Part 2: Naboo

Love is a virtue,

Love is urgent,

It connects me to you, you to me.

Love is beautiful,

Love is everywhere.

Forbidden Love is urgent.

Love is beautiful,

But falling in Love is complicated.

I

It feels like we've been traveling for days. Despite our convincing disguises, we keep to ourselves in a small area on the opposite side of a large wall of baggage and crates. A small table and two chairs are the rocks that we cling to during this journey. Even though we're safe, solidarity is starting to sink in and greet me as an enemy.

Don't get me wrong; I love the thought of going home. I love the thought of being safe. I'll get to spend some time with my family, and keep relevance with my position through communication with the Queen. I was stubborn on Coruscant. Now, however, I've gratefully accepted—even enjoyed—the prospect of going home.

There are so many beautiful places on Naboo. I create a small list in my mind of the more secluded, peaceful locations. When I think of Varykino, every other location that crosses my mind seems pointless. Varykino is perfect. It is in the heart of the lake country on Naboo. The mere thought of it brings me so many welcome memories. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't one of my favorite places on Naboo. I can almost feel as though I'm back during my years of Level Three schooling, visiting the Lake Retreat with my friends and family.

Instinctively, I smile. I look around the dark, dank environment of the Spacefreighter, trying to imagine it as the dining room of the Lake Retreat, or even the outside garden terrace. But my effort is useless. Such a depressing room could never convincingly transform to the beauty of the Lake Palace. It's almost a little more interesting that I cannot envision it right now. It makes getting there seem to be that much more of a reward.

I look down, allowing my lace veil to conceal my face to the space crud that walk past our sitting area. I'm sit next to Anakin. I wish I could tell him stories about Varykino, now that it is on my mind. When I look down at him, I see he is sleeping. Regardless, I think he'll like being at Varykino. Being that it is my family's tenancy, Anakin and I should have no problem in being able to staying there.

It's amusing to me to realize that we are not unlike the other passengers on the Spacefreighter. We are all emigrants. However, I know where I am going and why. How many other people in here can say the same thing? How many other people are running from assassins? How many people on here are the assassins themselves? I don't know what an assassin looks like. I've never even seen the one who so desperately wanted me killed. It makes me wonder again what kind of person thinks it's OK to kill other living, breathing, intelligent life for a career?

This galaxy works in many twisted ways. I lose sight of this when I'm on Naboo. I lose sight of this strange concept of diversity when I'm in my secluded, perfect penthouse apartment on Coruscant. I say that bitterly because while it is such a luxury, what sense of the real world does it provide me? What sense of real issues do I get from living in a penthouse apartment, up on the higher levels of the planet when all the real issues are down in the lower levels? Even now, my situation is disconnected from the situations of ordinary citizens.

This is what space travel is like for most people. I've grown so accustomed to private cruisers and starships. I haven't used this public transportation method in years. What does that say about my connection as a politician to the ordinary citizen of the Republic?

Political positions are quite interesting jobs. We spend our lives devoted to making this galaxy a better place. We spend our lives working all hours of the day to give equal and just rights to every being in the galaxy whether in the center of the galaxy, or off in the Outer Rim territories. Yet something seems legitimately wrong in the ideology that someone who spends their lives hopping from ritzy apartment to ritzy apartment can understand and relate to the troubles of a starving, plague stricken world where populations are dying off in millions by the minute.

This troubles me. I know I'm guilty of it. There has to be something wrong here. I was just attacked on the Capitol. Now, I had innumerable people make efforts to send me back to my home planet, track down my killer, and protect me from further danger. Yet somewhere, someone is under similar assassination right now. No one is helping them. No one is tracking down the killer for him or her. No one is protecting them. They have nowhere to go. They have nowhere to hide. Does this make me seem like a bad person? Is it wrong of me to seek refuge when so many others may be in similar situations with no refuge to seek?

These troubling thoughts begin to bother me. I try to shake them from my head by looking around for Artoo. I spot him over by the refreshments and meal counter. He is grabbing soup bowls for Ani and me. He must be up to something because I hear the server behind the counter yell, "Hey! No droids!"

I watch in amusement as Artoo presses his luck to sneak us back more food, before retreating back to us. I may be mistaken, but it looks as though he rolls back to our table with a more hurried, brisk pace than usual, as if he is worried the staff will chase him around the ship for snagging food. This makes me smile.

I look down at Ani again and I see that in the brief moment that passed, his forehead is now covered in beads of sweat. He has a worried look on his face and he is twitching painfully. Within moments, he becomes restless, and it is evident that he is having a nightmare. Artoo and I do nothing. We sit and look sympathetically on him. He begins to scream.

"No, no! Mom, no! Mom! NO!"

I can't bear it anymore. I gently place my hand down on his arm. I can feel his arms are wet. Even underneath his sleeve he must be sweating.

His eyes spring open and he breaths heavily. Looking around, gathering his bearings, he looks up at me and I see the wave of relief flood through him that it was only a dream.

"What?" He says to me, seeming confused.

"You seemed to be having a nightmare." I say, simply staring at him. I feel foolish but I realize he must be feeling the same.

He looks away from me with a contemplative scowl. He wears this expression as if he's trying to recount his dreams, as if he is worried he revealed any sort of secrets while screaming during the dream.

I take one of the bowls of mush and bread from Artoo and place it on the table by him.

"Are you hungry?" I ask.

"Yeah." He sighs, propping himself up and sitting on the chair across from me. The makeshift table separates us now.

"Thanks," He replies, dipping his head down to eat.

"We went into lightspeed a while ago." I say, trying to change the subject and add a lighter mood to the situation. Now is not the time to talk about his nightmare.

For the first time since Coruscant, he looks into my eyes.

"I look forward to seeing Naboo again. I've thought about it every day since I left. It's by far the most beautiful place I've ever seen." He says in a tone that made it seem as if that was a loaded compliment, as if he meant something deeper.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I don't want him to mean anything deeper. I'm not sure how to respond to this type of conversation from Ani.

"It may not be as you remember it," I say. I don't want him giving this false, prefabricated image to Naboo. Yes, it is beautiful. But I don't want him to be disappointed by what he expects to get from this trip. "Time changes perception."

"Sometimes it does," he says, still giving me that intense gaze. He won't break it and now I'm the one avoiding looking into his eyes. "Sometimes for the better."

Feeling awkward, I take a spoonful of mush into my mouth and force it down. It tastes awful, but it was worth it. Seeking a subject change, I speak the first words that come to my head.

"It must be difficult having sworn your life to the Jedi. Not being allowed to visit the places you like, or do the things you like…" I say.

It isn't until I hear the words come from my mouth that I realize that it was an awful thing to say to someone who's life with the Jedi gave him more freedoms than restrains unlike most; it was an awful thing to say to someone who grew up in slavery.

To my surprise, Anakin isn't taken aback by it. He instead finished my sentence with a complete, albeit unexpected last option.

"…Or be with the people that I love." He says directly to me.

"Are you allowed to love? I thought love was forbidden for a Jedi." I ask feeling like venturing more into this conversation.

He takes a breath, the looks at me as if he's speaking professionally.

"Attachment is forbidden. Possession is forbidden. Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is essential to a Jedi's life. So, you might say that we are encouraged to love." He says, finishing with a coy hint of laughter in his tone.

I am floored. Can this really be coming from the same, small Anakin I had known from ten years ago? He sounded so thoughtful, educated, and professional now. It caught me off-guard.

"You've changed so much." I say without hesitation, shaking my head and taking another spoonful of mush.

He smiles at me and replies, "You haven't changed a bit. You're exactly the way I remember you from my dreams."

I freeze when I hear him say this.

He dreams of me? I repeat in my head.

I cannot believe he just said that. How long has he been dreaming of me? What have these dreams involved? What has kept me in his head for ten whole years?

After a moment that lasted too long, he adds, "I doubt if Naboo has changed much either."

"It hasn't." I reply immediately. I refrain from moving the lace veil, actually inviting it to take over my face right now. I can't explain why, but my cheeks have turned every shade of rose, scarlet, and everywhere in between.

I clear my throat and eventually regain enough composure to look up at him and change the subject yet again.

"You were dreaming about your mother earlier, weren't you?"

"Yes," he says sadly, looking down, "I left Tatooine so long ago, my memory of her is fading. I don't want to lose it. And recently, I've been seeing her in my dreams. Vivid dreams. Scary dreams. I worry about her."

He sounds scared, concerned. I'm not surprised that he would rather dream of anything else—of me.

His mother was such a strong-willed woman. It was sad to think that something awful could be happening to her. Sure it was only a dream, but Jedi are not dumb. They can feel when things are real. They can interpret things differently than others. They just…know.

I can see that Anakin is scared for his mother. It has been ten years since they've last seen each other. It has been years since she last hugged him, kissed him goodnight, and told him they'll see each other again one day.

But that was ten years ago. A lot can change in ten years, especially on a planet like Tatooine. He had been freed of slavery, but Shmi was not. And being a slave then can be drastically different than being a slave now, given the rise of the Separatists.

There is nothing I can say to him. He knows Tatooine better than I do. He knows of the vile slave business that the planet thrives on. He knows the dangers of being unprotected and in the wrong hands. He knows the difference and danger between people who love you versus the people who love the idea of you.

Suddenly my problems don't seem to be relevant anymore. Once more, the politician's problems are being solved while the citizen's problems are just beginning to blossom.

I give him a sympathetic look like before, this time giving it more meaning that I want to. But for Anakin's sake, it's worth it. I just want him to know it'll all be over soon, and we'll be safe on Naboo together.