Chapter Thirty-Six: Evidence Exchange
Padmé's footsteps rang throughout the secure vault as she wandered its central corridor, eyeing each aisle of shelving for signs of a potential exit. Several paces behind her, Mace Windu appeared to be doing the same—though his feet fell softer against the underlit metal floor.
As she reached up and scratched at the red wig atop her head, Padmé noticed the sudden absence of sound behind her—she turned slowly to find Windu standing still, his arms crossed.
"We're not gonna find another way out of here," he grumbled.
Her eyes widened, and she stood up straighter. "Did the Force show you something?"
Scoffing at the question, the Jedi shook his head. "The Force didn't need to show me anything. Just think about it. If there were another way out of here, some secret backdoor exit . . . why didn't we use it to get in? Crawling through some vent would've been a hell of a lot easier than getting past all that front door security."
"Gods dammit," Padmé mumbled. "You're probably right." Then, turning to fully face Windu: "What do you suggest?"
"We cut our way out," he replied flatly, spinning on one heel and marching toward the vault's main entrance—which was still shielded by a heavy blast door.
"Wait!" she said, jogging to catch up to the marching Jedi. "They'll know we were here."
Windu barked a humorless laugh and spread his arms wide as he continued to walk. "Look around, Amidala. We are well past the point of leaving no evidence."
Her eyes darted from one broken laser emitter to another, finally settling on the melted puddle of metal that was once the vault's security droid. With a shrug, she looked back up at Windu—the Jedi had come to a stop in front of the blast door, and the hilt of his lightsaber sat squarely in his right hand.
"I guess you're right," she said. "Just—"
"Be careful, I know." A snap-hiss echoed throughout the vault as Windu was bathed in purple light. "I'll go slow, make small incisions. It'll look like I used a standard cutting torch."
"If you say so." She watched with trepidation as the Jedi squared his stance, held the saber aloft in a reverse grip, and placed the palm of his left hand squarely against the pommel. The violet blade sizzled and popped as it impacted the durasteel plate of the blast door, sending sparks raining to the floor.
"This might take a while," Windu said through clenched teeth, not taking his eyes off his work. "You should go check on your droid."
"Chancellor Palpatine . . . "
Bail trailed off, and instantly felt the impact of every eye in the room staring at him. He'd been so focused on Palpatine himself, making sure that he hooked the chancellor in and stopped him from exiting the room, that he had hardly given thought to what he was actually going to say.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to reassure himself. You've made up speeches before. You can do it again.
"Well, where do you begin with a man like Palpatine?" he continued. An uncomfortable chuckle spread throughout the dining hall; Bail took the opportunity to clear his throat before continuing.
"I first met Palpatine shortly after you all elected him to the Senate. Each new legislative session, we host a party for the new group of incoming senators. Palpatine was probably the oldest person in the room—much like with his wine, he was content to let his political career age a bit before he took it to the galactic level."
This elicited an actual laugh from the crowd, filling Bail with a surge of confidence. If one jab at Palpatine played well with the room, he thought, it couldn't hurt to give them another.
"I'll be honest, when we first spoke at that party, he struck me as a bit of a pretentious prick." The room's reaction was more mixed this time—as Bail's eyes darted from table to table, he saw expressions varying from shocked gasps to disapproving head shakes to stifled chuckling. The worst reaction of all was probably Palpatine's—though outwardly he appeared unfazed, Bail had spent enough time behind closed doors with the man and had learned to read his eyes. It was clear enough—he was not amused.
Okay, tone it down. "I soon came to realize he was a damn good politician. You sure know how to pick 'em, Naboo." To his relief, light applause cascaded from table to table, though he could still see audience members trading nervous glances. "Once Palpatine was signed on to a bill, everyone knew it was sure to pass. Of course, on the other hand, he never was one for writing his own legislation.
"It's kind of like the war, in a way. Let someone else start it, and then sweep in to actually see it through to the end. Am I right, Chancellor?"
At once, Bail felt the air leave the room. Horrified expressions sat plastered on most faces—half the room was staring at Bail in disbelief; the other half stared at Palpatine, as if looking for some guidance on how to react.
"His excellent leadership during this war"—he'd hoped those words would restore the room's heartbeat, but the atmosphere was still thick with mortification—"is one of the many reasons I'm sure we're all looking forward to voting for him next year. That'll really get his career as Chancellor off to a start, since he's still not done with MY term. You know, as a Chancellor . . . "
Bail trailed off, his eyes wandering back to his own table. Kazan had his head in his hands, and Tyyria Nox was staring at him, eyes wide, shaking her head rapidly and making a cut it out motion across her throat.
". . . um, supporter. As a Chancellor supporter, I cannot stress enough how much of a difference Palpatine's leadership is making in the halls of the Senate building every day." Bail could feel his speech accelerating, as if he subconsciously wanted to wrap things up as quickly as possible. He awkwardly fumbled for the glass perched atop the podium, raised it halfheartedly into the air, and proclaimed: "To the Chancellor!"
The echo of his toast rippling across the room, Bail hurriedly backed away from the podium and shuffled toward his seat—out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Palpatine had not drunk to his words.
As he reached his table and slumped back into his seat between Kazan and Tyyria, Bail was relieved to see that most of the room seemed to be quickly moving on from what had just happened. The quartet in the corner had resumed their playing, and the din of conversation crescendoed to a comfortable level as the banquet guests returned to their food. Bail sighed and glanced over at his security guard. "Was that enough?"
Kazan shrugged and raised a hand to his ear. "I'll find out." Then, lowering his voice to a whisper: "Padmé, you clear?" The man nodded, narrowed his eyes, then glanced back up at the senator.
"She says they've cleared the vault, but things didn't go quite as planned. I guess they left a bit of a mess down there."
Bail felt his stomach churn slightly at the news. "What exactly does that mean?"
Kazan shrugged. "Hell if I know."
Sighing, the senator turned to face the seat at his left, intending to ask his new Jedi companion for guidance. Much to his surprise, Tyyria was nowhere to be found.
Raymus Antilles paced nervously back and forth across the deck of the parked getaway boat. After navigating the watercraft through the canals of Theed, he'd moored it near a grate that drained into the city's sewers and waited for what felt like an eternity.
Throughout the evening, the occasional patrol speeder had driven along the canal, staffed to the brim with the white-armored troopers of Naboo's new peacekeeping force. At these times, Raymus had done his best to make himself inconspicuous, leaning casually back in one of the boat's seats and sipping from a bottled beer. The alcohol had done nothing to calm his nerves, and he'd eventually had to stop even that effort at mellowing himself out before it impaired his steering abilities.
He was a transport pilot, not a getaway driver—a fact his brain reminded him of with increasing frequency as the night dragged on. There was a point where Padmé's plan had seemed almost thrilling, he had to admit, but that point had long since passed. The thrill had been replaced by dread in the pit of his stomach as he'd stepped onto the boat—a teasing goodbye from Ellis, who was waiting back in Bail's landspeeder, had done nothing to help the situation.
It was Raymus' heightened nerves that nearly sent him tumbling overboard when a metallic clang sounded against the rear of the boat. It took the pilot a moment to realize what had happened—a four-pronged grappling hook had secured itself against the watercraft's hull. Several seconds later, three figures were clambering over the aft of the vessel.
As Padmé, Liz, and the Jedi Windu settled in to the rear of the boat, Raymus took his position behind the steering wheel. "Everyone all set?"
"All set," Padmé replied, her voice low. "Let's go, nice and easy."
Raymus gripped the keys dangling from the boat's ignition and gave them a quick turn.
Nothing.
He repeated the motion twice more, silently praying that something might happen, any sign of life from the watercraft's engine. On the last turn of the keys, the boat's engine seemed to whine in protest as it sputtered briefly; ultimately, though, it fizzled out before it could fire to life.
"Uh, Padmé. . . the boat's not starting." He glanced back at the seats at the rear of the boat—she was rising to her feet, her expression one of little concern.
"Yeah, it did this when I picked it up from the rental place. It's a little finicky." She moved toward Raymus, reaching out a hand as if to say let me try. "If you turn the key halfway and hold it there for a sec—"
After he did so, the engine sprang to life with a great roar, lurching the boat forward and throwing Padmé to the deck. In a panic, Raymus whipped the steering wheel to the left to avoid slamming into the canal wall—though he successfully turned in time, the boat's motion sent a spray of water out of the canal and onto the stone path beside it.
Easing back the throttle lever, he brought the boat down to a leisurely cruising speed. He inhaled deeply, then glanced back at his passengers. "Think anyone noticed that?"
Picking herself up off the deck of the boat, Padmé brushed at the knees of her stolen security uniform. "I'm fine, thanks for asking." Returning to her seat at the back of the boat, she crossed her legs. "It's probably fine, just keep it casual and—"
"Hey! Watch the reckless driving," came a distorted voice projected from a loudspeaker. His eyes darting to the boat's rear view mirror, Raymus gasped at the sight it held—the flashing red and blue lights of a police speeder.
The landspeeder was hovering along the side of the canal; as it drew closer, Raymus could make out the distinct white armor of the new peacekeeping corps. "Padmé," he muttered out of one side of his mouth, "what should I do?"
"Just keep driving," she whispered.
"Pull over," the voice from the speeder barked.
"Don't pull over," Padmé hissed back. "They're stuck on land; at the next turn in the canal I want you to take off. Full throttle, you hear me?"
"You want me to run from the cops?" Raymus asked in disbelief.
"Just do it," she hissed—her instructions were slightly drowned out by a police siren's keening wail.
As the boat approached a spot in the canal where one waterway intersected another, Raymus slowly turned the boat's steering wheel. He glanced back at the police landspeeder, eyeing the land around the canals—if he took off to the left, the peacekeeping troops would be cut off, unable to pursue their boat. His eyes met Padmé's, and she nodded.
"Punch it."
So he did, slamming the boat's throttle forward and sending a spray of water back at the approaching police speeder. Wind whipped through his hair as the boat rose to its top speed; he felt his heart beat faster as the walls of the canal seemed to close in around him.
Risking a glance backward, Raymus looked at his three passengers. Though Liz and Windu remained seated forward, Padmé had moved to face backwards. Her knees were planted in the seat, and she leaned toward the rear of the speedboat.
Raymus followed her line of sight—his jaw dropped open when he realized what she was looking at. The landspeeder they had meant to flee had driven right off the edge of the canal wall and was now hovering atop the water, barreling straight toward their speeding boat.
"Well," Raymus shouted over the whipping winds, turning back to face the direction of the boat's travel, "that's gonna be a problem."
Tyyria Nox slinked and slithered through the banquet hall crowd, mentally working to mask her presence with the Force. Pay this one no mind, the Twi'lek Jedi tossed a light mental suggestion at a cluster of Quarren onlookers, exhaling in quiet relief as they turned away from her. The gilded dress and headtail jewelry she wore were hardly a subtle outfit; then again, she hadn't come to tonight's party expecting any need for subterfuge. Well, any more than usual.
She was working her way around the outside of the room, moving as fast as her formal garment allowed, with a singular goal in mind: beat Palpatine to the exit door. His transit through the room was hardly a fast one—and thank the Force for that, she thought—as banquet guest after banquet guest stopped to shake his hand.
The Chancellor took it in stride, as any good politician would, smiling and thanking each constituent for their support. And so, when Tyyria Nox ducked around a marble pillar and stepped between Palpatine and the door, she did so with the confidence that her own interaction would be far from out of place.
"Chancellor Palpatine!" Tyyria exclaimed with a bright smile, extending a lavender hand toward the robed figure—his crimson-clad guards, positioned on either side of him, seemed not to mind the umpteenth interruption.
"Ah, Miss . . . Nox, yes?" Palpatine said, clasping the Twi'lek's hand between both of his own and giving it a firm shake. "Though I never did catch your first name."
"Tyyria," she supplied with a nod.
At this, Palpatine's face lit up. "Well, well. Named after Chancellor Ruusan herself, I assume?"
"Ryloth would probably still be torn apart by clan warfare if it weren't for her uniting the Republic the way she did. My parents admired her greatly."
"Certainly someone worth admiring," Palpatine replied. "I think every good chancellor strives to be like her in one way or another." At this, he craned his neck back to glance at the dining room—as best Tyyria could tell, he was glaring at Senator Organa's table.
She forced out a chuckle. "That speech certainly was . . . something, wasn't it?" Palpatine turned back to face her, wordlessly narrowing his eyes. "I feel like I owe you an apology."
At this, the Chancellor raised an eyebrow. "Whatever for?"
"I was at the same table as Senator Organa. If I'd known what he was going to do when he stood up, I'd have stopped him."
Palpatine waved a dismissive hand. "You had no way of knowing. I just shudder to think what he might do at the next education fundraiser."
With inaudible relief—No grudge against me for being at the table—Tyria nodded, a grin creeping up the corners of her mouth. "Next? You're more gracious than I am, sir. If I were in your position, there would be a different chair of the Education Committee the day I got back to Coruscant."
Palpatine furrowed his brow, pausing as if to consider the idea. "Yes, well . . . if you'll excuse me, I really should be going. Always a pleasure to speak with my supporters, though. Lovely to meet you, Tyyria."
"And you, Chancellor."
With that, he was gone, and Tyyria was weaving back through the clusters of tables. As she arrived at the seat next to Senator Organa, the fake smile she'd plastered on for her conversation with Palpatine faded away, replaced by a look of weariness.
"What was that about?" Organa whispered, leaning in toward the Twi'lek.
"Delaying the inevitable," she muttered. Then, raising a hand to gesture toward Bail's security guard: "You said they left a mess down there. I just wanted to stall him for a bit longer before he saw it . . . and make sure his mind was elsewhere when he got down there."
"What did you distract him with?" the senator asked in a hushed tone, reaching for his wine glass as he did so.
"Picking a new education chairperson." She paused, shooting a sideways glance at Organa. "I may have just gotten you fired from the Education Committee. Sorry."
A smile crept up the senator's face. "Oh, don't apologize. You did me a favor."
Water sloshed over the side of the speedboat as it banked hard around a corner of Theed's canal network, sending Padmé nearly tumbling to the deck. Several feet behind them, the pursuing police speeder hovered only inches above the water, spraying a fine mist in its wake as it expertly took the same corner that had nearly toppled the boat.
"No way we lose them in a straight chase," Raymus shouted from the driver's seat. "I don't like our odds here!"
"Hey," Liz piped up, eyes a sharp crimson, "it could always be worse."
As if on cue, a lance of red energy shot out from the police speeder, impacting the water just to the right of the boat—a spray of water and steam exploded upward, and Padmé swore as she threw herself to the deck. Peacekeepers my ass.
Liz had done the same, she noticed as she glanced to her side. Raymus had gone from standing at the boat's steering wheel to sitting down, ducking his head as far as one reasonably could while still seeing where they were driving. Windu was the sole exception—the Jedi had not dived for cover, and had instead taken a step toward the direction of the gunfire.
"What the hell are you doing?" Padmé shouted over the wind—as the boat lurched to the left and back again, she found herself rolling into Liz.
"Fighting back," Windu replied flatly. He held his right hand out, palm open, and the hilt of his lightsaber jumped off his belt and smacked into his palm.
"No!" Padmé snapped, jumping off the deck and scrambling for Windu—as she reached the Jedi, she clamped both hands around his wrist. "No lightsabers. Not while they can see us."
Windu yanked his wrist free of Padmé's grip, glaring defiantly at her—but he returned the lightsaber to his belt. "You got a better idea?"
"I'll handle it," she spoke through clenched teeth—as another blaster bolt whizzed past the boat and hit the water, she stormed across the cramped boat deck and picked up a long and narrow object off the floor. Gripping it at one end, she pulled, and the sword came free from its sheath.
"Oh, sure," the Jedi grumbled, rolling his eyes. "No lightsabers, but a good old-fashioned sword will definitely do the trick—"
Tossing the sheath to the deck, Padmé thrust her weapon into the air. The blade split at the tip, appearing to fold outward—as it did, she yanked it back downward. There was a mechanical snap as components moved into place, and Padmé Amidala was no longer holding a sword.
Instead, she was brandishing a bow.
"I fail to see how that's any better," Windu shouted.
"I'll show you!" Padmé shouted back, shoving the Jedi aside as she took her place at the rear of the boat. Drawing the string back, she lined up the pursuing speeder in the weapon's sights and let it fly.
A palm-length bolt shot out of the weapon—the zing it made as it moved through the air could be heard even over the cacophony of engine noise and rushing water and whipping wind. It impacted the pursuing speeder with a clink . . . and for a moment, nothing happened. Windu took the opportunity to glance sideways at Padmé with a scoff, but she held up a finger.
"Oh, just wait."
In that moment, the bolt exploded. A great gout of fire erupted from the front of the speeder, sending it sailing end over end. White armored troops were thrown free from the vehicle—some landed in the water, while others impacted on the canal's edge, their armor resounding against the stonework with a crack. The speeder slammed onto the water's surface—the sudden force by which it stopped gave it the appearance of being yanked backward as the speedboat shot away.
"There," Padmé said, turning to face Windu and shooting him a cocky grin. "Consider the situation handled."
Then, in an instant, they were both thrown to the floor.
"Sorry!" Raymus shouted as he weaved the boat's steering wheel back and forth in a panic. "We've got more company."
Padmé glanced up—indeed they did, though it was not another landspeeder. Alongside the canal, a two-legged recon walker—atop which sat a white-armored peacekeeping trooper—was sprinting to keep up with the boat, occasionally turning to fire a laser blast into the water.
Another of these laser blasts impacted off the port side of the boat, sending Windu tumbling into Padmé—Liz, who had apparently been anticipating the movement, was securely anchored around one of the boat's seats.
As Padmé and Windu smacked into each other and fell to the deck, a clink of metal rang in the air. A thin cylinder, no longer than Padmé's hand, was rolling across the deck. She reached out and snatched it up, stopping briefly to examine it. Holding the cylinder aloft and gesturing with it, she glanced at Windu. "This yours?"
Wordlessly he plucked it from her hand, sliding the cylinder into a pocket as the boat was rocked by more blaster fire.
"Uh, Padmé?" Raymus shouted from the driver's seat, his voice shaky. "Mind taking care of that thing?"
She rose to her feet, gripping her bow in one hand as she stared up at the pursuing walker. Drawing the string back, she loosed another bolt—this time, the projectile impacted with a sizzle, and jagged blue tendrils of electricity snaked up one leg of the recon walker. The mechanical beast's knee seized in place, sending it toppling to the ground—its driver was thrown free, splashing into the canal as the walker crumpled against the stone breakwall.
"That thing's got all sorts of tricks, doesn't it?" Windu muttered, shaking his head—though Padmé was certain she spotted a brief flash of amusement crossing his face.
"I'm afraid that's all it's got," she replied, lowering the bow to her side. "This is a demo unit from a manufacturer on Alderaan. They included a sort of . . . sampler pack of different bolts. All I've got left are regular ones."
"Let's take things easy, then," Raymus piped up, easing back the boat's throttle. "Maybe that'll keep us out of trouble." The rush of wind died down as the watercraft slowed to a leisurely crawl—a muttered "thank the gods" buzzed out of Liz's vocabulator as the droid, who had clamped her arms tightly around one of the boat's passenger chairs, unlocked her iron grip and stood to her feet.
The brief moment of respite was the first opportunity Padmé had really had to take in the canals of the Royal City at night. They were, she realized, rather beautiful. Streetlamps perched along the breakwalls in even intervals, and pedestrian bridges carved in stone arched over the waterways. Along the water, outdoor cafés adorned in string lighting sat empty—it was, she realized, rather late to be out on the town. Thank the gods for that, she thought; anyone witnessing the carnage they'd just wrought would have only added to the evening's problems.
"Oh, crap."
The words coming from Raymus' mouth in a hiss snapped Padmé's attention back to the front of the boat. Before them sat two police speeders, hovering side by side in the canal and bristling with peacekeeping troops—all of whom were brandishing their blaster rifles.
Before Padmé could say a word, Raymus sprung back into action—he yanked backward on the boat's throttle, throwing the vessel into reverse. As the speedboat backed away, the white armored troops peppered it with blaster fire, punching several holes in the bow. Cranking the wheel hard to starboard, Raymus spun the boat around and slammed the throttle forward.
Once again, they were speeding through the canals—and though Padmé felt somewhat at a loss for what to do, Raymus was guiding the boat with a clear sense of purpose.
"We're never gonna outrun them," he shouted, "but I've got an idea." Whipping the boat into another turn, he risked a glance backwards. "How long can you two hold your breath?"
Padmé's eyes grew wide. "You are not suggesting what I think you're suggesting."
"It'll be fine," Windu interrupted, moving forward to stand alongside Padmé. Then, looking up at the boat's driver, he gave a confident nod. "Do it, Antilles."
A few sharp turns through the canal later, the boat was careening toward the edge—the point where the canal became a waterfall, draining off the plateau which held the Royal City of Theed. And so, with engine roaring, the speedboat sailed off the precipice of the waterfall and into the abyss.
Ellis Korven pulled her landspeeder to a stop at the end of the street—it terminated in a sort of cul de sac, one which butted up against the winding waterways of the city. Still adorned in formal evening wear, the Clawdite stepped out of the car; her heeled boots clicked in a most satisfying manner against the cobblestone road.
Stepping up the curb, she wandered toward the edge of the canal breakwall. This spot was one of many around the city, one where sandstone stairs sloped down toward the water, allowing tourists and residents alike access to their boats. Glancing around her in all directions—the cul de sac, though well lit by the soft amber light of Theed's streetlamps, was deserted—Ellis descended the stairs toward the water's edge.
Slinking into the shadows cast by the rising breakwall, Ellis leaned against the damp stone and waited. Her lizard-like eyes, more suited than a human's to see in darkness, darted back and forth across the water's surface looking for any sign of movement.
There. A cluster of rising bubbles, and movement in ripples underneath the surface, was all Ellis needed to see. Crouching down on one knee, she dipped a hand into the water and waved it around.
Moments later, four heads broke the water's surface—three human, and one droid. The human in the matted red wig plucked a small electronic object from her mouth, extending a hand back toward the one with the glistening bald head.
A toothy grin flashed across Ellis' face. "Evenin', folks." She poked a clawed thumb up the stairs, in the direction of the landspeeder. "Need a ride?"
As the landspeeder gilded to a halt in the university parking lot, Padmé ran one hand over her dress to smooth it, at the same time running the fingers of her other hand through her hair. She didn't look half bad, she thought. Especially considering I just jumped in a river.
The landspeeder's doors popped open, and the crew poured out of the vehicle—all save Liz, who was hidden in the speeder's trunk in a near catatonic state. The droid was using all essential processes to run a report on the data they'd just stolen—Padmé hoped that by the time they were done at the banquet, she'd have found something usable.
As Ellis and Raymus walked side by side toward the Grand Hall's entrance, Padmé exhaled long and low. Falling back a few paces, she reached out to grab Mace Windu by the shoulder. "Hold up for a second," she said, her voice muted.
The Jedi froze, turning slowly to face Padme—the parking lot light above them cast eerie shadows across his hardened expression. "What's up?"
She waited for a moment before answering; she wanted to be sure everyone was out of earshot. The moment it seemed like they were alone, she leaned in close to his face and hissed, "You selling that hex, or using it yourself?"
The Jedi leaned back slightly and raised an eyebrow, but did not speak. When the silence had gone on long enough, it was Padmé who spoke again.
"Oh come on, Windu, I'm not stupid. You think I don't know what a hex inhaler looks like? You should've told me."
His eyes narrowed. "What I do on my own time is my business."
"No," she snapped. "This affects all of us. What if you had shown up for the job high?"
"Oh, come on, Amidala—"
"Not to mention, the gods damned nerve to steal a controlled substance from a government vault." She clenched her teeth and shook her head. When she'd first seen the cylinder, in the midst of the boat chase, her adrenaline had been too high for her to really process what it meant—the anger that coursed through her now was raw, like the first time. "It'll take a digital forensics team a little while to figure out what data we copied. But you took something physical. Something real. You might've even left fingerprints. The narcotics division is going to be on that tonight. You think they'll just let this go?"
The Jedi's jaw tightened. "Doubt it."
His simple agreement almost made things worse. "You put us all in danger. All for a stupid fix. And I don't need the Force to tell me what the shatterpoint of this mission just became. It's you."
She shoved at him with one hand, but he remained planted squarely in place—it was like trying to knock over a mountain. "Amidala—" he began, without trying to push back.
"You're done." Striding past the Jedi, she brushed against him with her shoulder. As she walked away, he turned to face her.
"Done?"
Looking back over her shoulder, she replied, "Out. Fired. Call it whatever you want."
It occurred to her that they'd reversed positions—this time, she was the one with a face of stone, her glare holding the Jedi in place. "You can come back to the hotel to hear the report on what we got," she told him. "We owe you that much for the help. After that, go back to Coruscant, go get high, I don't give a damn. You're done."
She doubted his expression would show much of a reaction to the tirade. And I don't much care what his reaction is anyway. Without waiting for a response, she turned away and stormed toward the university's Grand Hall, leaving Windu standing alone beneath the flickering lights of the parking lot.
She didn't bother to look back and see if he'd started to follow her.
Amphibious Repulsorlift Coil Array
Standard landspeeder-grade repulsorlift coils are only capable of maintaining a hover height of around one meter, and only then above solid ground. An amphibious repulsorlift coil array can be installed—either by a speeder manufacturer or aftermarket—to permit landspeeder use over less solid surfaces like ice, marsh and swampland, or water.
Amphibious repulsor coils operate at a higher power output than standard landspeeder repulsors—therefore, they are usually installed as a secondary repulsion method rather than as the only repulsor coil on a vehicle. When a driver wishes to move from land to water, power is gradually transferred between the standard and amphibious coils in order to maintain smooth driving conditions—though this is not always effective, and rattling of the vehicle is common during power transfer.
Though the technology is billed as "amphibious," this is a slight misnomer—it is not well suited for travel on completely open water. The oscillating motion of waves found within oceans and large lakes can create a feedback loop within the repulsor coil, causing temporary power failure—unless an amphibious landspeeder is capable of unpowered flotation, it is inadvisable to drive it onto any large body of water.