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Unbroken Vow of a Jedi: Chapter 8.5
Informal Prologue: The Kidnapping
Padmé describes the kidnapping attempt in detail to Anakin and Sabé as they lead the investigation to find the culprit behind the attack, eager to suppress those who wish to do their beloved Senator harm.
This is a Halloween Update!
(It isn't necessary to understand the plot, but it does give context to the heart of Padmé and Anakin's issues. It's just extra. It probably has a few typos/grammar issues here and there, but I will double-check later).
Also, this is a gift to all of the readers that left such phenomenal and supportive reviews! I've ever only gotten one bad critique saying that it was all just a cheesy romance with no plot xD
But that bad review has nothing on all of the amazing ones! I obsess over them just a bit – they give me the best vibes
Warning: An adult theme via a mention of nocturnal emissions (AKA "wet dreams" AKA the "cream dream" lol)
Just before the kidnapping attempt
(After Mace Windu returned to the Senate building to release the Senate from the bunker; just before the beginning of Chapter 1)
Padmé's Apartment
High Treason.
Never an accusation one wanted to hear when it regarded the Supreme Leader of your governed state. The old, seemingly saintly mentor. The friendly face from your homeworld.
The how and the why mattered little at this point; not enough to overplay the effort it would take to put the pieces back together. The many, many broken pieces… the broken trust… the lost faith… the crystal-clear hypocrisy that was shoved into the limelight.
And oh, how the corruption of the Republic couldn't be clearer than it was in this critical moment.
But then, throughout the hulking cavity of the Senate Bunker, there had been many outraged voices that made it clear that such a claim made by the Jedi couldn't be correct. They had — in the near six hours they had been stuck there — made their soured opinions on the Jedi evident: calling them brutes by forcing the Senate to be 'stuffed' within the hull of the Senate Bunker until further notice. Calling them liars by putting a title of tyranny over the esteemed and highly popular 'Chancellor Palpatine…' always a name spoken in the highest of regards.
But it wasn't just a title of tyranny; it was a title of High Treason – a title that the Republic had always entrusted the Jedi to bestow. Before now. So what had changed? Had this war single-handedly obliterated the ancient trust of coexisting states? And High Treason would imply that Palpatine had been actively working against the best interests of the Galactic Front, which, in hindsight, would make sense. For Palpatine to keep his charge for as long as he did, he would've had to fight for his position under the pretense that the war effort couldn't allow for a power exchange. It was well-known that the end of the war would have done away with the anchor to Palpatine's continued presence in the Chancellor's seat. Did he add fuel to the fire to remain Chancellor? He certainly would have had the power and insight to do so.
But as it stood, the Galactic Congress did not see (or did not wish to see) the Chancellor in this light. Pride within the Republic Senate ran deep, and to be slapped in the face with the knowledge that they had all been complacent little sheep would prove to be too much for most of them. So, they had directed their ire onto the Jedi themselves… a completely unhelpful and unconstructive consideration.
Senator Amidala had found such arguments witless, for one had to ask themselves 'which evil would be worse?' The leader of the Republic being the betrayer, or the generals, warriors, and peacekeepers of the Republic being the betrayers? One of them they could uneasily recover from; the other, they could be decimated by.
Of course, Padmé could see why it was so easy for some of them to paint the Jedi in this light; they had, after all, forced them into a bunker without warning, and they had performed a devastating power move by uprooting the crown of the state with brute allegations. She could see many incoming contentions arise from this fact alone.
And then there was Chancellor-Elect. A word with many repercussions, especially now. Padmé already knew… hoped… that she was by no means a Nominee in any degree other than name. She was far too alike to Palpatine, even despite the obvious difference in policy. She was from Naboo, as he was, and he had been her Senator as Queen. She had placed him in the seat of power he abused. She wasn't nearly enough removed from him to be taken seriously as a true Nominee; in fact, she was pretty sure that her name was called only because of her recent efforts to defy Palpatine (once the emergency hearing evolved into a desperate, self-preserving game of supporting everything against Palpatine, much to the dismay of the blind-support of the hearing's previous mood).
At that moment, as her captain and handmaidens watched over her with private but protective eyes as the lift carried them to her apartment level, Amidala decided with a grunt of finality that she couldn't become Chancellor. Not without an act of insane bias, and — as it stood — the bias held in favor of her colleague Organa; with her own bias included.
But then what about the war? How would they fare in the face of it when they had to fight an unforeseen battle at home? How could one talk the talk and shoot the shot when it turned out that the ground had been over their head the entire time?
And the Clones? Why had they been ordered to evacuate the premise not long after they were locked in the bunker with them?
And for goodness' sake, why was there an intense light show coming from the direction of the Jedi Temple? She might've cried in fear right then and there would it not have caused an uproar of fret to erupt within the lift once the first tear shed.
So instead, she clamped her jaw, took a deep, cleansing breath, and kept her eyes forward.
"I will prepare tea, should you wish it, my lady," Moteé said in a receptive and hesitant voice, speaking formally as a way to retain propriety despite disturbing Padmé's self-reflective silence.
"I'm not sure I can stomach it at the moment," Padmé replied when she could, her voice chipping in the otherwise silent lift.
Padmé knew very well that the actual motivation behind Moteé's request had nothing to do with tea, so much as it had to do with asking her how she was. They might as well have been the same sentence; only that one of them respected Padmé's boundaries better. She appreciated the sentiment, but what she was about to do next required a certain degree of privacy.
Captain Typho suddenly gave a terse shift as if in anticipation.
"It has been a tremendously long day, for all of us," she said. "Please assume your own needs for the time being; I need to look into a private matter, and I will not require your support until noon."
The captain began to inhale for his argument against the case, but Padmé stopped him with a raised hand. "My decision is final." Her voice left no room for debate.
He rearmed himself with silence. Padmé thought that he played a wise move.
When the lift found her floor, Padmé was the only one that exited. She gave them all encouraging nods as the doors closed, but once they did, the smile was wiped clean within seconds to be replaced by an exhausted glower.
After a long night enduring runoff hearings, the emergency lockdown, and then the impromptu Election, Padmé was glad to finally be left to herself-
"Mistress Padmé! Thank goodness you're unharmed! News has been circling-"
"I need some alone time, Threepio. Please tend to Moteé, Karté, and Ellé. They have a few tasks for you, and they are very important. I may also require you to pick up some loose ends in my official office. That will be all."
"Oh," the droid said, sounding crestfallen. "If you insist, my lady."
Padmé's eyes remained trained on the floor as Threepio shuffled past her to the lift. Her breath remained steady as she raised them once more to look upon the desecrated Temple. She knew he was there; he had been there at the Delegation of 2000 meeting only two days ago. He couldn't be anywhere else, and she knew he wouldn't have it any other way.
He had a penchant for being drawn towards the middle of chaos. It was as if he had to find a situation that matched his energy at all times. Or perhaps, it was as if the trouble found him. Or, most likely, he threw himself towards trouble as it faithfully followed him around. Padmé didn't know either way. All she knew was that where Anakin was, so was the main event.
A brokenhearted laugh forced its way up her throat. It was the same laugh that always occurred whenever she imagined how things could've been if only she had said yes. But the fact remained.
Anakin? A married man? A "tamed" man (though Padmé knew of the sexism behind that claim, she also knew that marriage required a certain degree of passivity for the sake of maintaining a trustful partnership, and Anakin was by no means a passive person). What would he do in the absence of contributing his skillset to the Order? Take up a full-time mechanic job? Padmé could imagine him pre-programming a droid to shoot at him for amusement.
But maybe it would have been worth it because then he would be hers, and then she would be his.
But she couldn't have; for his safety and hers. And perhaps the entire galaxy, as well. She had seen the great feats he was capable of in his most triumphant times. His most vulnerable times. His most frightening times. The most fearsome feats. He and his fellow Jedi were born with queer but dynamic powers that left them able to alter reality itself. And, as Padmé had learned from Qui-Gon, Anakin's potential for power surpassed that of even Yoda himself.
This power was the reason she told him no.
Even now, she couldn't fully distinguish within her heart if she was still frightened of him - surely not as much as she did the day Shmi Skywalker died, but still too much, though she would never admit that to herself… or to him. Especially never to him. The memories faded, but the sight of seeing her treasure - who she knew had more love in his heart than blood in his veins – commit violent genocide right before her very eyes... the trauma lingered. But she couldn't deny that many of her fears orbited around him. Many, many fears.
Of him dying, or of him living an unfulfilling life. Of him living an unhappy life. Of him getting hurt. Of him losing his way-
"No," she said softly to herself. Her Anakin ("hers" only in her inner dialogues) would never fail. He would never fall, she knew, and that was why she was willing to try again. To her, he was the most perfect being she had been blessed enough to be acknowledged by. (Perfect, not in the banal sense of the word: perfect at being Anakin, which, to Padmé, was perfect.) Truly, she was left stunned by the idea of ever having met him at all. How fortunate, indeed, was she! But to have met him was one thing; to have once been the object of his affections was another.
How her mind had spent so many restless nights twisting itself by asking "If Only."
It was a ridiculous dream to her, a constant fantasy that she lived out within the confines of her imagination, and sometimes even in her dreams (which would have embarrassing outcomes, leaving her feeling perverted and ashamed in the morning).
Every day she longed for him, thinking herself selfish for harboring such sentiments. But now all she longed for was his safety. Nothing else. Nothing else mattered more than that.
But, as long as Padmé carried the name "Amidala," her first priority would always be her duty to her people; her duty to the Republic. Loving Anakin was her only freedom, but she was never free so long as she remained a servant of Naboo, and for as long as she might serve, she would serve graciously. No matter the heartache she endured.
Duty would always come first.
She closed her eyes from the burning Temple and stalked into her office, her eyes immediately catching onto the hollo-projector that was built within her desk. She awakened the interface and loaded in the timestamp of interest. Her frustrations tripled as the beams of light coordinated themselves. Then finally, the visage of a young girl in Naboo Royal Regalia appeared, and she stood tall within the center of a Senate pod as it floated before the Chancellor's podium. Her mane of hair was twisted into two magnificent horns that hung golden tassels, and Padmé could distinctly remember every defensive purpose that each hairpin, crimson fold of fabric, plane of the headdress, and inch of makeup served. Like her regalia, her eyes were impersonal in that they were void of any noticeable emotion; she had trained the muscles within her face to remain sutured to her bones no matter what emotion might've laid behind. She was above showing emotion to her opponents, as she was nothing if not aloof and untouchable. But Padmé could identify the emotions from memory alone.
A traitor stood at her right shoulder, but the young Queen was despairingly unaware, thinking the traitor an ally. Her eyes shifted about the hulking room, spotting enemies with every other glance as a dragon breathed fine words and promises into her ear, all masked by the elderly depression that spoke of his distress from the unethical abuse of power and influence. The disparity between the Naboo Defense and the Trade Federation in the debate had overwhelmed the Queen only slightly.
Padmé rewound the recording by a few minutes and let it play.
Chancellor Valorum's steady voice echoed throughout the Convocation Chamber, the sounds translating perfectly from the holo-projector. "The Chair recognizes the Senator from the sovereign system of Naboo."
The pod, which had rewound itself back into its anchor, began its smooth float back before Chancellor Valorum.
"Supreme Chancellor," the magnetic and genteel voice of Palpatine called out, inviting the debate to proceed as he called all attention to him. "Delegates of the Senate. A tragedy has occurred which started right here with the taxation of the trade routes, and has now engulfed our entire planet in the oppression of the Trade Federation."
Palpatine's eyes cut to their left as the representatives of the Trade Federation slid to their side; a taboo form of conduct within the Grand Convocation Chamber. It meant that the acoustics of the defending voices would merge or overplay each other, and this was seen as a tawdry way to demean your opponent.
By the indignance within Senator Lott Dodd's tone, his voice easily overwhelmed the room as he shouted "This is outrageous! I object to the Senator's statements!"
Mas Amedda stood swiftly, his rebuke swift in hand. "The Chair does not recognize the Senator from the Trade Federation at this time."
Valorum gave Amedda a curt nod, the first nonverbal excuse on the Trade Federation's behalf. If the Queen had the knowledge of cold politics as she does now, she would've foreseen the conclusion of the hearing then and there.
Palpatine continued with fuller lungs. "To state our allegations, I present Queen Amidala, recently elected Ruler of the Naboo, who speaks on our behalf."
The Queen stood once Palpatine sat, becoming the well-embellished centerpiece of the chamber within seconds. You could not hear her breathe as she spoke. "Honorable Representatives of the Republic, I come to you under the gravest of circumstances. The Naboo system has been invaded by the droid armies of the Trade-"
"-I object; there is no proof!"
The Queen did not show her disgust at Lott Dodd's audacity as a normal person might have. Lying so blatantly within the Senate Chamber was one of the most apprehensible crimes; ironically, but also fittingly, it was one of the most frequently committed crimes on Coruscant.
"This is incredible," Lott Dodd continued. "We recommend a commission be sent to Naboo to ascertain the truth!"
"The Congress of Malastare concurs with the Honorable Delegate from the Trade Federation," Aks Moe intervened unhelpfully. The Queen would have bit at her lip in frustration if the act would have gone unnoticed. The nobility of her planet was being called into question by a short-spined Senator whose agenda apparently required sucking up to the Trade Federation. No doubt to fill a few pockets here and there. She understood that the request was lawful, but a righteous wrath was brewing within the beats in her chest that her makeup effectively hid any evidence of.
The Queen could almost feel Saché's pain from light-years away. What torture was brought upon a Royal Handmaiden was no doubt the same fate that any other citizen faced in the droid camps stationed just beyond Palace Theed's reach.
Queen Amidala raised her proud head, unwavering and unmoved by the counteractive and ill-considered actions of the Congress as they allowed one of their own to fall victim to an industry that preyed on the gimmicks of the economical system and exploited planets that could do nothing about it. They were no better than the slavers operating beyond the Republic's borders in that the Republic let it continue due to the certain benefits they shaved off from the proceeds. The Republic itself was becoming a slave to the rich, gluttonous in its corruption; the Queen was beginning to understand that now, and her heart broke when the image of a little straw-haired boy with round cheeks came into her mind's eye. She couldn't imagine him without a puffy red scratch over his chin, or without a hair or two out of place, displaced by the wind. She found him completely precious and lovable. Then his mother, that had echoed so many of the affections that the Queen's own mother gave, who was still unrightfully chained to the desert planet they had escaped. He was so young and had deserved so much more, and she was a soul that surrounded others with the love she had for her son.
Queen Amidala's passion ignited in a silent roar, but she maintained herself.
Valorum started to bleat out a weak counter. "The point-" but was cut off by the Vice-Chair Amedda.
Padmé watched as Palpatine slithered himself over the Queen's shoulder, suddenly repulsed by the sight. "Enter the bureaucrats; the true rulers of the Republic… and on the payroll of the Trade Federation, I might add. This is where Chancellor Valorum's strength will disappear…"
Chancellor Valorum gave a resigned nod at the words of Vice-Chair Amedda. "The point is conceded." Then, he turned to Queen Amidala. "Will you defer your motion to allow a commission to explore the validity of your accusations?"
The Queen hardly blinked. It was one roadblock after another, and she was rolling with the motions at this point, beyond determined. "I will not defer. I've come before you to resolve this attack on our sovereignty now. I was not elected to watch my people suffer and die while you discuss this invasion in a committee!" She paused to allow the murmurs within the room to settle. "If this body is not capable of action, I suggest new leadership is needed. I move for a Vote of No Confidence… in Chancellor Valorum's leadership."
The silenced murmurs evolved into the usual entourage of startling turns. The Queen remained impassive, still uneasy with the implications of her decision. But, at the end of the day, she was a Queen of Naboo, not a Senator playing sandbox within Galactic Politics. Her Rulings would reign where they belonged, and at that critical moment, they lied with Naboo's well-being only.
Valorum, whose face became stone with shock, aged ten years before the Queen's eyes. Looking faint and frail, he bowed his head as he sat within the Chancellor's chair for what would be the last time. The crowd of Senators and Delegations gave mixed responses, none of which the Naboo Defense paid any mind to.
Amedda rose once more. "ORDER!"
The scatter of voices ceased as Palpatine's voice found itself in the Queen's ear again. "Now they will elect a new Chancellor; a strong Chancellor. One who will not let our tragedy continue."
At the time, Padmé had seen this comment as a wishful demand that was edged with presumption. She didn't know what to think now. She didn't know if he had been genuine then and evolved into a tyrant slowly over time, or if he had always had a higher, more self-serving goal in mind. Had he foreseen his nomination and was referring to himself? Had his earnesty to protect their planet simply been his passion for seeing things fall into place as he desired?
Padmé's jaw tightened, a small snarl tugging at her lips. Nothing but a little girl in a Queen's garb. She had been a naive child that was forced to lean on the faulty guidance of a more distinguished Galactic politician. And, while she didn't know the true extent of the reasons behind the Jedi's claim of High Treason, she knew that she and the rest of her Delegation had picked up on the warning signs for too long to remain blameless on the matter. But, it had inevitably begun with her.
Padmé paused the recording as she gave the most scathing glare to the pairing that blinked blue before her eyes. The image of Palpatine's mouth so close to her ear burned itself into her pupils. Was there a hint of a smile in his-?
But then the image suddenly blinked out of sight before recovering itself. Padmé froze when she registered that the lights within her office had also flickered in the span of a second. A mechanical sound came from the direction of the foyer. She stood quickly from her desk, on high alert as she reached for her desk's panel to come in contact with the captain. When she called out, there was no answer besides the dead static from an inaccessible frequency. She rebooted the monitors of her central computers only to discover that her apartment's connections had been disrupted.
Her alarm system gave two sharp dials that echoed from her veranda. There had been a breach.
"Blast!" she cursed as she ducked under her desk for a brief second to gather her wits. An intruder was the only explanation; and, apparently, it was an intruder that either knew that her staff was absent from her apartments, or was armed with enough muscle and bolts to take on the captain. Padmé hoped that for their sake, they knew what kind of adversary they would be facing when the captain made his inevitable appearance. Captain Typho was not only a master with blasters ranging from military-grade, long-range, and heavy, but he was also highly proficient with various forms of combat; some sporting names that Padmé couldn't even pronounce. And, he just so happened to have a direct line to the penthouse's security program, so he was no doubt powering his way back to her.
In the meantime, Padmé decided to arm herself both intellectually and literally as she abandoned her cover to find a decently heavy bludgeoning object (which turned out to be a very heavy Gungan waterpearl shell: a symbol for fertility and, ironically, peace) to hold just in case it needed to find itself rocketing towards some lifeform's equivalent of a skull. Despite the peril of the breach, Padmé couldn't help but to smirk for the quickest moment at the peace symbol turned weapon before she braced her back against the wall next to the exit of her office. She inched the manual opening controller at the doors' interface to have them slide open by a few centimeters for a subtle view of the entrance to her apartment, hoping to find out what she could on the intruder(s). The main sitting area and part of the hallway leading towards her veranda were the only things she could spot.
A sound of boots against the veranda's floor sounded out; they were clumsy sounding, unprofessional. There was only a single pair of footsteps. Padmé nodded, feeling her chances doubling. However… she had expected Captain Typho to have burst in onto the scene by this point, and she felt the captain's absence vividly. This was unlike him, so it was likely that he was barred from the penthouse somehow. It would've been demeaning to have been discovered by the intruder, she decided, so Padmé moved to take matters into her own hands and opened the doors fully.
Not allowing the intruder a chance at her, she booked it towards the elevator and pushed to have it recalled, but nothing happened.
"What?" she whispered frantically to herself as she pressed the recall button countless times, oblivious to the approaching presence at her back. Only when the intruder gave a lunge was she finally able to decipher it, and by that point, it was too late; his gloved hands had already shoved a mouth clamp between her lips. The waterpearl hit the floor with a clash. She gave out a cry of surprise as two strong arms clamped around her waist to half-carry her, half-struggle with her as she beat at the grip and tried to tear at the clamp, busting her lip open in the process.
The perpetrator gave out a masculine giggle as she flailed about, screaming so loudly through the clamp that she didn't hear him as he said, "Forgive me, Senator; you being here was not part of the plan. But I'll bet I'm getting double for this!"
It was the arrogance in his laughs that gave her enough lividity to fuel a solid elbow strike to the bony chin she felt lodged in her shoulder blade. She was sure she dislocated his jaw. He gasped and dropped her onto her side table, her left wrist blazing against the metal frame as she tried to catch herself. The table's glass shattered about her, and she let out a pained moan between clenched teeth. The sharp ache in her left wrist and ankle was too deep to be a muscle strain. Looking up to see the intruder still recovering, she retaliated by launching her good foot towards an area that was perhaps six inches below his beltline. He doubled over and expelled a swoosh of air, rendered completely speechless. She would've rejoiced at the sight had he not suddenly kicked the back of her head.
Her eyesight went purple, and her eyes suddenly felt as if they were boulders inside her sockets. The next thing she knew, she was handcuffed to the back of a bland-looking speeder off the side of the veranda, the sounds of the intruder tearing up her apartment making her headache worse. Strangely enough, she could feel her brain moving around in her skull.
Despite herself, she managed a smile. For throughout the time he had struggled to carry her out, he had failed to notice his missing DH-17 blaster pistol. It seemed she was dealing with an amateur.
She hid the blaster behind the folds of the silver-lined cloak of her regalia as she sought a visual on the perpetrator, wincing as she heard her belongings get smashed into smithereens.
"Real subtle," she murmured to herself, trying to ignore the pain in her left wrist as she reached for the braids atop her head for the automatic lock-pick; a suggestion made to her by Jedi Master Deppa Billaba, of all people, when Padmé was first recruited as Senator. In true Amidala fashion, the lock-pick featured a classical design of stained glass worked into a botanical depiction of flower buds. It worked its magic on the binder that held her right hand hostage. It struggled a bit with the clamp over her mouth, but eventually, it too was shrugged off. She gave her silent regards to Master Billaba before curling in on herself to maintain the act of defenselessness. She wanted to know what the fool was up to before she made her move.
The intruder was slowly becoming more and more desperate sounding, murmuring his exasperation out loud as the crashes became louder.
"Where is it?!" was shouted just as he stalked into the veranda, giving Padmé a good look at him. He was small; not much larger than her, but from his voice and hard chest, Padmé had already concluded that he was male. He was covered in all black, looking almost like a hunchback from the number of layers that buried his face and neck. His limbs were very thin beneath his baggy clothes, and his boots were falling apart… as was the configuration of metal that rattled over his shoulder. By the way he was pointing the thing around, Padmé could tell that it was a tool of some sort. But it wasn't until he turned towards her a bit that she saw the holo-projection streaming from his wrist; she recognized it immediately from the logo that she had designed on the front page.
It was her magnum opus and her passion project, the policy that took the most out of her and her staff in the making, that was the hardest to navigate and was the most esteemed in the Queen's inner-court: Court-Ruling 109.477.62.
The anti-slavery policy.
Disregarding the need to stay low until it was time to make her move, Padmé, who cared very little for her own self-regard at the moment, hollered out, "How did you get access to that?!"
In a strange display, the intruder suddenly jumped at her outcry before turning quickly to "shhhh" her as if she was on his side and would actually comply. It took him a good second to realize her missing mouth-clamp. He looked like he was ready to do something about it before the cheap-looking tool began to signal out a round of high-pitched beeps. Just as he found the place in the wall where her vault was hidden behind a sliding panel, Padmé decided that she had run out of time and could no longer wait for the captain. She launched herself off of the speeder and onto the balcony before falling on her arms, unable to maintain her balance. When the intruder began to fiddle with the locking mechanism, she lined up her shot by bracing her elbows on the ground and strengthening the line of her shoulders. The bolt blasted out and cleared a cavity in his forearm. He choked a solid yelp and dropped his makeshift tool. She let out the breath she was holding as the room swam about her, her eyes barely registering the fact that he was sprinting headlong towards her. She fired off more rounds to make sure he kept his distance until she realized that he was running for his speeder instead of her. She blinked in confusion as his speeder revved and fired off, surprised that a simple flesh wound was enough to chase him off.
Padmé turned herself to lay on her back before she threw the blaster away, taking a moment to catch her breath and contemplate her life choices. "Amateur," she said, disgusted.
...
"Go ahead and say it, Captain. I'm afraid you'd regret it if you didn't."
Captain Typho's face gained an extra fold under the corners of his mouth. Padmé could see him contemplating his words carefully. "We do not need to constantly be on guard as if someone is always out for your life, my lady, and I can see why you would believe that nothing could happen after all that has transpired in the grand scheme of things. I also understand that, with the communications being disrupted as they were, it would have been a trap no matter if you were alone or not. But, I remain stout on my stance that you should always allow me to speak my opinion on matters regarding your safety. I did not push my concerns earlier as I should have, and I will not allow for such a blunder again."
Padmé grimaced a bit but was able to hide it behind the physician that cleaned the wounds on her scalp. "I understand, captain. I also acknowledge the fact that this could have easily been avoided if I had allowed you to state your peace on the matter."
He sighed, looking relieved. "Good."
Moteé came to Padmé's side when the captain turned his attention to recalibrating the apartment's security system. "My lady, we received word from Jamboe with confirmation that he has left Tatooine's atmosphere. He wants to know your status."
"Tell him all is well and to be on guard. We don't know enough about the situation to play it loose."
Moteé nodded and continued. "Should we contact Lady Sabé?"
Padmé sighed, thinking the prospect over. "Let's tell her when we have uncovered a bit more. She was never one to remain uninformed of a situation, but I'd like to make sure she remains on Kessel. Her current objective is too vital, and I do not wish to distract her or Captain Tonra with a trifling matter such as this."
Moteé hesitated, looking unconvinced, but conceded the point anyways. "Also, 3PO has been briefed on his errand and has a designated transport to make sure he gets where he needs to go on time. He will also be able to spread the news of the attack to assure that other members of the Senate be on guard."
"Very good, Moteé," Padmé said with the smile she reserved for her trusted allies. Moteé promptly returned it before standing back out of the way to give more room for the doctors.
"Did you discover why our communications were down?" Padmé asked once she had reclaimed the captain's attention.
"We have a theory. Because the interruption was so short-lived, we believe that an interfering frequency was set to go off in the vicinity."
"Wouldn't that mean that a source would have to be pre-planted?"
"Precisely, my lady. One that would need to be powerful; most likely a sort of pulse-frequency. Only that means that we would need to find the source to contain it."
"It would also mean an addition to what little evidence we have."
Captain Typho nodded. "That's a good way of looking at it," he said just as a beep at his utility belt began to sound out. He answered it swiftly. "Pardon me, my lady."
Padmé looked in on the conversation, hoping for some answers. The image of Jedi Masters Mace Windu and Yoda formed in the captain's palm. Both Padmé and Captain Typho stiffened at the sight.
"An honor, as always, Master Yoda, Master Windu," the captain said with a courteous bow.
"And to you, captain," Yoda replied, his voice sounding deeper than Padmé had ever heard it before. As she thought, something was terribly wrong.
Master Windu ignored the introductions. "We have been filled in on the matter of the Chancellor-Elect's attempted kidnapping. How does she fare?"
Typho's eyes shot up to Padmé's in surprise. Because of the communication crisis in and beyond the apartment, no one else was supposed to be in the know. "She is in a stable condition and is being examined as we speak."
"Can you give us an approximate time of the attack?"
The captain adopted an expression of scrutiny at the oddly specific question. "One moment, if you will," he said before checking the security's protocol page. "The system stamped the breach at precisely 0552."
Yoda and Windu shared a brief glance.
"Come into contact with you to suggest an addition to the Chancellor Elect's security, we have. More vital than ever is Senator Amidala's protection. In assigning our most gifted protector, put our minds at ease it would."
Padmé froze.
"With the Senator's permission, we would like to assign Knight Skywalker as her bodyguard for the time being."
Captain Typho seemed to brighten up slightly at the idea and accepted the offer without glancing Padmé's way.
Meanwhile, Padmé caught the attention of each physician as her face became so pale that she looked transparent, becoming faint at the mention of his name.