A Life Less Imperial; or, Anakin's Fantastical Fate
[Naboo, 14 B.B.Y.]
Chapter 1
"Good grief, Anakin! Are you okay? You hit your head really hard."
The voice was extremely familiar, though also different. It reached him through a lingering mental mist, the residue of the blow to his head. Strangely, however, he felt no pain, only a dull pounding inside his skull.
"Chancellor Palpatine?" asked Skywalker, holding his flesh hand to his temple while his cybernetic one moved its fingers in a reflex gesture. He lay on his side on what felt like a cold surface, which from its colour and texture appeared to be, of all things, marble. "Where am I?"
"You're home, of course," laughed the old man through his concern as he looked down. "On Naboo."
Several moments passed to allow the information to sink in, before he continued with a hand wave all around them. "We're in the training hall on your estate. I was watching you engage in some – let us say, very ambitious acrobatic exercises, without laying out the protective mats on the floor. The fall must have knocked some sense out of you, because you know perfectly well I'm not the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic anymore."
With the other's help, Anakin rose to a seated position. From there he inspected his body, noting the lightweight athletic garb he was wearing. His lightsaber lay fifteen metres away across the white floor, touching the wall up to which it must have rolled. He considered using a Force Pull to call it back to him, but hesitated. It would not be wise to exert himself too fast after the accident, for no real benefit. Patience, Anakin, he said silently.
"I'm a Jedi, right? I mean, I must be."
"You are a Jedi, my boy. The greatest Jedi Master in the galaxy, in fact." Palpatine grinned broadly, displaying a smile untroubled by the wrinkles of age adorning his healthy pink face. "I've always thought so since we first met, and the galaxy-wide polling confirms my belief. The people love you: you've come top of the approval ratings for a good few years now."
"Holy kriff," muttered Skywalker in bafflement. It was quite a lot to take in all at once. He knew what he was hearing was true, although the details remained half-hidden in the fog, teasing and tantalising him.
"Sorry about the coarse language, Uncle Sheev. It's just… I'm having trouble gathering my thoughts. I have some strange questions stuck in my head."
"Like what?" asked Palpatine, grabbing a metal chair and settling into it with an oof. "Unburden yourself and you'll feel better. That's what friends are for."
"You're sure you're not the Chancellor? Or gained even more… unlimited power?"
"More powerful than the Supreme Chancellor? I haven't the faintest idea what you mean," chuckled the old man. "I handed back my emergency powers immediately after Master Kenobi killed that fiend General Grievous, and retired from politics soon thereafter. We brought the Clone Wars to a triumphant conclusion, the Republic is re-absorbing the Confederacy of Independent Systems, and we've enjoyed five years of peace."
"Okay. If you're not in charge, who's the current Chancellor?"
"Why, our esteemed friend Tundra Dowmeia, of course. Ably assisted by, amongst others, Senate Majority Leaders Bail Organa and Mon Mothma."
A shiver ran over Anakin's body. He recognised the names, without remembering their having filled the roles his interlocutor attributed to them. There was much he did not yet understand about this… alternative timeline? No. It was real, his feelings told him – and his Jedi training was filled with injunctions to search his feelings for the truth that lay within. Yet something seemed out of place. Presumably it might continue to feel that way until his brain recovered from the nasty impact it had suffered, although he was certain he was not seriously hurt.
"So… you're not a Sith Lord."
Old Palpatine erupted into a mix of coughing and laughing. "A… Sith… Lord?" he repeated in between bursts, slapping his chest until he could control himself. "I'm no Jedi historian, but I know the Sith have been extinct for a thousand years. They're as dead as a dindo bird, as Master Windu likes to say."
"Mace?" gasped Skywalker. "He's alive? Where?"
"He lives at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, naturally. Oh dear, you really have lost your memory, haven't you? I hope it's not long-term."
The key question lurking at the back of Anakin's mind the entire time, brusquely pushed its way through the wall of mist. It was an answer he needed badly to make sense of it all.
"Why aren't I there too? How is my home here on Naboo, if I'm a Jedi Master?" He paused in terror, as the previous reference to death registered in his consciousness. "Where's Padmé? Is she safe? Is she all right?"
"Your wife is at her office in Theed, Ani. She serves as the Naboo Minister of Offworld Affairs."
"My wife," repeated the proud husband. The word felt warm on his lips, like Padmé Amidala's longed-for kiss. "Yes. My wonderful wife."
"You live on Naboo," resumed old Sheev, "Because during the celebrations that followed our victory in the Wars, I, alongside a grateful Senate, persuaded the Jedi Council to allow the Republic's mightiest hero special dispensation to get married." He cleared his throat. "Well, technically, to continue to be married. But who's keeping tabs on a detail like that…"
Anakin's cheeks flushed crimson, as he remembered. He and Padmé had married in secret, in breach of the strict regulations governing the conduct of every Jedi. The attachment of a serious relationship was unbecoming of a Knight, and could have prompted severe repercussions including expulsion from the Order. But fortunately, thanks to his merit, and the support of his friends, nothing bad had occurred. His professional calling and his personal life were in balance.
I'm a Jedi Master. I live on Naboo. I'm married to Padmé. She's safe. She's all right.
"Thank the Force, everything's all right," declared Skywalker at last.
Noooooo! called a distant disembodied voice. Or perhaps it was an animal outside making some strange mating cry that his brain associated with a common Basic word. The latter was far more reasonable an explanation than a ghost, Force-imbued or not.
"What was that?"
Uncle Sheev cocked his ear as if to listen. "Sounds like a male nokono on the prowl. They're omnivorous mammals that make a no sound when they growl. Mostly harmless at this time of year, unless you threaten their cubs."
"Phew," said the Jedi with relief. "I'm not going to do that." He levered himself to his feet with minimal effort, and renewed confidence. The weakness caused by the blow to the head seemed to be wearing off. Whereas the sweat on his skin had dried and began to seek the attention of his olfactory sense, in a reminder of his interrupted exercises.
"Sorry to be inhospitable, Uncle, but I think I need a sanisteam. Followed by some painkillers and a nap, maybe."
Palpatine stood up from his seat with a bounce that belied his seventy-year-old frame, still remarkably healthy apart from a stiff back. Renouncing the most taxing role in the galaxy was treating him well, in body and spirit; at times it seemed as if he might live for ten thousand years.
"No problem, lad. I should get back to my vegetable garden and my memoirs. The joys of a well-earned retirement." He wagged a wizened finger. "Don't forget, you have a date with Minister Amidala later."
"I do?"
"Yes. The two of you are lunching at the Diamond Waterfall, since it's Shmila's birthday tomorrow." He held his hands out in a shrug. "It's not every day a Jedi Master's daughter turns five years old. In fact, I don't think it has officially happened in centuries."
"My… daughter?" stammered Skywalker, his heart hammering in his chest. "But-"
Palpatine's formal bow cut off his objection. "Enjoy your day, Master Anakin. We shall catch up again soon."
The Jedi stood in the empty hall. It was a discovery that pleased him beyond all possibilities, yet hurt his soul at the same time. The satisfaction of being a father when he himself had never had one, of nurturing the fruit of his love with the woman he could not live without, of seeing the next generation grow and learn from their elders…
You don't have any younglings, whispered the disembodied voice. You kill younglings.
"There's no way THAT's an animal noise," snarled Anakin to himself. Fortunately it said nothing more to test his sanity further.