Chapter 24. Storm Warnings
"It's a desolate place," Captain Typho murmured. "Harsh, unstable, and not self-sustaining." Even from this distance, swirling cloud cover was visible on the planet that loomed ever larger in the Yacht's forward viewscreen. Between the whorls of milky white, broad streaks of yellow and orange augured dry, rocky terrain.
"Good enough for refugees, then," Dormé suggested dryly beside him. "It's not much of a sacrifice to offer in charity something you can't use yourself."
"I wouldn't be that hard on the Corellians. The refugee camps need to be serviced, after all, and they've taken the whole burden on themselves. Although how they manage to keep traffic moving in and out of this place…" Typho grabbed Dormé protectively by the shoulders as the first shudders of contact with the atmosphere quickly turned into wrenching twists and lurches.
"This is like flying straight into a wall," one of the pilots in front of them muttered, then glanced guiltily over his shoulder at the Senator's Chief of Security before returning, more guardedly, to his task.
"Let's go strap in," Typho insisted, shoving Dormé off the bridge and into the salon beyond.
"I can't remember the last time I had to do this," Dormé complained, but she obediently found the nearest secure seat. When the next shuddering jolt hit the ship, she shot Typo a grateful glance. "People do this all the time? They must have some pilots."
Typho shrugged. "If somebody doesn't fly in and out of here on a regular basis, people don't eat."
"Perhaps the Outreach Alliance will be able to find a better alternative. The publicity alone ought to bring more contributions, if nothing else." Dormé frowned suddenly as a new thought hit her. "The Holonet crew we brought on board hasn't sent a single holo-transmission since we left Talus. That wasn't the agreement we had with them. Are they going to be able to transmit from down there, with the atmospheric conditions as they are?"
Another lurch made it seem that the yacht was coming apart at the seams. In spite of herself, Dormé gripped the arms of her seat and held on tightly. Typho placed a reassuring hand over hers.
"I don't know. I'd go ask them, if I didn't think they were all huddled in their quarters being sick right about now."
Dormé grinned. "If they thought following Padmé around was going to be the key to an easy life, they've got something else coming!"
"Would you rather be safely back on Coruscant?" Typho asked slyly.
"Don't be ridiculous." Dormé settled herself as comfortably as she could, and held on for dear life as a long ripple of shudders passed through the ship. "Someone has to save Padmé from herself."
Typho laughed. "At least he isn't around doubling the trouble."
Dormé scowled. "You never know," she said grimly. "You just never know."
x
Dellia looked up from her work and her heart jumped; just like that, it jumped. Hewas standing right in front of her. She hadn't even heard him come into the office.
"Yes?" she said cautiously, and then berated herself for not having been more charming.
It didn't matter. He smiled down at her from his lanky height.
"We haven't formally met." His voice was a clear tenor. Despite his exotic looks, he spoke Basic perfectly, without the slightest accent or regional inflection. "Don't you think it's time we did?"
Dellia swallowed. "Is it?"
"I've seen you around the hallways and the refectories. I just didn't know that you were attached to Senator Amidala's staff."
"You didn't?" Dellia offered inadequately. Inside, all she could think was, You noticed me?
Her unforthcoming replies didn't seem to daunt him at all.
"I'm Aeron. I'm Senator Organa's personal assistant." Casually, he tossed a data disc up in the air and caught it again. Dellia watched its glittering trajectory dumbly. "I've already got a lot of material for Senator Amidala from Senator Organa, and it's guaranteed only to get worse with this Outreach Alliance junket. It might be easier to stay on top of things if we talked regularly. "He smiled, and Dellia's pulse fluttered a little… just enough to drive any awareness from her head that it was often more efficient to communicate by comm.
"I… yes," she rushed to agree. "Won't you … won't you sit down?"
"I have a better idea." He leaned toward her and offered her the disc with an open hand. Dellia swallowed, and took it, startling a little as her fingers brushed his palm. "It's midday. Would you like to share a meal? If you have the time, that is…"
"Oh, yes!" Dellia was on her feet before the words rushed out of her mouth, and then she felt herself blushing because of her unseemly haste. Stupid, stupid, stupid… she quickly secured the data disc.
He didn't appear to take any notice of her awkwardness, but merely invited her, with an archaically gallant gesture, to precede him out the door. "Is the Delegation staff refectory all right with you? Unfortunately, I have to be back in an hour, and it's closest."
"Oh, yes!" Dellia blurted again, and then stammered, "I... I have to be back then, too…"
The tall young Alderaani with the striking head of white hair, the one whom Dellia couldn't help following with her eyes wherever she saw him, laughed. "I guess it's the same in every Delegation Office," he teased, escorting her graciously out into the corridor and correctly averting his eyes as she activated the security locks. "We do all the work, and they get all the glory…
x
The telltale signal of a long-range sensor sweep remained on the scopes for the remainder of Anakin's journey. By the time Esh-Col finally appeared in the viewscreen of the Defiancehe felt as exposed as a moving target in a blaster range. He might have temporarily shaken off one kind of tormenter, but any lingering hope that the tracking signal was a fluke had vanished.
So much for the freedom of no one knowing where you are.
Without any real expectations, Anakin stretched out his awareness in the Force toward the probable source of the signal. As he had surmised, he couldn't discern any single consciousness or directed intent that might be connected with it, just as he couldn't determine signal's source.
Not without getting closer to it, anyway.
Anakin toyed briefly with the idea of facing down his unknown enemy, of turning straight into the beam and following it to its source. In truth, he didn't care who was tracking him, or why; he was only interested in what could be done about it. His primary mission hadn't changed: Padmé was on the planet below, and he needed to see her. He couldn't under any circumstances afford to be seen doing it, though. Palpatine's warning had been explicit. Nor could he turn back to Nowhere; the tag on his back would lead whoever was at the other end of that signal straight there. What alternative was left to him? Turning away and going somewhere else to create a false trail? It was too late for that gambit. He already had arrived.
While Anakin analyzed the situation logically, while he asked himself all the right questions and answered them rationally, the Defiance continued to draw closer to the planet below as if she had a will of her own. Nothing acted on her to slow her down. Nothing turned her away from her original path.
When he realized what he was doing, Anakin laughed. A non-decision is still a decision.
All right, then. I'll find a way.
x
"So… you're all alone?"
Dellia couldn't get over Aeron's eyes. They were slate-dark without a fleck of color in them, and yet somehow, seemed to be alight from within. She already had decided that it was his sheer intelligence that lit them; now, as he touched so lightly on the center of her existence, it seemed that uncanny sensitivity was another explanation for it. He picked up the slightest nuances; asked the most perceptive questions. Startled, she stumbled back into a stammer.
"I… uh… alone?" Yes, I am alone.
"In the office, I mean." He jumped easily back into the conversation to help her out. "With Senator Amidala gone, the Naboo Delegation Offices seem deserted." He grinned. "Except for you, of course."
"Oh, the offices… yes. Senator Amidala preferred to automate most of it in her absence. I'm there to keep an eye on things, and to make sure she remains informed about all important legislative developments." Dellia squared her shoulders unconsciously. "The Senator says she prefers to rely on the judgment of an intelligent being about what is significant and what can wait."
"She is wise." Aeron played briefly with his empty teacup, depriving Dellia of the light in his eyes. She studied the curve of his face instead, where white strands of his hair feathered over high cheekbones. "I worry about Senator Organa's safety on this journey, even though he took a good security team with him." He looked up earnestly. "Our convoy was attacked on our return to Coruscant not along ago. Right here in the Core, too."
"Attacked! By whom?"
"The Republic Army Commander who rescued us blamed pirates. We never found out for sure." He blinked, as though he'd just thought of something. "You must know him, actually – it was Commander Skywalker! Talk about coincidences."
Dellia flinched, but strove to keep her expression neutral.
"You didn't believe him, then? About the pirates?"
Aeron shrugged and looked up at her through his white lashes. Even the smallest movement he made was graceful. "Who knows whom to believe any longer?"
Dellia sighed deeply. "I know."
"Such gloom!" He patted her hand in a friendly way. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to darken your day."
"Oh, you haven't! Quite the opposite. In fact…" Dellia surged ahead bravely, barely daring to believe that she was being so bold, "…I'm very glad for the company. As you pointed out, I've been mostly on my own since the Senator and her entourage left."
"Well," Aeron said decisively as he pushed away from the table, "we can't have that!" He stood up and offered his hand to pull Dellia to her feet. She took it gladly. "Unfortunately, we should go if I'm going to escort you back to your office."
"You don't have to do that!" Dellia laughed.
"Perhaps not, but I would like to." The old-fashioned courtliness returned, and he ushered her between the refectory tables with a light, correct touch on her elbow. Dellia basked in the attention.
The Delegation Office wing refectory opened onto a wide lobby with multiple corridors leading off it. The Alderaan and Naboo offices were in opposite directions. True to his word, Aeron steered her skillfully across the crowded lobby in the direction of the Naboo Delegation's office, never letting go of her elbow. He had just begun to tell her a funny story about an encounter between two Senators who were sworn enemies and a malfunctioning protocol droid when something made Dellia look up toward the vast bank of windows, where she glimpsed a familiar figure. Master Windu appeared to be deep in conversation with another Jedi, but just as she passed, he nodded to her briefly, and even gave her the ghost of a smile. Warmed and reassured, Dellia nodded and smiled in return, but then quickly returned her attention to Aeron, and managed to laugh in the right place in his story.
This was a good day. A very good day. She hadn't had many of those lately.
x
The bridge crew of the Tantive IV made ready for a rough landing while attentively watching the progress of the of a large storm system on the planet below.
"Captain Antilles?" Tension was audible in the Nav. officer's voice. "Our window of opportunity for landing at the rendezvous point is closing rapidly. That storm is growing worse."
"Understood. What is the status of the other ships in the Delegation?"
"Three ships arrived the rendezvous point hours ago, Sir," the Comms. Officer jumped in. "The Naboo Delegation ship went in just ahead of us and is expected to land shortly." He hesitated. "We lost communication with them after they entered the storm."
"Can we communicate with the ground?"
"No, Sir, we lost all ground comms. at about the same time that we lost contact with the Naboo."
Captain Antilles activated the link to the Viceroy's on-board office.
"It's now or never, Viceroy Organa. Our entry will be tough going as it is."
"I understand, Captain, but first I need a top security comm. link to my Senate offices on Coruscant."
"Aye, Sir." Captain Antilles agreed, and then nodded at the Comms. Officer, who was shaking his head in disbelief.
"Do it," the Captain ordered.
The Nav. officer stared balefully at the streaming weather information from the planet below. It would have been highly inappropriate, under the circumstances, to express his concerns about the price of the delay that the Viceroy demanded. So he didn't.
But he really didn't like the looks of that storm.
x
Aeron got back to his office to find the secure comm. link signaling insistently.
"I'm here," he gasped when the security protocols were complete.
"It's about time! We'll make landfall on Esh-Col soon, and it's not certain the atmospheric conditions will permit communication while we are on the surface."
"I'm sorry, Sir. I was at midday meal."
"Don't tell me you're actually taking time out for meals in my absence, Aeron?"
"I was at midday meal," Aeron countered serenely, "with Senator Amidala's Secretary. Indeed, she appears to be more than a Secretary – she is functioning as a Personal Assistant. Running the office single-handedly in the Senator's absence, as a matter of fact."
"And?" Senator Organa's voice crackled with anticipation.
"Well, Sir, she strikes me as being remarkably ill-informed for a personal Assistant."
"Ill-informed, Aeron? Or merely discreet? Is it possible that she is impervious to your charms and playing the innocent?"
"That is of course quite possible, Sir. But I did get the distinct impression that she is dealt with as a staff member who does not have her employer's full trust. Her job is purely routine, mostly limited to managing the flow of work related to legislation. She wasn't even aware of the recent changes in the Delegation's itinerary."
"That's it, Aeron? That's all the information you have for me? You have been taking long mealtimes. I suggest you go back to eating at your desk and use your time to do some real work for me."
"Of course, Sir. As you wish. It's just …"
"Just what, Aeron? Out with it. I'm short of time."
"I have to ask myself, Sir, why Jedi Master Windu would take the trouble to personally acknowledge a passing low-level staff member in a public lobby of the Senate."
"Acknowledge? How do you mean?"
"He smiled at her, Sir. And she smiled back."
There was a silence at the other end. Aeron enjoyed imagining that it was due to shock.
"Jedi Master Windu smiled?"
"That he did, Sir. Briefly. At Senator Amidala's Secretary."
"Master Windu smiled. A once-in-a-thousand-years event, and I missed it."
"It was a thrilling sight, Sir."
"Aeron, I think you should go out for your meals more often. In fact, have your evening meal at your favorite restaurant at my expense. You might even want to bring someone with you for company – someone interesting enough to elicit a smile, however fleeting, from a certain stone-faced Jedi Master."
"Thank you, Sir. As it happens, that was my plan."
"Good man, Aeron. I must go. Carry on." The communications link cut out abruptly.
Aeron frowned at the device in his hand. He loved his job, he really did. He respected the Viceroy above all men, and shared his passionate vision for the future of Alderaan and for the Galaxy. Just sometimes, particularly recently, things had begun to seem less clear, as though a kind of fog were settling over everything and everyone.
Secrecy, mistrust, and hidden dangers seemed to preoccupy most of the Senate at present. The boundaries between what was right and what was expedient – the kinds of boundaries the Viceroy always had held sacrosanct – were growing blurred. The only Senators who still seemed to care about the fate of the Galaxy were the few who formed Senator Organa's fragile opposition group, and possibly, Senator Amidala.
Possibly.
Moodily, Aeron sat down and stared out the window at the streams of traffic outside, thinking about the trusting girl with the sad rust-brown eyes. What could young Dellia of Naboo possibly have done to lose her employer's confidence? Did it have anything to do with her obvious dislike of the Senator's husband?
Who was that enigmatic husband, really? Skywalker had emerged from the Jedi Temple's age-old veil of secrecy to become a part of the Supreme Chancellor's highly influential inner circle. At the same time, Skywalker's erstwhile Jedi Master had been entrusted with the dangerous secret of Senator Organa's opposition group.
The potential for treachery was staggering.
No wonder Viceroy Organa was so concerned about Senator Amidala's safety. Despite her having withdrawn from any connection with it, the little group's fate seemed largely to rest on the Naboo Senator's slender shoulders.
Aeron roused himself. He would make arrangements for another meeting with Senator Amidala's innocent-seeming and obviously lonely secretary, and he would stop feeling so ashamed of doing so. He picked up his comm. link again to make the call.
x
Having made his decision to go forward, Anakin set the Defiance's heavily modified comms. array to eavesdrop on transmissions to and from the Esh-Col refugee colonies. Even tapping into the local chatter was a big risk, but he had to know what he faced.
As it turned out, he faced the same thing that confronted everyone on the planet and every ship trying to approach it: a broad band of storms was menacing a broad band of the planet's habitable mid-zone with high winds and electromagnetic disturbances. Communication was collapsing everywhere. Anakin had just enough time to overhear several ships being advised against attempting to land until the storm had passed, when all comms. connections with the ground broke off. He couldn't be sure because of the massive interference from the storm, but it sounded as though one of the incoming ships might be Bail Organa's Tantive IV.
Anakin raised the Defiance's shields and studied the clouds that churned below. Defensive shields would protect the ship from any flying particles, but would be no help against the structural stresses brought on by the shear of high winds.
If Organa was nearby, then Padmé was out there somewhere, too. He wondered whether she already had made landfall. His feelings told him that all was well, so he wasn't worried. Besides, the ever-cautious Typho never would allow her ship to attempt landing in that. Reassured, he turned his full attention to the tempestuous atmospheric conditions. It had been a long time since Anakin had felt this challenged as a pilot. But the storm was his ally; he couldn't have arranged a better cover for a stealthy entry.
He caught it head on, adjusting his angle of entry, and then adjusting it again as the blastboat hurtled into the blanket of whirling gray-brown and white. Vibrating from the atmospheric pressures, just a little at first, and then more and more violently, The Defiance tried to fly sideways and upward despite the downward and forward thrust of her powerful engines. The twisting made her groan.
Anakin held fast, making adjustments as fast as the winds around him shifted. The little ship fought him fiercely. He fought back, rejoicing in the battle. He opened himself wide to the mindless surge of roiling energy that warped the atmosphere into an indiscriminate bludgeon, detecting and even anticipating its movements, leaping in his perceptions from one momentary opening, from one tiny pause, to the next. Dragged along in the wake of Anakin's encompassing awareness, the Defiance surfed the clouds like a wild winged creature hurled from wave to wave by a stormy sea.
Fighting the winds, fighting his ship and flying blind but for his dialogue with the Force, Anakin laughed from the sheer thrill of his hard-fought descent, the sound of his pleasure swallowed up by the howling outside. His consciousness spread out like wings. Power sang in his blood. Elation vibrated in his bones.
A shadow shot into his awareness, making him dive sharply in a shattering evasive maneuver. Seconds later a series of short, hard bounds ended in a violent ricochet, as if the Defiance had hit a wall at full throttle. The pilot's seat tore loose from its moorings, ripping his hands from the controls. With Anakin still strapped helplessly into it, the chair flew backward to smash heavily into the bulkhead behind, rocking his head backward so hard that he lost consciousness for a moment. The next thing he knew, the viewscreen had darkened into a uniform shade of gray. Between bouts of shaking that threatened to tear the blastboat apart, deadweight mashed him into the broken chair, pushing his stomach up toward his throat.
It felt as though the blast boat was caught in the pull of something that was descending fast while struggling to remain aloft. Mostly it seemed to be falling, not flying, and the Defiance was falling with it. With a wrench, Anakin fought gravity and the straps that held him to lurch forward onto his knees before the console. It wasn't much help to know his airspeed or rate of descent, or that the Defiance's engines were still operational, when navigation and steering weren't functioning.
Anakin struggled to regain his full consciousness, and in a mighty effort, sent it out again on burning wings. Images besieged him – a large ship with a three burned-out portside engines bucking in the storm, struggling to hold its course; his own tiny ship wedged against her underbelly, enslaved by the crippled, falling giant's drag. If he didn't break free, if the larger ship didn't regain control, the Defiance would either burn up or be crushed in the impact of the inevitable crash.
Come on, come on, come on… Anakin urged as he struggled to regain control over the Defiance as she rolled and dived helplessly in the grip of the larger ship. Thousands of feet later Anakin finally wrestled back a modicum of control over her steering, and threw the blastboat's powerful engines and his unswerving will into an almighty effort to escape. With a final roar and shudder she broke free, and the viewscreen lightened once again to show, amid the dense clouds, the listing form of a Corellian-made blockade runner.
Anakin realized that he knew the ship. It was the Tantive IV.
Constantly fighting the merciless winds, Anakin dropped away to a safer distance only to see a fourth engine, and then a fifth, flame out and die. How stupid to link them in a series - she's going to list…. He could both see and sense her pilot's pitched battle to keep the Alderani starship straight and steady, but sure enough, the cluster of one-sided flameouts, coupled with the raging gale, sent her into the beginnings of an end over end tumble. If she began to spin, that was it.
He had rescued Organa's ship once before, not long ago, in what seemed like a different lifetime. It seemed that she needed rescuing again.
Anakin heaved himself into the intact copilot's seat and tried unsuccessfully to raise the Tantive IV ship-to ship. Pushing the Defiance until she groaned, he drew alongside the listing ship to study the problem, assess the winds, and calculate the time that was left.
There wasn't much. Something had to be done. In a single wild and joyous flash of inspiration, Anakin knew what it was.
He knew exactly what to do.
His plan depended on the Defiance's engines operating at full capacity, and on the cooperation of the Tantive IV's pilots. Anakin double and triple-checked his engines as quickly as he could, and then, revving them to full power, shot around to the front of the slowly tumbling Alderaani ship where he could be seen and flashed the pilots until he thought he had their attention.
That was the easy part. He hoped they would understand his intent well enough to help.
Ramping up the Defiance's power output even more, Anakin shot over the crippled ship in a ragged, wind-riven loop that was as accurate as the storm allowed, and waited impatiently for the right opportunity to slip the blastboat underneath the bank of failed engines on the Tantive IV's port side. Gritting his teeth in concentration, orchestrating the controls on pure instinct, he eased the Defiance upward until she scraped against the dead engine's housing with a jarring screech that made him flinch in pain. Hyper-aware as he was, the Defiance's skin felt like his own. Easing up the throttle, and holding on to his position despite the gale, he pressed the blastboat tightly against the big ship, a surrogate engine with a plan of its own.
Now it was up to the other pilot to work with him. Anakin closed his eyes and all but disappeared into the Force.
x
"My Lady?"
"Come in, Captain." Padmé looked up from the documents she had been working through since the worst landing in recent memory had woken her from a deep sleep. Sabé hadn't been there when she woke; nor were the comms. working. Presumably Sabé had gone to find out if all was well. She hadn't come straight back, so Padmé had put herself to rights and decided to use the time while her staff and crew sorted things out to catch up on work. Considering how little she had slept, she felt a great deal stronger and better.
"Please, My Lady…" Captain Typho looked so stricken that Padmé froze.
"What is it?"
He looked around hurriedly. Dormé appeared behind him, slipped inside the cabin and seated herself by Padmé's side. She, too, had an odd expression on her face.
"What is it, Captain? Have communications been restored? Do we have a status report yet?"
'No, My Lady. The comms. are still out, so I sent a shuttle to see how the other Delegation members weathered the storm." The Captain lingered just inside the door to her cabin, looking acutely uncomfortable. The door slid shut behind him with a soft hiss.
"What happened? Is someone hurt?"
Typho looked away, and then at Dormé, who took Padmé's hand in hers. That was very disconcerting.
"Out with it, Captain."
"The Alderaan Delegation had a bad time of it in the storm, My Lady. They crashed on landing; their ship was badly damaged."
"Bail?" Padmé sat bolt upright. "Is Bail … Senator Organa… all right?"
"He is," Typho assured her quickly. "Remarkably, everyone on board the Alderaan ship is safe, although a few were injured."
By this time Dormé was squeezing her hand so hard it ached. It was so clear that there was more the Captain wanted to say, but didn't know how to say it. Padmé watched him and waited because she couldn't do anything else.
"A wreck was found, My Lady… the wreckage of a ship that, apparently, was also involved in the crash." Typho looked helpless. He had never, even under the worst circumstances, looked this helpless. Padmé stared at him, hot-eyed. "We just got word that the vessel has been identified."
Silence.
"It was a small ship, too badly damaged to check its registry, I was told. But enough debris has been found to identify it as a blast boat." Typho looked down. "There aren't many of those around."
"Blast boat," Padmé repeated. "Any…"
"…survivors? No, My Lady. None were found." Typho looked so shaky that Padmé wanted reach out to steady him. She would have, if she hadn't been frozen through and through.
The silence between them petrified. Normal sounds filled the corridor outside Padmé's stateroom. Boots walking on durasteel floors. A low murmur of voices. A soft exclamation, followed by barely audible laughter. The faint whoosh of doors sliding open and closing.
It all seemed so far away.
Captain Typho shifted. "My Lady, I'm so sorry…"
"No!" Padmé snapped, anger blossoming like fireworks. "I will not hear this!"
Right behind Typho the door to Padmé's suite slid open without warning, making both him and Padmé flinch. Sabé appeared, with a wicked gleam in her eye. "My Lady, look what I bagged for you in …!"
"GET OUT!" Padmé roared, the blast making Typho retreat so suddenly he back straight into Sabé.
"oof… the galley," Sabé finished in confusion. "What?"
"OUT!"
Typho and Sabé stared at her, open-mouthed. Padmé wanted to lash out at them, to wring both of their necks, to shred their skin with clawed fingers. She wanted to tear out their hearts.
A new face appeared from behind Sabé, peering cautiously around the door frame – filthy, streaked with sweat and blood, and looking very ... penitent. I'm really sorry, Padmé," Anakin said contritely into the deadly silence. "I had to kill the Defiance."