Chapter 6. Flash Point
The third attack on Padmé Amidala took place when she was side by side with her Jedi protector. Neither one saw it coming.
It was in the water of one section of the Senate building (section FVC481-4, to be precise) a narrow wedge of the great circular structure that contained Senate offices on multiple floors as well as vast maintenance areas below. The toxin's ingress into the drinking water was later traced to a specific point in a single pipe. It had been injected very close to the point of effluence, limiting its effect to only thirty or forty Senate offices and one refectory. One of the offices was that of the Senate Delegation from the Naboo System.
Padmé began to feel ill, as did many others, during the Senate session. While Obi-Wan Kenobi had stuck to her like a shadow during her entire day, she had categorically refused to allow him to accompany her into the Senate Chamber pod.
"I can't imagine a better way to make myself a target than by having a Jedi sitting next to me in my pod," she had snapped.
Obi-Wan had yielded because it was true. Instead, he waited for her in one of the viewing galleries high at the top of the chamber, observing the space tirelessly for the slightest hint of danger.
He had sensed the intent to do harm long before it manifested, and spent far too much time searching through the Force for indications of external dangers such as weapons or explosives. By the time his perception indicated poisoning, Pod occupants throughout the Senate Chamber, Padmé among them, already were signaling their wish to leave immediately. Later, Obi-Wan berated himself bitterly for his slowness.
Padmé and the others who had fallen ill were treated on an emergency basis right there in the halls of the Senate before the worst cases were transported to a medicenter. Padmé was very ill, but conscious. It took every bit of Obi-Wan's rudimentary Force-healing skill to strengthen her body's ability to fight off the toxin. Because of his timely intervention, she was declared stable by the triage medics and allowed to return home with round the clock medical assistance rather than being taken to the center. Once he was sure that Padmé would survive, Obi-Wan attempted to help other victims in the same way (no one was aware of his assistance, of course; the Force does not require the conduit of hands or tools to do its work), but it came too late for many.
By the time the crisis had been managed and the uproar had died down, Padmé was back in her apartment in bed, attended by her anxious staff and two medics, and feeling just well enough to be furious. Obi-Wan was actually relieved when she began blazing at him with both blasters - metaphorically speaking, of course.
"You cannot be serious!"
"It is the only possible conclusion, My Lady."
"Don't you 'My Lady' me, Obi-Wan Kenobi! You're wrong. Even an insensitive, thick-headed, self-righteous Jedi like you can be wrong!"
Evidently he'd hit a nerve.
"Consider the evidence," he repeated patiently. "The first two attacks on you were very specific. Both failed. Given that – especially if it is known to your attackers that you are now under Jedi protection – a different tactic was required. An attack on a larger group of people that includes you is a logical next step, because it vastly increases the probability that I won't be able to protect you. As we have seen, that was the case."
All Padmé had done was to take a drink of water. It was not something that Obi-Wan had thought to prevent her from doing, even though, as was his habit, he had eaten or drunk nothing while on duty.
From the point of view of effectiveness, the attacker's plan had been very, very good.
Eirtaé peeked into Padmé's bedchamber, spotted Obi-Wan, and tried to withdraw again, but Padmé beckoned to her.
"Do you have it?"
"Surely this isn't the time, My Lady," Eirtaé suggested quietly. Tall and slender, pale and blond, she was older than the other Handmaidens, and carried a quiet sense of authority. "You are ill, and need to rest."
"If you have the report," Padmé snapped, "I want to hear it."
Eirtaé exchanged a look with Obi-Wan, and then said with visible reluctance, "Every Delegation on our corridor in the senate building was affected, as well as all the Delegation offices on the same length of corridor six levels above us and five below. The attack was limited to the segment of the building that contains our offices."
"How many people were hurt?" Padmé demanded.
Eirtaé glanced at Obi-Wan again for help.
"That's enough, Senator," he said firmly. "There will be time enough to read the report in detail later."
"HOW MANY?" Padmé shouted.
Eirtaé took a breath. "Fifty-two people died, and several hundred became violently ill. You're among the lucky ones, My Lady."
"Who are the dead?" Padmé asked hoarsely.
Reluctantly, Eirtaé recited a seemingly never-ending list of staff, office neighbors, friends and colleagues. By the time she had finished her grim litany, Padmé was no longer angry. She looked beaten.
"How is it possible for that level of evil to exist in the Senate?" she whispered. "In the heart of our democracy?"
"It can," Obi-Wan said soberly. "Believe it."
"I refuse."
Obi-Wan smiled faintly. "That is to your credit."
Padmé's eyes spilled over with a torrent of held-back tears, their heat so palpable that Obi-Wan thought they must be burning her cheeks. "If what you say is true, then I am responsible for what happened to all those people. My staff... my colleagues..."
"The collateral damage was not your doing, Padmé. It was your attacker's assessment of what it is worth to destroy you."
"Why?" she wept.
"Until we know, the only way to protect others from these attacks against you is for you to go into hiding." He didn't need to add, "... as I have been insisting all along." He was only sorry that he hadn't overridden her protests against leaving Coruscant in the first place. He couldn't think why he had allowed her to persuade him.
Padmé sank back into her pillows. "I need to rest," she croaked.
"Of course." Obi-Wan stood up. She needed to cry it out, and then to sleep. Meanwhile, he would decide where best to hide her. He would accept no more arguments in favor of remaining on Coruscant.
There was another tap on the door. Obi-Wan opened it personally, determined to put and end to further disturbances. It was young Rhea, with a message for Padmé.
"Give it to me."
Rhea blushed. She still seemed uncomfortable in his presence. Obi-Wan had no idea why, but it was the least of his worries."
"It's from Sabé," she explained hastily. "A personal message for Padmé."
"Let her in, for heaven's sake," Padmé sobbed behind him.
Obi-Wan stepped aside for the young Handmaiden, and then, with considerable relief, removed himself from the scene. He had work to do.
x
The bedchamber that had been Anakin's since he and Shmi had arrived at the farm so many years before was the smallest in the dwelling. Two grown men filled it to capacity.
Anakin filled up the narrow pallet, sitting cross-legged while wrapping a few belongings into a bundle. He hadn't occupied the room more than occasionally for years, but he still kept a few clothes and other personal items in the cupboards. Remembering how cold it was in space, he had spread out his warmest cloak to use as the wrapping for his bundle. On top of it he placed his 'best' clothes, a plain dark brown tunic and leggings, his 'best' boots (the ones that could still hold a polish) and a wide belt.
Owen leaned inside the doorway with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His shoulders were hunched. Every line of his body showed resentment.
"I don't understand why you won't take me with you. I've never been off planet."
Anakin looked up. "Come on, Owen. Somebody has to take care of things until I get back."
"Remy's doing that. You've got him running the whole farmer's market operation from grab to sales.
"Would you prefer that I'd left it to you?"
"No. I'd prefer that you take me with you."
Anakin looked away. "It's not that kind of a trip."
"You're going to look for medical help for Mom. Who better to come with you than me?"
"Who's going to take care of her while I'm gone?" Anakin retorted.
"Dad will. Like he always does."
Anakin didn't answer. When he met Owen's eyes, what he saw was a lot more complicated than he would have wished.
He looked away, around the small bedchamber, which a child might have found cozy. But by the time he had arrived there, Anakin's childhood had been over and done with. It had ended the day that Obi-Wan Kenobi looked into his eyes and explained that he would not, after all, be trained as a Jedi.
Freed from bondage, freed from his Jedi vows, Anakin had inhabited the little chamber as a refugee, a person displaced. He'd never liked it.
"You're not just going because of Shmi," Owen said flatly.
Anakin wrapped his bundle experimentally, decided that it was too bulky, and opened it again. He took out the boots and belt. He'd wear the boots instead. One pair would do.
"You've had this planned since you heard about that ex-Jedi. And now that he's agreed to meet, you can't get away fast enough."
"I have to take the opportunity when it arises, that's all. I might not get another one."
"To do what exactly? What do you want from this Dooku guy anyway?"
That was a very good question. He didn't have an answer that would make sense to Owen. He could barely explain it to himself. He just wanted ... he needed...
Anakin shrugged and pointed at a shelf that contained a stack of neatly folded clothes. "Hand me that pile over there, will you?"
Owen pushed himself away from the door, grabbed the pile, and threw it at Anakin's head. Then he went back to leaning against the wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, watching the brother he'd never really understood.
Anakin selected a couple of undertunics, socks and another pair of leggings and tossed the remainder of the pile aside. Owen watched in surly silence as he laid the few items of clothing on top of the cloak and began to roll it all together. At the last moment Anakin pulled something out of his pocket and laid it on top of the pile, quickly rolling the clothing around it.
Owen had caught the quick gleam of metal. "What was that?"
"Nothing."
This time the bundle stayed closed. Anakin used the belt to strap it all together.
"Seriously, Anakin, why are you doing this?" Owen asked again.
Anakin swung his long legs off the small pallet and pulled off his old boots, replacing them with the slightly newer ones. They could use a better polish. He might do that before he left, if there was time. Grabbing his bundle, he stood up.
Owen blocked the doorway. "I want some answers, brother!"
Nearly a head taller, Anakin looked down into his brother's face, faced the challenge in his eyes, and still didn't know how to explain himself.
"Me, too, Owen. I need answers. I need them more than anything. I believe that this is the only way I'm ever going to get them."
They stared at one another for one of those long, loaded moments between brothers that could just as easily end in combat as in concord.
Owen chose peace. "You're planning to come back, right? I mean, you're not just going to ditch us..."
Anakin punched him lightly on the shoulder. "'Course not. Where else would I go?"
"Yeah," Owen echoed, finally moving aside. "Where else?" He looked around the little chamber one last time before leaving it.
Anakin didn't.
x
It might have been the leftover queasiness from the toxin she had ingested, but Padmé felt the strangest sensation in her stomach after watching the holo that Sabé had provided. Honoring Padmé's request for absolute secrecy, Sabé had sent it so heavily encrypted that only R2 could play it.
Padmé watched it twice by herself. The third time, she made her Handmaidens watch it, too. They huddled together on Padmé's bed listening to Vespe's calm, efficient rendition of a story that might have come from a holo-vid, one of those melodramatic serials with orphans, slaves, heroes and pirates. Only, all of those parts would have had to be played by a single person.
The only thing missing from the tale was the requisite high romance.
At the very end of the holo, Vespé had inserted a fuzzy likeness of a man's face. The image looked as if it might have been captured surreptitiously, perhaps through a piece of clothing. The only parts that could be discerned clearly were the curve of a cheek and a pair of eyes. Somber eyes, under thick brows. In the bluish light of the holo-vid, their color was indeterminate. Light, probably. Familiar, in a way... and yet, decidedly not.
This was no young child.
"Are you all right, My Lady?" Eirtaé pulled the covers up over Padmé's shoulders. "You're shivering."
"I still feel a little feverish. It will pass."
A rumble of voices suddenly arose outside the room's closed door.
"Turn it off, Artoo," Padmé hissed. "Quickly."
By the time someone knocked on the door, the holo was gone, the lights were dimmer, and the little astromech droid stood stoically in the corner like a piece of furniture. Padmé slid further down into the covers. "Say I'm sleeping."
"As you wish," Eirtaé murmured, sounding amused for the first time since the Senate tragedy. She slipped off the bed and went to the door. A muted conversation followed. She returned alone. "The Jedi is pleased that you're resting," she said dryly. She always referred to Kenobi as 'The Jedi.' "So what is this all about?"
"I don't know," Padmé said into the coverlet. "I need to think."
"I agree with Obi-Wan... um... Master Kenobi," Rhea offered shyly. "You should sleep. You are not well."
"I feel so strange all over," Padmé agreed. "Perhaps I will."
The Handmaidens had smoothed the bedcovers and further dimmed the lights when Padmé sat straight up in bed again. "Oh!"
"What is it, My Lady?"
"Rhea, can you bring me my jewelry box? The small one that I carry all the time."
Rhea glanced at her superior, who shrugged.
"Of course." She hurried to a hidden cupboard and retrieved a beautiful box, the work of a Naboo artist, in which Padmé kept the items she used most often, and then lingered awkwardly while Padmé rummaged through it, uncertain whether she was still needed.
"Hah." Padmé pulled out a small trinket that Rhea had never seen before, even though she had opened the box a hundred times. She couldn't quite make out what it was, and of course, it wouldn't do to ask.
Padmé handed back the box, but kept the trinket. "Thank you, Rhea."
Rhea dropped an involuntary curtsey, because she was young, easily intimidated and couldn't help herself. When she had returned the box to its place, Eirtaé took her gently by the arm. "Come on, young one, "she whispered. "It's time to go."
Padmé couldn't study the trinket in the dark, but it didn't matter. She knew exactly what it looked like.
I made this for you so you'd remember me... it will bring you good fortune.
Good fortune. That was exactly what she needed. Rolling over onto her side, resting her cheek on the hand that clutched the carved japor snippet, she wondered vaguely, how tall is tall? before falling fast asleep.
Sleep didn't last. A few hours later she was up again while everyone else slept, feverishly pursuing an idea that would not let go.
x
Owen wasn't the only one whose nose was out of joint over Anakin's imminent departure from Tatooine, even if it was only meant to be a brief foray off planet. Cliegg, who usually breathed a sigh of relief when Anakin left the farm, became even grumpier, muttering things about Anakin 'abandoning' his mother in her time of need.
The crew from the cave had been acting funny, too. Kit had done his job and found Anakin a beat-up, two-man planet jumper that a nervous-looking Rodian had been only too happy to swap for a combination of goods otherwise destined for the Farmer's Market.
"What a piece of junk!" they'd scoffed when Kit showed it off proudly, as if insults could ward off the inevitable. Secretly, they were impressed with the ratty ship's firepower. It looked as though it meant business. But then, pirates always flew hot.
The fact that the ship probably hadn't been the Rodian's to trade in the first place was immaterial; ownership was a fluid concept on a planet that survived on piracy. As a precaution against future unpleasantness, though, it made sense to modify the thing a little before Anakin took it over, starting with the color and serial numbers. When Kit asked the others for help, they pretended to be too busy doing other things, as if, by making it harder for Anakin to depart, they could somehow prevent his going.
In the end, Anakin and Kit had to do all the work themselves, but Anakin didn't mind because it gave him the chance to really look the ship over and make a few modifications of his own. Kit didn't mind either, because for his trouble, Anakin gave him a nice speeder bike that was supposed to fetch a good price at the next Farmer's Market, which made the others even testier.
The only person who didn't question or resent Anakin's decision to go off planet was Shmi. At the end of each long day of preparation, Anakin returned to the farm and shut himself in the room with her to talk out the frustrations of the day. She listened, occasionally responding in that halting way she'd had since the attack.
The day he and Kit finished working on the ship, it was still daylight when Anakin returned to the farm. Shmi knew before he told her that his preparations were complete. She'd sensed it in his movements, his tone, in the energy he'd brought with him into the room.
"Take me... out..." she asked, holding her arms out to him.
Anakin quickly knelt down next to her. "Out? Do you want to sit in the atrium?"
"Outside," she insisted. "See ... sunset."
Anakin bit his lip when she used the word 'see.' Cliegg would have a fit if Shmi went outside without the protection of anything less than an armed platoon. He hesitated.
"Please," she begged.
"Sure." If his Mom wanted to go outside, then he wasn't going to deny her.
Anakin scooped her carefully into his arms. She clung to his neck while he maneuvered her through the empty atrium, picked up a blaster rifle from the case by the stairs as a precaution, and carried her to the surface, all the while keeping an eye out for Cliegg. Even Anakin wouldn't take her outside of the safety zone, so he settled her against the warm wall of the dome facing west, and squatted down next to her with the rifle across his lap, keeping watch for movement along the perimeter. Shmi raised her face to the suns, which were beginning their evening descent into glorious light and color.
She can't see this. The thought twisted Anakin's gut. His throat constricted. She can't see any of this.
But Shmi's face was smooth and serene. She even had the faintest ghost of a smile on her lips. Anakin watched her for a while, and then dared to close his eyes for a moment too, curious about what she felt, about what she might perceive.
The waning sunlight warmed his face it a way he hadn't quite noticed before – softly, without the burning harshness of midday. The air became a thing alive, full of tiny movements. And it brought smells with it – all kinds of scents, from the bland dry base note of dust and rock to the mineral odor of the clay in the wall. Anakin sniffed the air like an animal, detecting for the first time infinite tiny variations in scent for which he had no name.
He stretched out with his feelings, the way Obi-Wan had taught him to do so long ago. He had found it a difficult trick then, not fully understanding what Obi-Wan was getting at, but he had practiced it faithfully in the intervening years, and now it felt completely normal to send out his awareness and feel as if he could actually touch the suns. Behind his closed eyes his mind swirled with sunset colors. When he opened them, the colors and patterns he saw were still there - sight merely confirmed them. He glanced at his mother again, and wondered whether she too could 'see' the sunset without use of her eyes. It was a new thought. He'd have to make sure that Cliegg agreed to bring her out here in the evenings when he was gone.
Shmi seemed to sense that he was thinking about his departure.
"Don't be afraid," she said thickly.
"I'm not. Not really." He laughed a little. "It's crazy. Do you know that I've never navigated a hyperspace jump before? I mean, I know how it's done. I've studied it. I've rebuilt dozens of navcomputers. I know how the programming works. I just... haven't done it."
"You can."
"Yes." Anakin ran some sand through his fingers. "I'll just plug in the coordinates and go."
"Where?"
"I'm not exactly sure. It's a planetoid of some kind. An old mining colony, I think."
Shmi didn't reply. Anakin didn't expect her to. What could anyone say about the obvious insanity of what he was about to do? The risks were off the charts. And yet...
"I have to go, Mom."
"I know."
"I have to find out if it was me... or them."
"Not you," Shmi said firmly. "Jedi ... were... wrong."
Anakin closed his eyes again. If he could finally get an answer to the question that had eaten away at him for ten long, years ... What was so wrong with me? ... then maybe, finally, it would stop burning away in his heart, smoldering at the edges of everything he thought and did. It would be nice to have some peace.
Despite friends, despite family, it is a hard fate to be the only one of your kind. His mother understood this. She was the only one who did.
"Shmi!" Cliegg's voice bellowed from somewhere behind them, probably at the top of the entry stairs.
"We'd better go," Anakin whispered, and gathered his mother up in his arms again.
Cliegg was red with fury when they rounded the dome and came into view.
"It's all right," Anakin said defensively. "Mom just wanted some fresh air."
"DON'T YOU EVER ..." Cliegg bellowed, but Shmi raised her hand to her lips and he stopped shouting. Anakin brought her closer until they were standing right next to Cliegg. He would have stared his stepfather down, but Cliegg avoided his eyes.
"Shhhh... Shmi soothed, reaching her hand out for Cliegg, and coming nowhere near. "I asked... Ani.".
Cliegg caught the searching hand and held it tightly for a moment before letting go. "Come inside now," he said gruffly, still avoiding Anakin's gaze.
As Anakin carried her down the stairs, Shmi whispered, "Take... Threepio..."
"Threepio? Take him where?"
"Take... with you..."
"You want me to take Threepio with me?" Cliegg, who had preceded them down the stairs, looked up, startled.
"Yes."
"Mom, he's just a protocol droid. He can't help me. Now, if I had an astromech..."
"Take him!" she urged hoarsely, startling Anakin with her vehemence.
"OK, OK, I'll take him." Anakin looked at Cliegg. "If that's all right with you."
Cliegg waved him off. "Take the damn droid! And good riddance."
When the three humans had crossed the atrium in the direction of the sleeping chambers, the shabby-looking protocol droid that had been standing in the shadows under the stairs awaiting orders said softly, "Oh, dear. Oh, dear."
x
"You seem to be feeling better."
Padmé looked up from a barely touched plate of food to see Obi-Wan standing in the doorway of her sitting room.
She gestured to indicate her breakfast tray. "As you can see, they have me eating again. The medics declared my recovery near-miraculous."
"I know. I spoke to them." Obi-wan didn't move toward her. He looked as composed as always, but there was something about his bearing, a kind of hidden tension, that suggested he was about to deliver news that she wasn't going to like.
Padmé took another experimental bite of fruit. Miraculous recovery or no, she still wasn't feeling well enough to face it. She was exhausted and dizzy, and having spent the better part of the night up and making plans hadn't helped either.
As a result of the night's efforts, she had news for Obi-Wan, too. And she knew that he definitely wasn't going to like it.
Sure enough, Obi-Wan wasted no time in making his announcement. "Padmé, I have decided where to take you to ensure your safety."
When Padmé didn't respond right away, he added, "You do understand that there can be no more arguments about this."
"Of course," Padmé stared at her plate, her fork poised delicately between a piece of Shurra fruit and a slice of sweetmeat. Neither one appealed. "You were right all along. I apologize for having given you such a hard time." Putting her fork down in surrender, she treated Obi-Wan to the best smile she could muster, considering that her face still felt puffy from yesterday's weeping. "Would you like some tea?"
His eyes settled on her, probing, unmoved by her attempt at charm. "No, thank you."
"Well, then." Padmé pushed away the tray. "If there is nothing else, I suppose we should get going. I'm packed and ready. Our transport is waiting on the landing platform."
Obi-Wan moved closer. "Transport?"
"Yes," Padmé said, mustering a certain false brightness. "Master Windu has provided us with a suitable ship, and a shuttle to take us to it."
"Master Windu? When did you ... I haven't disturbed Master Windu with our plans ... it's inappropriate... "
"He didn't mind. He was very gracious, and very quick to help. He agreed that my plan was a good one. Actually, his exact words were, 'Senator, you seem to have a knack for being the sand flea in every jar of ointment. I wish you good luck with this scheme of yours. You will need it.' But then he authorized our transport, so I took it as a positive statement.
"Your plan? Your scheme? What are you talking about?"
"We're leaving Coruscant, Obi-Wan. In fact, we're leaving the Core. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"
"Excuse me, My Lady, but I'm in charge of security here!"
"Well, technically speaking, the Jedi are in charge of my security, and accountable to the Supreme Chancellor for it. Master Windu represents the Jedi Council, does he not? I had a proposal, and I felt it best to clear it at the highest levels." She fixed him with her severest Senator Amidala look. "So there could be no lingering questions or concerns."
"What have you done, My Lady?" Obi-Wan's tone would have stopped an ordinary being cold at fifty paces.
Padmé didn't flinch. "I'm helping." She let a few heartbeats go by. "Just as Master Jinn helped me all those years ago." She stood up and moved closer to Obi-Wan, who was staring at her. "In fact, you could say that Master Jinn was the inspiration for my plan. I learned so much from him."
"Where are we going?" Obi-Wan asked very, very quietly. His stare had turned to flint. Eventually she had to look away.
"To the Outer Rim."
"Where exactly?" The more questions Obi-Wan had to ask, the quieter his voice got. The quieter his voice got, the more it made Padmé nervous.
"Tatooine," she said quickly. "It's a place I've hidden before. You remember..."
Obi-Wan didn't say anything. He just stared at her. For a long time.
"Obi-Wan, I'm sorry that I went over your head... " Padmé stopped. Somehow her tongue ceased working.
Obi-Wan stared at her some more. Then he turned abruptly and left.
He still hadn't said a word.
"You know, if I hadn't been told it was impossible, I'd say that you just got under that Jedi's skin."
Padmé turned around to see Eirtaé standing behind her, folding a shawl. "You heard?"
"Of course. I also overheard your call to Master Windu last night. It wasn't exactly as you represented it to the Jedi, was it?"
Padmé shrugged. "I only wanted to know whether going to Tatooine would be a problem for Obi-Wan. You know... because of what happened between him and Anakin. I was trying to avoid trouble, not make it!"
"Really? Because it seems to me that what you were trying to do was to get your own way, no matter the cost."
Padmé rubbed her face, suddenly exhausted again. "Maybe I was. I'm tired of being ordered around for my own good. I want to have some say in what happens next."
"Apparently, you have succeeded."
"Yes. But I'm beginning to regret having been so cavalier about it."
"So underhanded, you mean."
Padmé looked sourly at the Handmaiden. "Eirtaé, if you were anyone else..."
"But I'm not."
Padmé felt herself beginning to tremble. It was something she couldn't control, as if her body were not her own. Just before her knees buckled, Eirtaé caught her and guided her to a sofa.
"You are not as well as you might think. You should rest."
"Breakfast didn't sit well," Padmé said weakly. "No matter what the medics said."
"Maybe you should re-think this plan of yours," Eirtaé suggested gently. "Tatooine is not a particularly hospitable planet. Perhaps the Jedi has come up with a less ... ah... adventurous option."
Padmé smiled wanly. "My credibility with the Jedi Council already is stretched thin. I don't think that they would hear me out if I approached them a second time."
Eirtaé tucked the shawl she'd been carrying around Padmé's shoulders. "Stay here. I'll send Rhea to you, and then I'll find the Jedi and speak with him about this."
"He trusted me, Eirtaé. Anakin trusted me completely. If I had known what would happen ... if someone had told me that they were sending him back..."
"I know."
"I just want to see him, you know. To make sure he's all right." To make sure he doesn't blame me. "It seemed like such a perfect plan."
"I know! Rest now."
Padmé leaned her head back into the cushions, trying to forget the cold spark in Obi-Wan's eyes. She closed her eyes, but the image wouldn't go away.
She was too tired and too ill to be playing hardball. Had she been more herself, Padmé would have been quick to suspect that the Jedi Council's support for her venture had been entirely too easily obtained.
