Chapter Nine: It Happened on the Way to Coruscant

Two hours before the Unconquerable Spirit's departure from Naboo's orbit, the three Jedi were summoned to the queen's personal chambers by Typho, Amidala's new security chief. The summons was odd, in and of itself, but her failure to give a reason stood out all the more. Despite this, Anakin didn't have any bad feelings about it, and Qui-Gon told him he needed to trust those feelings.

Her chambers were as spacious and open as the rest of the palace, and as filled with light. But gone was the marble, replaced by soft carpeting and overstuffed furniture. The three of them were ushered into a sitting room, but none of them sat, standing instead in the warm streams of sunlight by the window.

A few moments after their arrival, three handmaidens emerged into the sitting room. Gone were their hooded, orange dresses, replaced my more sensible, white traveling cloaks with ornate, silver clasps. The lead one, Sabé, acknowledged the Jedi. "The queen has another request to make of you, Master Jedi."

She gestured to the handmaiden beside her, who stepped forward and pulled back her hood. It was Padmé. She smiled at the Jedi. "My name is Padmé Naberrie Amidala. I am the queen of Naboo."

Qui-Gon's eyes widened, and he bowed. Somehow, he hadn't seen it coming. "Your majesty."

"As to the request," Padmé said. "I will be using a decoy. Because of the attack at Malastare, my handmaiden Yané will be taking my place. However, Captain Typho has urged me to take further measures to protect myself, as these pirates have been found to be resourceful. I do not trust many people, Master Jinn, but I trust you. For that reason, I would like to ask for passage back to Coruscant aboard Skywalker's ship."

A'Sharad nodded. "It would keep you away from the danger. As long as everyone was looking at the decoy, no one would suspect you were with us."

"With Jango Fett aboard the Unconquerable Spirit on his way to trial, it might be best to have you be elsewhere," Qui-Gon added. "This plan makes sense, your majesty. But I should travel with the Unconquerable Spirit, to keep an eye on Fett and to draw eyes to the decoy queen. If I was with her, no one would suspect to look elsewhere."

Padmé nodded. "I would feel safer traveling with you."

"I assure you, both Anakin and A'Sharad are more than capable of protecting you on this journey. I hear Anakin is one of the finest pilots in the galaxy, and A'Sharad is soon to face the Trials and become a Knight. You will be quite safe with them."

Padmé acquiesced, though reluctantly. "Very well. As I said, I trust you, Master Jinn."

Two hours later, the Unconquerable Spirit left orbit, with the decoy queen and Qui-Gon on board. Twenty minutes after that, Anakin, A'Sharad, Padmé, Sabé, and Dormé headed out to the Runaway Phenom, still docked in the palace hangar. A number of boxy, worker droids moved from the boarding ramp to a hover transport, carting out various pieces of expensive-looking furniture, and questionable and scandalous art pieces. Threepio stood by the ramp, directing them.

"Master Anakin! These droids are not moving as fast as they could be, the stupid lunks of metal! They haven't gotten all the sold pieces off the ship yet!"

"It's all right, Threepio. How much longer do you need?"

"We should be done in ten minutes."

Anakin nodded as he surveyed the workers. "And how much did we earn from the sales?"

"Nearly one million credits, sir! It would have been higher on other worlds, but I fear there's just not the same need for Hutt luxury items on this world. In the short time we had, I was not able to sell everything. I did what I could but –"

Anakin cut him off with a wave. "It's all right. We can sell the rest when we return to Coruscant."

He headed up into the cockpit to begin the startup procedures, as A'Sharad helped the women settle into whatever Threepio hadn't sold. As he dropped into the rigid pilot's seat, he wondered how such a beautiful ship could have such uncomfortable chairs. A few moments later, A'Sharad sat beside him in the co-pilot's position. As Anakin ran through the entire sequence, feeling the familiar thrum of engine start-up beneath him, he couldn't quite believe the turn in his fortune. He was a Jedi, owned a beautiful ship, and now had a million credits to his name . . . nearly everything he'd ever hoped for had come to pass. As he thought that, guilt stabbed at him. He was free while his mother remained a slave. As his mind worked automatically to flip switches and press buttons, his mind lingered on his memories of her.

He took a quick look at the star charts. Tatooine wasn't that far from Naboo, and it was actually closer to the Corellian Run, a major hyperspace route that might get them to the Core faster. And he did have a million credits now, worth more than the price of nearly any slave. Even if credits were not something usually accepted on such a backwater world, so far from the Republic, a million was too high a number to pass up, especially for a gambler like Watto. He closed his eyes for a moment, meditating on the possibilities.

Then, Anakin leaned back in the chair and shouted down the corridor, hoping his voice would carry. "Threepio! Get in here!"

A minute later, the droid hobbled in. "Yes, Master Anakin?"

"I need you to make the calculations for the jump to hyperspace. Calculate us a course that can swing us by Tatooine and then onto the Corellian Run."

A'Sharad wasn't happy about Anakin's changes to the plan, but he could do little to change Anakin's mind, especially considering it was to save his mother. Truthfully, A'Sharad knew something of what Anakin felt. For his own first fifteen years, he'd lived with his father in the deserts of Tatooine, learning the ways of the Jedi and the Tuskens, far from anything resembling the Jedi Order. It all ended when his father was murdered and he was finally taken in by the Jedi. So Anakin wasn't the only unusual Jedi in existence. Though he never spoke of it, A'Sharad knew that if he had a chance to get his father back, he'd take it. How could he argue with Anakin?

So A'Sharad relented, though part of him felt as if he were betraying the Jedi in some way, by reuniting a Padawan with his parents. What if the emotions triggered by such a reunion led Anakin toward the dark side? That would be unacceptable. So, once they had left Naboo and entered into hyperspace, A'Sharad turned to Anakin. "I think it's time we start teaching you to meditate like a Jedi."

"Shouldn't that wait until we're back with Qui-Gon?"

A'Sharad shook his head. "If we're going to get your mother out of slavery, you'll need focus and a clear head. Meditation will help." He waved for Anakin to follow him. "Let's go."

He led Anakin to a large, circular room, now stripped of all decoration and furniture. "Meditation will calm your emotions, allow you to focus outside yourself." He gestured around the beige-colored room. "There are no distractions here."

Anakin pulled off his boots, standing on the metal floor barefoot. A'Sharad didn't even want to think about what he was standing on. Anakin shrugged. "I've done this before, with a lot more around me. I can sense everyone on this ship."

"I'm talking about sensing farther. When you're feeling out through the ground, your senses are limited to what's touching it. You could sense all the life on the planet, but what about further? What about the universe? The Force extends further, connects everything, every planet, every star. The emptiness of space is no boundary to it." Gracefully, A'Sharad leaped up and over Anakin's head, landing on his hands on the other side. "Handstands are uncomfortable, require concentration. They force you to stop focusing on yourself and your own thoughts and turn that focus to the action itself. Try it, let it fuel your connection to the Force, connect you to everything else."

He flipped back over and turned toward the door. "I'm going to go check on the queen and explain our little detour."

Anakin nodded as A'Sharad left him alone in the empty room. He pulled of his tunic, tossing it and his boots to the wall. He bent over, placing his palms flat on the cool floor. Slowly, he transferred his weight to them and forced his legs up. It was just like standing up, he told himself. Yet, no sooner did his legs go vertical than his weight shifted, he overcompensated and fell back toward the floor. At least he landed somewhat gracefully, coming up in a roll. He tried again and a third time, to the same results.

He let out a long breath, trying to avoid frustration. The Jedi probably practiced this from childhood, probably did handstands in the nursery and back flips before they could walk. He was going to need help. So Anakin turned his back to the wall and tried again, bracing his body against it. He slowly pushed his body up. The muscles in his arms quivered and his veins pulsed. A heavy grimace crossed his face. His heels thumped the wall as he used it to steady himself. There was no way he would be able to maintain it.

How did the Jedi do it? The Force seemed to make them stronger—they ran faster, jumped further, lifted more. Somehow the Force flowed through them. So he closed his eyes and willed it. Immediately, he felt it. Power surged through his arms and they steadied out. His breathing steadied.

Then he felt everything in the Force. First it was the life on this ship but not just the humans but life straight down to the bacteria. Then it went further. Trillions of people on billions of worlds, each life like a star in its own, moving, forming, changing, growing. The very light of them pierced to Anakin's soul, making him so keenly aware of all of them. He could not see the universe as much as be dazzled by it. Each point of light whirled through time, connecting to the others, shifting in pieces and masses, stretching out and fighting ever more to grow brighter. Their lights winked in and out as they lived and died, yet their numbers always increased, like a steady upward spiral of light. Ever more the universe was filling itself with this life.

Anakin pulled his senses back to the ship, too overwhelmed to continue. Yet now, the four others on the ship flashed brighter than beacons, their pasts and possible futures all spread out before him. Sabé's and Dormé's lives were so intertwined with their queen's that he found them inseparable. Where her path forked, theirs did too. They all started out together, traveling the same road, though Padmé's light grew faster and brighter. Both women rushed along, caught in a current not their own, swept to an end they had no control over. They'd given their service to the queen, and they might well give their lives for it.

A'Sharad had an interestingly murky light, like the moon caught behind the cloud yet still casting some of its light outward. He sat on the terminus between day and night, good and evil, and his path was in no ways set. He could yet veer either direction, as events played out around him. The power of his choices could shape the galaxy, building it toward glory or dragging it toward despair. His path now led toward light, but it was a narrow path indeed, closed in on both sides, with dark claws lurking in the shadows, a krayt dragon waiting in its cave, hungry and waiting for its prey. And if once he was dragged into that cave, the darkness would consume his light and forever it would dominate his destiny.

Then there was Padmé, brighter by far than the rest. Her path was never buried in darkness; her purity would be unquestioned. Even when the shadow drew close, it could never consume her. Destroy her, perhaps, but never ruin her. She was, in many ways, incorruptible. The marks she left behind her were etched into the very stones of the galaxy—it cultivated the best out of it, like a gardener with a green thumb, she grew beauty by her presence, by her desire for good, by her ceaseless, indefatigable work for the benefit of everyone around her.

Despite himself, overcome by her sheer presence, he whispered her name into the Force. Padmé.

A'Sharad found the three women in what had been Jabba's throne room, but was now nothing but a cavernous, empty space, more dim and hollow than anything. Some unsold furniture remained, and they had moved three, mismatched chairs and a small, square table to the center, under a grotesquely painted dome. All three looked toward him as he entered, and it took him a moment to place which was the queen. Then again, he supposed, that was the idea.

He offered her a shallow bow. She returned it with a smile. "There is no need to bow here, Padawan. While as a decoy, I am Padmé only."

He grabbed another, spindle-legged chair, and set it between the handmaidens, sitting down in it backwards. "Then I insist you call me A'Sharad instead. If you are not standing on your title, then certainly, we can't."

She nodded. "Very well then, A'Sharad."

"How long until we arrive on Coruscant?" Dormé asked. "And are we to expect that the decoy will arrive before us?"

"Most certainly." He crossed his arms over the back of the chair, and leaned in, losing any formal airs he'd brought into the room. "We've had to make a detour toward Tatooine, an Outer Rim world controlled by the Hutts."

All three women looked at him with something akin to incredulity mixed with irritation. "And why is this?' Padmé asked. "Master Jinn made no mention of a detour."

"It's something Anakin and I agreed to. You may not be aware, but slavery still exists in this galaxy, right alongside all the other crimes. Anakin himself was a slave only days ago and his mother is still a slave on Tatooine. With the sale of much of this ship, Anakin can afford to buy his mother's freedom."

A'Sharad wasn't sure if Padmé was more shocked by slavery's continued existence, or by Anakin's history. "And what of the other slaves? How many are there?"

A'Sharad shrugged. "I don't know. The Hutts maintain one of the largest slave trades in the galaxy. There could be over a million of them."

"And the Republic has done nothing for them?" Sabé asked.

A'Sharad grimaced. He didn't want to admit the Republic's failure yet again but it was something they had failed to change—the Hutts controlled much more of the galaxy than any gangsters had right to. Reluctantly, he nodded. At least he didn't have to actually admit to it.

"This is something we must change," Padmé said. She looked to her handmaidens.

They gave their silent agreement. "After the secession," Sabé said, "there will be a lot to focus on, including the safety of our world."

Padmé nodded. "And once that is secured, we can work to end slavery in Hutt Space."

"I don't think you understand that kind of undertaking," A'Sharad said. "This is a deeply ingrained part of their culture that's been part of the galaxy for millennia. You just can't wipe it out by buying all the slaves. That would require more wealth than the entire Republic has."

"And that is why the Republic has failed."

They continued to debate slavery and the Republic failures for a while, until, in the middle of an impassioned argument for the rights of the oppressed, Padmé trailed off. Sabé placed a hand on hers. "Are you all right? Is something wrong?"

Padmé shook her head. "No, no I'm fine." She offered a half-smile to the others that fooled no one. She was the most honest politician that A'Sharad had ever met. That may have been why Naboo elected such young leaders.

Padmé rose from the table. She put a hand on Dormé's shoulder as she passed. "I need to take a walk." She met their eyes with a sincere gaze. "I'll be all right. Just need to clear my head."

She walked out into the corridors. Once they had shut, she walked with a purpose. She didn't know the layout of this ship but, somehow, she knew where she was going. She'd heard a voice, clear as those with her in the room, though it was Anakin's. He had called for her. She knew that, though she couldn't place how she knew it. But it rang true in every fiber of her being, with the same surety she had in seceding from the Republic.

She found the room, and rested her hands on the door. She was nervous and, though she wanted to peg it on following a voice in her head, she knew that wasn't it. So she opened the door, to find Anakin doing a headstand by the far wall, without shirt or shoes. He was a lean, tanned young man, and his torso was covered in tattoos. She stood there for a moment, watching his expression of absolute serenity, before quietly approaching him and crouching down. "Anakin?" she whispered.

His eyes shot open with a start. Whatever concentration he had failed him then, and he tumbled forward. Padmé only barely skirted out of the way. She knelt at his side, as he blinked upward into the dim light, a look of confusion passing over his face. "Padmé?" he asked, squinting up at her.

"Yes. Are you all right?"

"I . . . I think so." Anakin groaned as he forced himself into as sitting position.

"I heard you calling for me. But not your voice or . . . I think it was through the Force."

He nodded. "I was meditating like A'Sharad showed me. And I saw the future for you and A'Sharad and the handmaidens. And there was something different about you, about your presence. I think I was caught off-guard by it."

Anakin leaned back against the wall and Padmé settled beside him. He was a curious boy, unlike any other Jedi she'd met. All of this was still so new to him, though she didn't see how—weren't the Jedi taken from their families while young and raised on Coruscant? And the tattoos definitely weren't something she'd seen many Jedi with. She gestured to them. "What are all these for? Are they tribal on your world? Tatooine, right?"

"Tatooine, yeah, but they're not really tribal. They're kind of like a status thing among some of the slaves. I was a podracer for Jabba the Hutt, and a good one." He grinned widely. "I'm the only human who can do it, you know. It requires hyperspace-fast reflexes." He was very proud of that, but even prouder of this next statement. "These are tattoos from every race I've won. My competitors are always reminded of how many times they've lost to me. Kinda intimidates them a bit."

"That's quite a few races you've one, then. But you've lost some?"

"Oh yeah, plenty. Destroyed a few pods too. I've just won more than I've lost and finished better than my competitors. It's a cutthroat sport but I'm one of the best there is."

"Because you have Jedi reflexes."

"Yep. Apparently. I only found this out a few days ago."

"You were a slave. A'Sharad told us when he mentioned where we were going and why. How did you get free from them?"

Anakin shrugged. "It was a hell of a lot of luck, I'll tell you. Each slave has a transmitter installed in them—if we try to run, BOOM! They blow us up. I gambled on a race last year and took my winnings to a tech who could deactivate mine. It took every last peggat of the winnings but it was worth it. Then, when the Jedi showed up, things just kind of rolled out of control and now here I am." He gestured toward the empty room around them. "This used to be Jabba's ship."

Padmé gave him a skeptical look. "And we're going back to his world with his ship? That is bold."

Anakin shrugged. "It's what we had. Once we get to Coruscant, I don't know what chance we'll have to come back again. And Jedi really can't be millionaires, so I don't know if I can keep any of it anyway." He looked at her then, and she was caught by his eyes—they were a pale, ice blue, like a winter sky. "I'm sorry that I pulled this detour on you." It was the most sincere apology she'd ever heard, though that didn't say much in a life of politics.

She offered him a genuine smile. "It's all right. I understand. I wish you would have consulted me first, though."

He nodded, but offered no other answer. They sat awhile in the room, talking, mostly sharing about their lives growing up, about how vastly different their backgrounds were. Padmé was repeatedly shocked by the things she had never experienced—slavery, murder, gambling, and lies upon lies. "How did you . . . how did you not end up like that?" she asked.

He shrugged. "It was my mother and my first owner, Watto. He was pretty good about keeping me out of the worst of it—most of it I only saw with Jabba. My mother also made it very clear what was right and wrong and how to do the right thing. I think she is the most honorable slave there ever was."

"I am excited to meet her, then." She saw a flicker of uncertainty cross his face, and she placed a hand on his, as so often she and her handmaidens did to comfort each other. "You will see her again, Anakin. I'm sure she is still safe."

He nodded, though she could tell he was far from certain. "I hope so," he whispered. "If Watto lost me, he could lose her. Whose hands could she be in now? Few masters will treat her as well as Watto did."

"We can follow the trail. We'll be able to find her and buy her freedom. You two will be together again." Her heart went out to him and to the pain he felt at this separation. She didn't know what it would be like to have nothing but her family and then to lose even that.

He turned to her then, and wrapped his arms around her in a hug. It was inappropriate, especially to the queen, but Padmé's heart had softened toward him. She hugged him back, resting her chin on his shoulder as she did so. They held each other for a while, unmoving, until Padmé released him. They parted a little, but Anakin rested his forehead on her shoulder. His cheeks were wet—he'd been crying.

Padmé realized then that it may well have been the first time he'd allowed himself to cry since he was separated from his mother. He'd had all these emotions pent up inside him and, for whatever reason, felt comfortable sharing them with her. She leaned back and lowered her forehead to touch his. "It will be okay, Anakin. I promise you."