken to her during the day before. It felt worse, colder, more sickening, stronger; almost as if it had anticipated this moment, waiting to strike. It felt like a physical blow, striking ice deep into her heart. Numbness spread through her body, muffling her hearing, hazing her vision. She needed to go somewhere private, where she could deal with these feelings until they passed.

Padme muttered what she hoped was a coherent "excuse me," before brushing past Obi-Wan and Antilles. She ducked into the first empty room she could find, a small conference room. The door had barely closed behind her when it slid open to reveal a very concerned Obi-Wan.

"Padme, are you alright?"

Padme nodded, offering her automatic response. "I'll be alright. I just need a minute to…"

"I sense the dark side in you."

That stopped Padme's train of thought in its tracks. "What?"

"Just after we heard about Lassan, I sensed the dark side rise up in you, that wasn't there before."

"The cold. The voice." Padme swallowed, realizing what that feeling she had been fighting all this time had really been.

A look of deep concern furrowed in Obi-wan's brow. "How long as this been happening?"

"Since Mustafar, but it only happened at night. I thought I was just depressed and mourning. But how? I'm not Force sensitive."

"The twins are."

Padme's hands automatically moved to cover her stomach. Could Obi-Wan really sense it already? Or was it just an educated guess based on who their father was?

"Palpatine is probably using Vader's bond with you to reach you."

"But why? Why would he want to hurt me?"

"You and your children are the greatest threat to his hold on Vader. If he knew you were alive…"

"Anakin would stop at nothing to be with us," Padme finished for him. "But if Palpatine knows I'm alive, why hasn't he scoured the galaxy to find me? If he knows I'm a threat, why would he just let me run free?"

"I cannot begin to imagine how a maniac like Palpatine thinks, but it makes sense that he's staying silent for political reasons. You were a beloved senator and public figure to many in the Republic. Your death was quite a shock, and Palpatine himself made a speech about it. If he acknowledged that you were actually alive it would deal a blow to his already shaky foundation of the people's trust. And if he says nothing, it means Vader is less likely to find out."

"So what, he's going to torment me through the dark side until the twins are born?"

"No quite. I sensed that he took something after his touch receded… almost like he was trying to siphon away your life force."

"He can do that?" Padme gasped, her arms tightening around her stomach.

"I didn't think it was possible, but it appears so."

"Is it hurting the twins?" she asked tremulously.

"No, they seem fine." Obi-Wan's voice was tinged with relief. "He seems to be focusing solely on you. He may not know they exist."

"Can you stop it? Is there any way to keep him out?"

"I can try something. I may be able to block him out using the Force." Obi-Wan touched his fingers lightly to Padme's temples. "Try and relax and hold still."

Padme held her breath and stood as still as she could manage. After a few seconds she felt a strange sensation spread from her temples, down her neck, and into her chest. For several moments, her heart clenched painfully, her chest constricted, forcing the air from her lungs. Padme gasped for breath, but she found it difficult to draw in more air as her throat squeezed shut. Obi-Wan scowled and his fingers pressed harder against Padme's temples. Whatever hold Palpatine had on her, he wasn't giving it up easily.

Just as Padme's lungs began to burn and scream for oxygen, her airway cleared and her chest loosened. Obi-Wan released her and stepped back, taking slow, deep breaths. Padme gulped in the cool, recycled air of the ship. At that moment it tasted almost as sweet as the air of Naboo. One of her hands reached up to her throat while the other brushed away the tears that burned at the corners of her eyes. She could live for another hundred years and she'd never forget the feel of the Force at her throat. As she caught her breath, Padme prayed to every god she knew that she would never have to feel that grip again.

"That should do the trick. I think I got him out," Obi-Wan said after a moment. "But you must tell me if you ever feel his presence again, Padme. A Sith as strong as Palpatine knows how to hide and deceive."

Padme nodded. "I will. I won't let him hurt me, or my children." She paused for a moment to evaluate how she felt without Palpatine lurking in the back of her mind. The heaviness in her heart hadn't dissipated – she hadn't expected it too – but instead of a shadow of despair always looming at the back of her thoughts she felt a flicker of optimism and courage.

Palpatine could not take her life or her children's. His grip was no unbreakable, his power was not absolute. He could be defeated.

And he would.