Interlude Three
Angel Among the Stars

This is not happening.
My husband and his teacher; his mentor; the man he once told me was like a father – circle one another like planets orbiting a star. Deadly bars of blue light are grasped with the ease of master swordsmen in each of their hands, and the hum of the blades permeates the air.
I must do something. I must stop this catastrophic ordeal before it throws my overturned world even further off its axis.
But I am no Jedi.
I cannot wield the Force as these two beacons of power do so effortlessly.
And the tiny shards of hope shifting inside acutely remind me that I have others to protect. Others who cannot defend themselves.
I will die before anything happens to my babies.

My blaster is useless in this fight – even if I could somehow reach the impossible conclusion of whom to shoot first. Facing an opponent with the preternatural ability to anticipate an attack
leaves the chance of success slim, at best.
The weapon I can wield here, and have some likelihood of success…is my voice.
The voice of Padmé Amidala is one of strength and reason in the Galactic Senate.
The voice of Padmé Amidala is the melody that can soothe the tempestuous heart of one man.
The silver pistol taps idly against the soft folds of my gown as I eye the battleground critically. The burnished gold locks of my husband constantly face me; as he sizes up his adversary,
he operates under the assumption that I require protection.
How he can believe that the Jedi Master could attack me is beyond my comprehension.
Something has changed in him – I see it clearly now.
The shadow lurking behind his beautiful eyes has seeped out of his pores and cloaked him, hiding the one I love from view.
This is why he will not look at me.
Because I am not fooled by this strange, jagged reflection.

My palm rests on my womb; the little stars move about nervously, but my touch reassures them and they settle. I draw strength from the warmth and the promise of fulfilled dreams under my fingers, even as my pulse beats a rapid tattoo in fear against my throat.
I push the fear aside; I cannot let the terror of an uncertain future rule over me any longer.
My heart stretches out – as it did in the waning light of dawn – to brush against the one who shares it, whose own essence is twined inexorably with mine.
Anakin…listen to me.
My limited understanding of the energy field that binds the galaxy together and is harnessed by the living power conduit that is my husband prevents me from discerning if he hears my unspoken plea. But I watch his every movement – my interpretation of his body language affords some measure of certainty.
The muscles on his back shift the thin fabric of his robe as he stalks the veranda like a predator. My hand presses more urgently onto my stomach; the physical reminder of a part of Anakin living inside me sustaining me, even as the hand loosely holding a blaster shakes involuntarily.
This is not my Ani.
There is nothing about this…stranger that I recognize.
He is completely focused on the battle, on the inevitable conflict that will end in either his death or the death of his best friend, and he welcomes it. His entire body exudes the confidence and bloodlust of a carnivore on the hunt. A hunt it knows it can win.
Hopelessness closes around me; I feel as if I've fallen into a frozen river, the icy current dragging me down in blind numbness.
You've changed.

The thought surfaces unbidden, and the cruel fist of reality drives a hammer through carefully constructed illusions of peace and security for us – for our family.
Illusions are never made to last.
The shattered remnants shimmer behind my eyes like shards of mirrors, mocking me as they reflect all of the moments that were out of place, when I should have seen that I was allowing myself
to become a pawn in a maze of deceit.
He created them. Perhaps he even believes them.
Horrific images explode inside my brain – images of lightsabers and blaster fire and children fleeing through dark, columned corridors followed by a black shadow and white armor…
The numbness threatens to engulf me, and the small piece of logic left realizes that I am in shock. The sound builds in my eardrums – the energy discharge of assault rifles, the steady hum
of a Jedi sword, and the shouts of pain and betrayal…
"Master Skywalker, there are too many of them! What are we going to do?"

The ice floods my mind, and the unbearable images fade into blackness. Everything fades.
A sudden pulse against my palm causes warmth to tease my fingertips, and my skin tingles.
It seems as if I am watching myself from far away. I stare down at the swell in utter detachment and bemusement.
Another throb under my fingers – harder, more insistent – and the overwhelming rush of returning to my senses makes me gasp and stagger into an ornate pillar.
Distantly, the crash of opposing lightsabers fills the silence, and I slowly focus on the tall, darkly clad figure weaving a pattern of intense blue through the air.
The wind stings my cheeks with bitter cold, and I realize that they are wet.
But I will not cry any more.
I am Padmé Amidala Skywalker. I have fought in two wars, side by side with Jedi.
I have ruled over my planet and its people to the best of my ability. I have served democracy and the citizens of the Republic as a Galactic Senator, and I will see that great government restored
to an even brighter future. I will ensure that my children do not live in fear.
I will find a way.

Resolve strikes a flame inside me like a spark ignites kindling, and the numbness of despair flees. The little ones pulled me from the edge of the abyss – how is unimportant, although the practical facet of my nature rationalizes that I have merely become aware once more of my surroundings and my unborn children's movement served as an anchor for my psyche.
Not everything in this universe can be rationalized or categorized, and the desire for a logical explanation recedes. The twins saved me from my own selfish misery; they are my – our miracles, and their mysterious power is one more gift bestowed upon me.
Help me, I address them silently, blocking out the prickling sensation of foolishness, and envision their tiny, perfect faces. Help me reach him.
The heat of a thousand suns blooms in my chest, and all emotion is swallowed by an intense swell of love. It is unfettered, pure, and I have never before felt anything so innocent… except in those rare times with Ani when all the cares of this world diminish. My eyes fall closed, and I picture him in my mind, existing in one of those eternal moments, and he turns to me, his smile brightening the sky…
Anakin.

The call vibrates through the cord connecting us and then, something brushes against my spirit, like the soft down of a feather. My eyes snap open as he falters simultaneously. It only lasts for a smattering of seconds, but it speaks to me with a voice of its own. Head slightly tilted as if listening to faraway music, the confident set of his shoulders twitches in response to the unexpected contact.
Tears clog my throat, yet do not spill down my raw cheekbones as I mouth the words repeated in the ether between our souls.
Don't leave me.
His refined, practiced mental touch latches onto my sending like a hand reaching out for aid.
The sensation is beyond description; my awestruck mind wonders if this is how he sees the universe each day – colors leap out at me with startling intensity, the tiniest noises are instantly loud, and the passion of all I feel takes my breath away.
He withdraws roughly, the chill of an unexpected twilight in the brilliance of our link shivering over me as I return to my body in the realm of mortals. I struggle to process what just happened within the hidden depths of my mind. Dimly I focus on Obi-Wan's face, scarcely visible above my husband's left shoulder. He looks so tired, and older than the last time I saw him, yet there is a peculiar gleam in his sad, wise gaze.
As if he knows what I am attempting and the thought causes him to waver between sorrow and hope.
My Ani's head slowly rotates to glance over the opposite shoulder, his posture relaxing so his blade points toward the ground. Sweat has lashed strands of his unruly hair to his forehead and cheeks, and his brows have risen so high that they seem to disappear as he stares at me in amazement. His eyes…

I stumble backwards, the dark ice flooding my veins. Denial screams from my heart, shrieking that it is not real, that it can't be real. I recoil from his outstretched hand, horrified alarm beating rapidly in my chest until my back slams into the cool stone of a far pillar.
"Padmé?" It is his voice, the tone full of tenderness and a twinge of hurt surprise. But he is not speaking. "What's wrong?"
Those eyes do not belong in his beautiful face. Those eyes burn through me like acid – unforgiving golden orbs ringed with crimson, they suffuse me with dread and instinctively my free arm embraces the haven for my children.
This is not happening.

"Who are you…?" A weak whisper rasps into the wind – a voice that should be mine.
He steps closer, his flesh hand raised to brush the curls from my cheek, and suddenly he freezes, staring at the shaft of silver clutched in my hands. I will my hands to cease shaking with fear, and steadily my gaze captures those unfamiliar, terrifying eyes over the barrel of my blaster pistol.
My life has become a nightmare.
A monster capable of killing children wears my husband's skin and pretends that he can take the place of the one I love. I will not surrender to the illusion. My Anakin is in there somewhere, buried inside the darkness – I know it. I believe it.
But I will do whatever is necessary to protect our future.
A trickle of salt water escapes the corner of my eye. It is colder than my chilled skin. The ice imprisons my flesh, but I am calm. The frost has not yet invaded my heart.
Who are you?