Hand over hand. Foot by foot.
Ahsoka stops climbing for a moment to wipe her brow and loosen her grip. The morning sun shines right in her face, and the chance to rest, if even for just a few seconds, is a blessing. It's more than one hundred meters from the base of the south tower communications hub on the Tath estate to the topmost comms relay station, and the service ladder here on the tower's east side is the only way up that isn't monitored by a veritable panopticon of security cameras. The best solutions take hard work—but it's better to inch up rung by rung of the ladder than to walk into the wrong camera feed and face a swarm of Tath guards with only her lightsabers and Rex's pistols at the ready.
She could handle them, really. But it's what will happen to Master Kenobi and Master Skywalker if she and Rex are found infiltrating the tower that concerns her. Careful then, Ahsoka. Stay out of sight. Stay quiet. Keep going. Hand by hand, foot by foot.
"Doing all right, commander?"
Below her, sweat beads on Rex's brow. Taris is not a hot planet by nature, but the sheer scale of its industry and cityscape, along with the sun blasting them head-on, has turned this tower into a broiler. Already the durasteel wall plating is warm to the touch. "Fine, Rex," says Ahsoka, working out the kinks in the fingers of her left hand. "Just staying loose."
"Got it," Rex says. "Take your time. General Kenobi did say that stealth's more important than speed."
"I'd rather not wait around for anyone to find us on accident, as it is."
"As you like. It's not far to the top now."
He looks so much slimmer without his clone armor on. Rex is as powerfully built as any of his soldierly brothers, but in the drab Tarisian commoner vests he and Ahsoka wear, he could easily fit in with any of the crowds teeming on the myriad byways and overpasses that stretch between skyscrapers in the surrounding cityscape. Billions upon billions of faces abustle. Silver-steel glimmer of modern life whirring into early-morning action. Speeder traffic like swarms of flies, thousands upon thousands of vehicles peeling all around, veering in and out of the airlanes with enough frequency and blatant disregard for traffic safety as to overwhelm any public security officer back on Coruscant. Taris moves as if acting in concert with nature, not guided by rules or bureaucracy or the legislated interests of the civilization but simply as if pushed on by momentum, a whole city-planet surging forward with nothing more than sheer inertia to steady it, one day pushing into the next, an ant hive marching to the orders of a fossilized queen.
What happens, then, when something shakes up that chaotic status quo?
Ahsoka shakes off the question and shakes her head. That kind of thinking is for Master Yoda and his youngling teachings. Be here in the present, Master Skywalker has told her so many times. What's happening ten feet in front of you doesn't matter if your next step takes you off of a cliff.
Foot by foot, then. She grabs the next rung. Climbs. Then the next. Then the next.
Her fingers are burning by the time she makes it to the top, reaching up and over the last rung of the ladder and clambering atop the tower dome. After helping Rex up with a hand, she wipes sweat from her palms and says, "Look for a maintenance hatch somewhere near the center of the roof. Our scans said we should be able to get in from there."
"Then we just gotta hack into their comms net, find anything useful, and get out of here before any wrench-turners notice us," Rex says. "General Kenobi sure gives us the easy jobs."
"I'm sure he's having a difficult time feasting, or whatever he's doing," says Ahsoka.
"Be happy to trade places with him if it's that tough. Ah, this would've been easier if General Skywalker had brought his droid."
Ahsoka grins. "C'mon, Anakin's taught me a thing or two about slicing. I might not be Artoo, but it won't be a problem."
"Take your word for it," Rex says. He smiles. "I'm just here to keep you company."
"Oh, I know what you're the best at. Just make sure no one goes shooting me in the back while I'm playing data thief."
"Got your back, commander. Always."
She knows. His word and his will she will never doubt.
A minute later Rex finds a wheel-mounted hatch just large enough to let a single worker pass through. Unlocked: Either the Taths' security procedures could use updating or their hiring process could. Ahsoka gives the hatch wheel a few strong turns—grinding of metal on metal, rust-worn resistance—and pulls open the door, slipping through. Quiet. Stealthy. Just as Master Kenobi wanted.
So far, so good.
The air is cool in here, a faint mechanical breeze blowing down the access shaft. Matte grey metal on all sides. Just large enough to walk down single-file; just tall enough to keep Rex from stooping. "Cozy," says Ahsoka. She taps the floor with her toe. "Watch your footsteps. I don't think this is very thick. It's going to make a lot of noise if we go running down it."
"Quiet as a mouse, then," says Rex.
Even tiptoeing down the corridor, Ahsoka can hear the thin metal rattling under her tread. The air smells like an old shed, traces of oil and grease and dust. The soft whump-whump-whump of a ventilation fan rumbles from somewhere farther down the tunnel like the slumbering of some lurking beast waiting for Ahsoka to take a wrong turn. "Here," she says, holding up her portable scanner. "Left, then a right. Then we should be able to drop down into the main corridor outside of the central comms hub."
A centipede the size of her lightsaber hilt scurries past her foot, and it's all she can do not to jump high enough to hit her head on the ceiling. Rex grabs her arm. Steadies her. Always ready. "Neglecting the cleaning, aren't they?" he says, watching the centipede dart down the shaft.
"Yich," grumbles Ahsoka, wiping her foot. "That's probably a good thing for us, though. Come on."
Nothing rises to stop them. No ghost comes to haunt them. There is naught here but the dust and the shadows and the machine-blown air, and what foes might lurk are as slumbering monsters watching from the fog and waiting for just the right wrong move. Ahsoka feels anxious—too simple. The Taths are nobles, two of the most powerful people on Taris, renown for their scientific aptitude and charisma. Why is there such an obvious hole in their estate's security? But she must focus on the here, the now. There is time to worry about that later, when Master Kenobi and Master Skywalker reconnoiter and have a better idea of just who they're dealing with. For now, all she has is the next step. She hoists open the grating above the corridor below, peaks out, spots no one in the hall, and drops down with the agility of a trained infiltrator. Still nothing.
She doesn't have far to go to find the control hub. Mere feet away a hallway interchange leads directly to a pair of double doors flanked by wide glass panes, within which stretches a long series of electronic monitors and display screens, along with a full floor-mounted holonet transceiver. There's only one thing that can be. "That's it," she whispers to Rex. "Just give me a moment to figure out how to get inside, and—"
"Commander—wait!"
A guard—no, not a guard, a maintenance tech—plods down the hall from the opposite direction. Ahsoka doesn't have time to hide before he sets down his mop, stares at her and Rex open-mouthed, and says, "Who're you?"
Rex puts a hand on his pistol. Ahsoka waves him off. Caution, caution. This could go better than she expected. "Shift change," she says, walking up to the tech. He looks surprised more than anything, as likely to entertain her answers as run away screaming for security. "You're relieved."
"What? I'm on for another two hours, it's—"
Ah, forget it. You're a Jedi, Ahsoka. Take the easy way out this once.
She waves her hand. Use the Force. "You want to open the communications hub for me," she says.
The tech looks confused. "I want to open the comms hub for you."
"Right on," she says brightly as he tromps down the hall.
The tech swipes an identi-chip before a wall-mounted panel and the doors swing open. Effortless. So simple. "Uh, ma'am," he grunts, "what'd you need the comms hub open for?"
"You want," says Ahsoka, waving her hand again, "to leave work and find a better job."
The tech shakes his head and grimaces. "I, uh, want to leave work and find a better job."
"You want to do that right now."
"I want to do that right now."
He abandons his maintenance cart, shrugs, pulls off his worker jacket, and drops it on the floor behind him as he walks away. Ahsoka smiles. "Yeah," she mutters to herself, crossing her arms over her chest, "stick it to 'em."
Rex pops out from behind the nearest corner once the tech has left. "He doesn't look like academy material, sorry to say."
"Looks can be deceiving, Rex."
"Probably not in this case."
"Yeah, probably not. Oh well. Maybe he'll race swoops, or at least do something more exciting than mopping floors. Lemme sweep for security cameras and then we're in."
"You'd think we'd have run into some soldiers by now," Rex says. "This place is dead."
"We can worry about it later," says Ahsoka. "Right now, let's just check out what we came to check out."
From her satchel she produces a long, thin, metal snake. Its head is a cylindrical cobble of wires, screws, terminal mountings, and red, beady eyes, but it lays limp in Ahsoka's hand until she hits a series of buttons on her portable scanner. Then it squirms to life, letting out a series of squawks and cries in binary. It's just a remote drone, not quite a droid, but enough to get the job done. Ahsoka lets it go and, via her scanner, pilots the droid into the room. From the snake's mouth it spits up a tiny ball that belches out an invisible sensor pulse. "Four cameras. Two hidden blaster turrets in the wall," Ahsoka whispers to Rex. "Gimme a minute."
She maneuvers the snake along the polished floor—apparently the tech at least saw to mopping this place before his grand quitting—and veers it up the sheer incline of a monitoring station. There, in the terminal—an access port. Ahsoka drags her finger along the scanner screen. Up, up. There. The drone jams its head into the terminal, squeals. Then data flashes across the scanner, lights ablur, numbers, letters. Then it all goes black.
"Security down," Ahsoka says, feeling relieved.
Rex frowns and looks at the scanner. "Just like that?"
"Just like that. Isn't technology great?"
"Beyond me. Do your thing, commander."
She recalls the drone and creeps into the room, one hand on one of her lightsabers just in case. No blaster turrets emerge to engage her. No guards come creeping down from some hidden vantage point she missed. Peace and quiet. Perfect.
Worry about how easy it was later. Just keep going.
Now it's time for the interesting part. Into the port the drone accessed she hooks one end of a cable, plugging the other into her scanner. In truth, despite what she told Rex she has no idea how to slice a system like this—and fortunately, she won't have to. Several months ago back at the Jedi Temple, her fellow Padawan and friend from their youngling days, the human girl Tamri Dallin, whipped up a nifty little slicing program designed to overload a computer core with junk data. It's powerful enough to keep software security and artificial intelligence at bay long enough for a secondary data probe to sift through and copy files and programs, and it's worked on every computer Ahsoka's tried it on for the past month. Time to see just how good Tamri's programming is.
Ahsoka activates the slicer. All at once the many screens in front of her black out momentarily, the room bathed in darkness for just a moment before the lights flicker back on one by one. Don't panic. Totally normal. Probably.
The scanner whirs as the slicing program runs. Ahsoka taps her foot. Come on, come on. Then the screen lights up. Files popping up all over. She catches names, titles, figures.
"Commander?" Rex hisses.
"Just a moment."
"Footsteps. Better be a quick moment."
Ahsoka grits her teeth. Come on, come on. But she will need to stay here to access everything, and if guards are coming, then stay here she cannot. She only hopes whatever the slicer has picked up so far will be enough. She unplugs her data probe, beckons for Rex to escape, and shuts the door just as two rifle-armed security guards round the far corridor. Maybe it really was a shift change. Maybe her unfortunate maintenance tech won't be getting a new job after all.
But it doesn't matter. She's just in time getting away. Ahsoka slides out of sight, scampering away down the hall. "I don't know if I got anything good," she whispers to Rex as they hurry away.
"We can see once we're out," Rex says. "Come on. Back out the way we came in."
They're careful to ensure everything is perfect: Grating back on over the cover of the access shaft, nothing left behind to indicate anyone was ever there. Once they're out atop the tower roof, Ahsoka sits down and runs her hand over her scanner. "I got some data," she says, looking over the files popping up on the screen, "and the slicer's supposed to prioritize important files. I don't know how it works."
"I thought this was your specialty?" Rex says.
"Hey, I did my best. Lemme concentrate."
There. Communications burst to life on her screen. "Here we go," she says, narrowing her eyes. "A shipment manifest from the Taths to...Sleheyron."
"The Hutt world?" says Rex.
"Looks like. It's a big order. Millions of credits. And here—another one two weeks later. Something about 'living cargo.'"
Rex frowns. "That sounds shady."
"Got a name," says Ahsoka. "Someone named Garrako Arraton on Sleheyron was on the other order of a number of shipments from the Taths on Taris. He's always the one buying. Lots of credits. Someone was funding them."
"So they're in league with the Hutts? Or people working on Hutt worlds?"
"I don't know. Let me run a comparison on known galactic criminals and see if it's underworld-related," says Ahsoka, but before she can move the scanner lights up again. "Hold on."
"What is it?"
"I'm getting a…a ping. It's an alert about an inbound transfer of goods at the under-passage of a nearby skyway. But…wait. I'm not in the system anymore. How is it still accessing?"
Rex shakes his head. "This doesn't sound right."
Ahsoka grits her teeth and presses her palm to her forehead. "This is a trap."
"What?"
"I must've missed something. They must've tagged me when I accessed the system," she says, her nerves flaring. "We didn't get lucky getting in. They let us in. They want us to go there."
"Well, forget that," says Rex. "We can get out of here the way we came in. Our speeder's—"
Ahsoka stops him. "Rex, they probably know we're here right now," she says. She looks back to the scanner. Right in the middle of the trap. Only one thing to do. "Let's go the skyway."
"What? Commander, if it's—"
"I'm aware it's just another trap. But if they think we're playing their game, then we have the chance to turn the tables. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"
"I could think of a whole lot."
"Well…don't. Come on. Let's spring the trap."
It's bold to the point of reckless, but, she hopes, Anakin would like it.
Several minutes later they're in a borrowed—just for the day, Ahsoka thinks; no one will even know it's gone—pleasure speeder zipping through the thick Tarisian airspace. The air is heavy with industrial soot climbing out of a nearby access tunnel leading into the Lower City; tankers and freighters drift down from orbit in a cosmic artery from the many Rim worlds to here, provisioners all manner of goods that Taris needs to survive like forlorn caravans crossing death-strewn deserts on beast-back to empires of yore. Ahsoka tries to keep her eyes on the airway in front of her, on the traffic around her. Focus on the here. The now. Don't think about what you're walking into, or about what sort of scheming the Taths are up to. Don't think about Master Kenobi and Master Skywalker right now.
"When we get there," she says to Rex, "stay with the speeder."
"You're going in alone?"
"I want to have a look around and try to find whatever made that signal without it spotting me. And if things go wrong, I might need a quick getaway. So make sure that's still an option."
Rex frowns. "I don't like it. But all right. If you need anything—"
"You'll probably now by the sound of blaster fire if it gets to that point," Ahsoka says. She points to a skybridge stretching a quarter-kilometer between two towers. "That's our spot. Get ready."
She parks the speeder in the shadow of a light transport stopped beside the skybridge and in the middle of being cited for illegal parking by Tarisian police. A good enough cover as any. She evades the security officers harassing the transport crew, drops down into the under-passage beneath the skybridge, and marks her bearings. Before her spans the lower bridge, covered in darkness from the shade of the main bridge above. Not far ahead a dozen workers sort, catalogue, and move a number of large metal transport boxes on mechanical loaders from the lower bridge to the upper. When she inspects her scanner's alert, it's from amid those boxes that the reading comes from.
A thought strikes Ahsoka. No one has stopped her yet. No one has accosted her. What if it isn't the Taths and their security that found her out, but someone working on the inside? It's happened before. Disgruntled workers, jaded idealists. There are a hundred sorts of malefactors within large organizations, and if the data she picked up from the Tath comms hub is any indication—if it can even be trusted now—then they are the definition of a large organization. They need some way to make all that money, after all. Is it someone on the inside who's tired of the Taths that's drawing her here, not to trap her, but to get her to see something?
No, no. She cannot make assumptions. She cannot jump to conclusions. Stay here, in the now. Use what you can see. Trust your instincts. Let the Force guide you.
Forward, then. Cautious, slow. Careful. Foot by foot.
She slinks along the outer edge of the guardrail, using the barrier to shield herself from view of any of the workers tending to cargo on the bridge. One look to her right and she regrets it: To her side, Taris airspace plunges a sheer kilometer down to the duracrete surface of the Upper City. One misstep and she faces a long, long drop.
She clenches her jaw and inches forward. Careful. A little closer. A little closer. Despite her anxiousness, she slides close enough to see the Tath family crest on the cargo crates, a white circle positioned above an upside-down chevron comprised of five white stars. Curious: If anyone wanted her dead, they had ample opportunity to blast her from the side of the bridge. She would have no chance. Yet her she is, still intact. When no one is looking she hops over the guardrail and takes cover behind the nearest crate, peering around it, seeing only workers and machinery.
Then her scanner comes to life. A single message flashes across its screen. Go to the upper bridge.
Ahsoka scowls. Who are you? she types into the scanner's messaging-reply interface, but no answer comes.
Going on blind faith, then. She is in too far to do anything but see this through.
Staying out of sight, Ahsoka climbs up a service ladder (enough of these things—already she longs for the simplicity of a turbolift) and sneaks up to the top skybridge. Thousands of pedestrians up here. Robes of Tarisian purple and noble gold, cloths of Chandrilan silk and Telosian matterweave. The upturned faces and held-high heads of Tarisian nobility. Certainly a fitting place for the Taths. Ahsoka looks to her scanner for any further messages—nothing—and creeps forward along the outside edge of the guardrail.
There. The crest of the Taths. The workers from the under-bridge are pushing the crates up here for whatever reason—and, Ahsoka thinks, it is there that she will either find answers or problems. She leaps over the guardrail, now no longer caring who sees her, and moves forward, determined, ready.
Her wrist commlink blurs to life. "Commander!" shouts Rex, "You've got—"
He doesn't have the chance to finish before a security speeder swoops in low behind Ahsoka, drops a trio of armed soldiers, and speeds away. All three of the new entrants, clad in silver-blue armor and strolling forward with confidence, level rifles at her. "Hands up, Jedi," the foremost soldier snarls.
Ahsoka scowls. So a trap after all, then. She grabs her lightsabers off of her belt and lets her blades whir to life. "I don't think so."
"You are under arrest," the lead soldier says loud enough for the passing pedestrians, already backing away at the sight of Ahsoka's lightsabers, to hear, "for unlawful trespass, high thievery, and conspiracy against the ruling government of Taris."
"Conspiracy?" Ahsoka blurts. Hilarious. "I know you aren't just police. I know who sent you. Who your masters are. Tell me: What do you want? Why'd you lure me here?"
"I won't say it again," snaps the lead soldier.
Ahsoka drops into a fighting stance. Master Kenobi said to stay out of sight, but she has no choice now. She will fight her way out. At least now the Taths' intentions are clear.
But she does not have the chance. She has only a moment's notice as the crates behind her beep, then churn as if gears are in motion from within them. Then comes a great howling. Ahsoka throws herself forward, a single word in her thoughts in that lone moment between here and then: Bomb.
Then the skybridge explodes.
Violet and gold paneling. The quiet, composed air of nobility, of the dignity and pride of an old, respected world. Senator Kin Robb's Senate office on Coruscant is nothing if not a message to visitors: Taris will not be intimidated. Taris will not be cowed. "Frankly, Senator Amidala," Senator Robb says, pressing her hands together and leaning over her desk, "the Tath family has been nothing but a benefit to Taris over the years. They provide huge sums to our public works. They've helped to clean much of the industry that, until a decade ago, made Taris no less of an industrial blight than worlds such as Belderone. They are welcome guests of every public festival and celebration, and they contribute far more than their share by the measure of any of Taris's great noble families. If they weren't such a recent arrival on Taris, I have no doubt they'd be looked at as one of Taris's foundations among the nobility. The new rich are always viewed with some suspicion. I'm sure you know that on Naboo, given your own world's noble class."
Padme purses her lips. She both does and does not know. She knows because the Supreme Chancellor himself is a benefactor of Naboo's nobility, a man born to the prestigious Palpatines—most wiped out in a starship accident many years ago, including the entirety of the Chancellor's immediate family—who lived among and flirted with Naboo's best and brightest as a child. She entered the Legislative Youth Program and found her own company among many of those same people. The idealists and the greedy, the would-be heroes and the malignant scum. Even among a single class there is no simple classification. Nobility is a complex thing, a knotted system of individuals and ambitions and spirits as tangled as the subterranean roots of primeval forests that have never known civilization's touch. Padme understands that Senator Robb's reluctance comes from just that same understanding of the web of intrigue, drama, and family that ties systems of noble rulership together.
But Naboo is not Taris. Naboo is not a blighted world of cityscape and pollution and factories and towers, and Senator Robb's excuses sound just as much like attempts at evasion as they do pleas for understanding. The Taths are not people from the Lake Country like her. They did not repel the Trade Federation, unite and welcome the greater galaxy in ways never seen before, join hands Gungan and human and bind a fractured planet together. No, the Taths are outsiders on a world full of fractures, and Padme knows that they are no strangers to politics. There is no other way for outsiders to climb to the top of noble society so quickly.
"I did not mean to insinuate anything, Senator," Padme says, careful with her words. She and Kin Robb are frequent allies in the Senate, fellow pursuers of peace, but the wrong move in politics can mar a relationship just as the wrong sprinkle of ingredients can poison a drink. "I only mean to say that Taris is in an extremely important position. The recent instability on Mandalore means that your world is perhaps the most important member of the League of Neutral Systems. Where Taris goes, I think, so goes the cause for peace in this horrible war."
"That's kind of you to say, Padme," Senator Robb says, "but I fail to see how that involves the Taths."
Padme smiles. Show nothing but friendship. Offer an open hand even while arming the other. Political fundamentals. "You said it yourself. They are an important—a vital, even—part of Taris's rulership. They are the wealthiest people on Taris. And yet we know so little about them, apart from what's skin-deep."
"Are you afraid the Taths are going to lead Taris into the hands of the Separatists?" Senator Robb says with the hint of a grin.
"Of course not. I know how strong your people are. I know you are loyal to the Republic. But I know the same of Duchess Satine on Mandalore, and now her world is plagued with unrest and frequent terrorist attacks from the Death Watch."
Robb scoffs. "Mandalore and Taris couldn't be further apart. Mandalore's history is a chronicle of bloodshed. It's normal, understandable even, that a radical segment of their people might form to embrace that history. But Taris has none of that. We were attacked by those same Mandalorians during the Old Sith Wars. We were savaged by the Sith not long after, our planet turned into rubble. It is in our neutrality that we find peace. Peace from all the ills that have befallen us over the years. People like the Taths understand that. They come to Taris to avoid the pitfalls of the Clone Wars, to get away from all of this fighting and chaos. You cannot fault them for that. Perhaps they are spectacularly wealthy. What of it? There are a great many families across the galaxy that can say the same. The Tagges, the Santhes and the Sienars—"
"I am aware," says Padme. "Please excuse my concern, Senator. But in times like this, where so much about our foes is unknown, we need to be closer than ever with our friends. The war turns every day, and recently it seems it has turned against us. Peace seems so far away, and even our soldiers on the front lines are falling back. It is hard to imagine what tomorrow will bring."
Senator Robb smiles, reaches across her desk, and takes Padme's hand. "I know things are difficult right now," she says, "but know that Taris will always be loyal to the Republic. And know that I will always be fighting for peace, right alongside you. That is a promise."
"I thank you," says Padme. "I drafted legislation to propose another round of peace talks with Confederate civilian leadership, and I plan to present it to the Senate soon with Lux Bonteri from Onderon. Given that his mother was a Separatist senator, I hope that we can help ease any tensions from the more militarist-inclined systems. It would be wonderful to hear your input on it later, if you have the time."
"Of course," Senator Robb says. "Feel free to stop by any time, Padme. I am on your side, I assure you."
Padme bows her head and departs. Nothing. The legislation with Lux is a half-truth, technically—she does plan to propose more peace talks, although nothing is in the works—but the suspicions stoked by Ahsoka's message swirl in her head. If the Taths are on good terms with Count Dooku as Anakin suspected, then either Senator Robb is unaware, or she's covering up their actions.
Or Anakin's wrong. That is entirely possible, as well. But something about this stinks to Padme. First Mandalore seems on the verge of falling apart, and now Taris becomes a concern. If neutrality dies, what is left but for the Republic and the Separatists to shoot at each other until only one side is left standing? What is left of peace if the only faction staking their very existence on that notion dies?
It would certainly be a victory to Count Dooku. Show that the Republic cannot win with diplomacy, and nothing is left but the viciousness of warfare. Every system claiming neutrality would have to side with one faction or the other in such a scenario in order to survive, and given the Separatists' recent spate of military victories, what does the Republic have to offer? A Senate that can barely function, that passes military authorization bill after bill? That cannot protect its peace-touting loyal systems?
Back in her office she rests her head in her hands. She wishes she could do something more than just interrogate friends. More than talk fruitlessly and watch as the likes of Senator Burtoni and the other hawkish parties in the Senate call for more battlecruisers, more clone troopers.
She wishes Anakin was here. At least she can believe him when he says things will work themselves out. She can believe in him leaping into action, even if it's often so reckless as to leave her speechless. Still he comes out alive and looking better than ever. Somehow. But she knows war from those halcyon days on Naboo. Despite her faith in Anakin, she knows how luck can swing. She knows that one misstep on the battlefield could leave her alone on Coruscant with only regret haunting her. And she knows, deep down, that as much as she fights for the Republic, for Naboo, for democracy, just as much she fights to get him off of those battlefields and back here, safe, at home.
As always, she loses herself in her work. It is the only thing that draws her mind away from imaging worst-case scenarios, from thinking what might be happening out there on Taris, to Anakin, to Ahsoka and Obi-Wan. From this thought-defying feeling called love that stretches across the stars from busy Coruscant to whatever dens and dwellings Anakin might crawl through, the two of them fighting, fighting, so that they might be together again. But for that to happen she needs to work. Argue. Debate. Write. Fight.
As the sun sets on another Coruscant day and evening creeps over the sky in its paintbrush indigos and blues, Padme abandons the solitude of her office. She can only stay cooped up for so long, and even if home is a lonely place, C-3PO and R2-D2 will have to stand in in Anakin's place. They are reminders of him, even if they cannot begin to replace him, and she will take what she can get.
But she does not make it far down the hallway before a quartet of Senate emergency personal rush past her. Full armor, medical bags dangling from their arms, a folded stretcher on one's back. "What's happening?" Padme asks, but she may as well be asking the wind.
She follows. Trots, then jogs, then runs. Bail Organa, hearing the commotion, opens his office's door as she passes by. "Padme? What's going on?"
"I don't know," says Padme, stopping only long enough to speak and catch her breath, "but I saw the medics rushing away. I'm going to see what happened."
Bail shuts his door. "Then come on. Let's go."
Always a man of action, Bail.
They rush down the corridor after the medics, just close enough to keep them in sight. Then the medics turn—right where Padme's gut tells her they might. Right where she fears they might stop. Senator Robb's office.
When the medics throw open the door Senator Robb crawls forward out of her office, spittle leaking from her mouth, her eyes wide and glassy. She reaches a hand out towards Padme and croaks, sounds unbecoming of any human working their way out of her mouth. "Senator Robb!" shrieks Padme.
Bail grabs her waist. "Padme, no! You don't know what's happened!"
"No! Kin! Hold on!"
The medics descend on her. Senator Robb gasps, one hand around her throat, the other clawing at the carpet like a desperate animal, her legs kicking, now spasming, her body seizing up. Death advancing out of the shadows. Hear its wheezing. Feel its heated breath. Its hand wrapped around Senator Robb's throat just as hers is, squeezing, squeezing, as its blade draws ready for the final strike. Nothing will stop it now.
Padme strains against Bail's grip. No, no, no. You said you would fight beside me. You promised.
Then Senator Robb falls still. A rattle quakes from her lips. Death's blade slams home.
One of the medics stands. "She's gone."
Padme falls into Bail's arms and cries.