Chapter 20

Acceptance, Part I

Historians of the Republic knew. Knowledgeable Senators knew. C-3PO and Artoo Deetoo were neither. As such, both droids were utterly confounded as to why Senator Amidala was piloting the skiff at near breakneck speeds through the skyways of Coruscant on the way to Five Hundred Republica.

With the Senator clearly not interested in protracted discussions about the wisdom of her decisions, C-3PO decided it best to leave well enough alone. He went over to Artoo in an attempt to start up a conversation with the astromech, but Artoo simply swiveled his domed head away as C-3PO approached. C-3PO glanced around the cabin, unsure of what to do.

"If you won't be needing anything else, Milady—"C-3PO began.

"Actually, C-3PO…" Padme interrupted. She had a pained expression on her face and her words almost seemed strained. "There is something more you can do."

C-3PO knew nothing about human anatomy but it was clear that the Senator was in some kind of pain. Her face contorted as she squeezed her eyes shut in an expression that C-3PO could only assume was some form of intense meditation exercise. She gritted her teeth for exactly ten-point-oh-three seconds before her entire expression relaxed. Though naturally excited at the opportunity to serve, C-3PO was equally disconcerted by the Senator's sudden abnormal behavior.

"Is anything the matter, Milady?" C-3PO asked with as close to concern in his voice as he could muster. "I'll be happy to serve in whatever capacity you might deem necessary."

"I know, C-3PO," she responded with a voice that was now apparently free of pain. "I need you to keep the skiff ready to transport me immediately back to the MedLab as soon as Artoo and I return."

"Ma'am?" C-3PO responded. He certainly hadn't considered the possibility that he might remain with the ship. This was not an option he was entirely keen on. "I'm not certain if I should be the one to remain. I have no real experience flying, of course. Artoo, on the other hand, has flown on several occasions. Perhaps he should fly. Why only just the other day, I was telling Artoo how impressive his flying skills were. If only—"

Artoo cut him off with a series of loud chirps as the droid disconnected from the terminal he was accessing and went directly over to Padmé. After another long stream of whistles and beeps, the astromech began emitting a blue horizontal scanning beam that immediately traversed up and down the Senator's frame several times. After a short pause, Artoo began beeping excitedly.

"Contractions?" C-3PO said incredulously. "Are you sure? It was my impression that human beings must be pregnant in order to have contractions!" He looked at Padmé closely for a moment. "I…admit that the Senator has had a few odd changes in her anatomy that might be attributed to such a condition, but I assure you that if this were the case, she would have told me!"

"C-3PO," Padmé replied more patiently than he might have expected, "I am pregnant. And…I am having contractions."

C-3PO looked at her with as much utter surprise and dismay as his monochromatic features would allow.

"Milady," he said. "We must get you immediately to a medical facility! I am certainly not trained to—"

"C-3PO," Padme interrupted the protocol droid. "This is not up for debate. I am going to do what I need to do. You are going to stay here with the ship and keep it ready to take us back to the MedLab. Are we clear?"

C-3PO's photoreceptors collected the light reflecting off the woman's face. His digital systems processed the visual image in an attempt to interpret her expression. While his main processors could not give him a clear answer, C-3PO's memory banks had stored that expression on several occasions—it was abject determination.

"Yes, Milady," he replied quickly. "Quite clear."

"Good!"

Artoo whistled off a sequence of chirps and beeps that seemed to be intended for C-3PO only. C-3PO responded in kind. By the time the two droids had completed their conversation, the skiff was approaching the roof of Five Hundred Republica and Padmé had turned in her chair back to the controls of the skiff.

Several moments of silence were broken by a grunt from the Senator sitting at the control panel as she seemed to be experiencing another of her contractions. Artoo whistled something to C-3PO again but the protocol droid was reluctant to follow the astromech's wishes. Instead, he stared out of the main viewing window at Five Hundred Republica.

Thousands of Senatorial apartments were housed there and the windows in the buildings were all alight. The violence consuming the city seemed to have remained clear of this area so far. C-3PO observed that the Senator's contraction seemed to be over and noted that the contractions were exactly six-point-two-two minutes apart. He had no idea whether that was significant or not. Artoo began chirping loudly and beeping incessantly at the protocol droid again. Finally, C-3PO relented.

"Milady, if I may ask," C-3PO ventured. "What exactly do you propose to do here that is so important?"

"These buildings weren't always just the apartments for the Senators and high officials in the Republic, C-3PO," Padmé responded as she began their decent. She never looked up from the controls as she continued her explanation. "Three hundred years ago, before construction was completed on the Republic Grand Convocation Center, there were only ten thousand systems in the entire Republic. Back then, the Republic Senate would meet in an auditorium that housed over twenty thousand. That way, there was room for Senators and room for the people to watch the proceedings." She sighed. "Somehow, we neglected that old tradition with the construction of the new center."

C-3PO was utterly confused. Her answer had nothing to do with why there were going to Five Hundred Republica, as far as he could tell. Padmé seemed to recognize his confusion because she sighed deeply and continued.

"That auditorium is twenty meters below Five Hundred Republica," she announced.

Artoo seemed to immediately draw the connection and responded with a series of excited whistles. C-3PO was not as impressed.

"But Senator Amidala," C-3PO said with some exasperation in his vocabulator. "What do you plan to do there?"

At that very moment, the ship shuddered slightly as it touched down on the roof of the primary building at Five Hundred Republica. The Senator was immediately on her feet and was passing by the protocol droid as the ramp lowered, apparently far too slowly for her taste. She paused for a brief moment as she came to a stop in front of C-3PO and regarded him. C-3PO's photoreceptors once again processed the light images they were receiving and his memory banks interpreted the familiar look of determination on her face.

"I'm going to take the Republic back!" she said finally and stormed out of the craft with Artoo in tow.

Obi-Wan slashed and banged away at Darth Salus but it seemed that the Dark Lord was treating him as an afterthought. Mace's blocks and parries were just effective enough to deflect Obi-Wan's attacks but there were no counterattacks. Instead, Mace seemed to be focusing his attention on driving Anakin backwards.

Anakin's response to the assaults was impressive. His lightsaber moved so quickly that Obi-Wan was barely able to register its movements coherently, even when viewing them in the Force.

In the end, however, Anakin was being driven rearward. The movement was slow, and there were several shifts in position back and forth as Mace gave and then retook ground on the narrow walkway, but the overall progression down the catwalk was evident.

Obi-Wan began to realize that Darth Salus seemed to be playing for a stalemate. He had seen the Sith move much faster than he was moving now. He noticed ominously that Mace wasn't thrusting as frequently or slashing with as dazzling a speed as he had been earlier. It almost seemed as if the Dark Lord was conserving his energy.

Obi-Wan grew concerned.

That concern transmitted across the invisible pathway in the Force that connected him with his former padawan. Anakin registered it but clearly didn't know what to make of it.

For a fraction of a second, Obi-Wan glanced ahead and saw their destination. At the end of the walkway, merely five meters away now, a band of blue energy from the venting subsystem of the main power core reactor energized in perfect synchrony with almost ten others. Then Obi-Wan completely understood. He and his Master had faced eerily similar circumstances over a decade before.

It had not gone well.

As soon as Obi-Wan made the mental connection, Anakin did as well. With stunning speed, Skywalker jumped over the Sith Lord's head, delivering a powerful slash as he did so. Salus easily deflected the attack and suddenly stood with his back to the ray shield that bristled with its own power. The two Jedi Masters now faced him.

They stood almost shoulder to shoulder.

The walkway would not support an effective attack from the two simultaneously. The Jedi recognized this immediately and began to trade assaults on the Sith one after the other. Their movements became so rapid and were in such synchrony that, to the Dark Lord, it became one continuous flow of sky-blue energy being driven at him.

Somehow, the Chancellor managed to deflect each strike and every slash. He seemed to relish the challenge and began to press the two brothers back. But this was just a feint and both Anakin and Obi-Wan recognized this. They allowed their respective positions to recede and surge with each assault but essentially maintained their station. Mace was not going to allow the battle to move from this location until he was ready.

Anakin peered at Salus in the Force and found the red flames of the dark side beginning to build in intensity. He knew that the Dark Lord was planning something but he couldn't discern what. His knowledge, as well as his confusion, immediately made its way into Obi-Wan's mind.

Obi-Wan frowned.

The problem with lightsaber dueling is two-fold.

One problem is that, by its very nature, a fighter engaged in a clash of lightsabers must focus his attention on the opponent while maintaining a peripheral understanding of the surroundings. The more intensive the engagement or skilled the opponent, the more of the protagonist's focus is directed on the adversary and less on the environment in which the battle is taking place.

The second problem lies in the assumption that the adversary will fight with some sense of honor. This is a flaw commonly found in those fighting with the light side of the Force and most notably in the Jedi. They engage under the misconception that the opponent not only desires victory but that he wants said victory to be achieved through superior skill and mastery of the blade, vice simply winning at all costs.

The Sith have no such compunctions.

A manifestation of the first problem was why the Jedi did not sense the clone snipers taking position on the catwalk nearly one hundred meters above. The second problem was why they didn't suspect that Mace Windu's barely perceptible nod was a directive for these clone troopers to open fire.

Everything seemed to happen at once.

As the first blaster bolt rocketed towards the unsuspecting Jedi, Obi-Wan turned and brought his lightsaber up to deflect the incoming bolt that only a whisper in the Force at the last second warned him of.

Simultaneously, the ray shields behind Mace Windu deactivated.

As the second blaster bolt descended towards the pair, Anakin turned towards the troopers and called them down from the walkway above with the Force. Twenty-five clone troopers found themselves hurdling a railing as if it wasn't even there and beginning a fall from which none of them would ever recover.

As Anakin's eyes were momentarily averted, the Dark Lord's saber began its thrust at the distracted brothers. Obi-Wan turned his head away from the falling clones just in time to see the amethyst blade approaching his unprotected chest. Immediately recognizing that his lightsaber would never get there in time to deflect the attack, Obi-Wan ordered his body to twist in order to avoid being impaled on the Dark Lord's sword.

As Anakin turned to face the Sith again, his face took on a look of horror as he watched Darth Salus' blade pierce his best friend's shoulder and exit out of his back.

As Obi-Wan backed away from the blade and fell to the metal grating in agony, Mace Windu leaped backwards into the tunnel.

As Anakin screamed with rage and began to follow the Dark One, he barely heard the quiet whisper in the Force from his fallen friend.

Anakin….No!

Realization dawned on Skywalker, as he abruptly found himself trapped between two ray shields energized to full power. On the side of the ray shield that burned at his back, lay his brother, writhing in agony. On the other side of the ray shield that crackled with power before him, stood the Dark Lord of the Sith smiling triumphantly.

Three hundred years before, the Senate had regularly gathered in the amazingly large basement to decide the fate of the Galaxy. It had been, at the time, the pinnacle of modern architectural achievements. As much went into its aesthetics as went into its practicality during the design phase some five or six hundred years prior. The designers had ignored many of the vast technological triumphs of the time to produce a room that was simplistic in its beauty and phenomenal in its function.

The room truly was a coliseum of the grandest sort. Over one hundred rows of gleaming dark wooden desks and pews extended in expanding circles from the very bottom of the central arena. This design had been adopted and modified in the current Convocation Center design to produce the familiar helical spiraling pods that seemed to extend forever.

The central difference was the lack of division among the factions in the room. Several entrances existed on multiple levels but that was the extent of the divisiveness built into the structure. Each Senator, when seated, would find himself within arms reach of the next Senator. Every representative could lean over quietly and whisper into her colleague's ear without having to pick up a communications device. Thousands of resolutions were resolved in those days, not on the main Senate floor, but in the pews that housed the leaders of the Republic.

The desks in front of each pew were seamless rows of glistening dark red wood of stunning minimalism. There were no holoprojectors housed within. There were no hidden listening devices for one Senator to eavesdrop on another. There were no underhanded computer terminals for Senators to use to tap into the computers of his opposition. In fact, each desk only had a simple light embedded into its undistinguished frame and a microphone to be used for addressing the fellow members of the Galactic Senate. These simple devices were all that demarcated one desk's location from another.

There was no hierarchy in the design either. Located inside the pews were unobtrusive speakers that brought the words of each Senator speaking in the great house to every other Senator with equal fidelity. The rows of seats and daises, while growing in diameter as the room extended from the bottom, each held the same significance in the magnificent hall.

But the truly remarkable aspect of this great chamber was not in its design, as impressive as that was. The truly breathtaking sight that was housed in this room was when it had been full of the vibrant, living, breathing, and working Senators that ran the business of the Republic. Every day, thousands of spectators had visited the halls to witness the greatness of their democracy in action. They often stood awestruck at the sight of the august men and women who worked diligently for the greater good. Disputes and discourse were commonplace. Every day brought new grievances and debate. But in the end, the wheels of democracy had turned inexorably to bring resolution to the most heated of altercations.

It had been the zenith of democracy in action. It was the Republic at its greatest.

At the epicenter of this glorious amphitheater stood the main floor podium. From here, resolutions had been proposed and bills had become law. From here, the Chancellor of the Republic had opened the floor for debate on countless amendments. Here, the democracy that always risked spiraling out of control under its own centrifugal power found its anchor. Here was the figurative center of the political universe.

Here, now stood Padmé Amidala Naberrie Skywalker, Senator from Naboo and leader of a resistance to stop the death of the greatest democracy the Galaxy had ever known.

Padmé stared wide-eyed at the mass of Senators who had gathered here under the most extreme of circumstances to hear what she had to say.

In all her years of public service, she had never felt so great a weight of responsibility. She knew that her words would not make matters worse—the situation had already deteriorated to unimaginable levels. Her fear was that she might not be able to make things better. She could feel the child moving within her, making ready to free himself from her womb and enter the world. She was determined to ensure that the world he entered would be better than it was now.

She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the wood from the lectern at which she now stood. Secretly, she thanked the Coruscanti historical society for maintaining the unused and often unvisited monument in such pristine condition. As she breathed the air of the great hall into her lungs she could feel the prestige of the room fill her. She drew strength from the thousands of Senators who had gone before her. She felt the power of a thousand years of democracy giving her the words she needed.

A hush that fell across the room as the Senators from myriad worlds sat quietly waiting on the former Queen to speak, brought Padmé back to the now.

She was ready.

She opened her eyes slowly and thanked the Force as the child in her womb now grew silent as if in anticipation of his mother's voice. A barely audible beep from Artoo informed her that all HoloNet programming across the Galaxy had been preempted with her visage. She looked out into the crowd and into the HoloNet cameras strategically placed throughout the auditorium with a deeply earnest sadness etched into her face.

"People of the Republic," she began. "I am Senator Padmé Amidala. I come to you under the gravest of circumstances…"