CHAPTER THREE
The swarms of TIE fighters that had emerged from the gigantic cargo carrier outnumbered the Republic Y-Wings nearly two-to-one. Nevertheless Green Squadron seemed to have the superior pilots and already had taken control of the flow of the battle, directing it away from the orbital shipyard the Vyhrragians sought to destroy.
The TIEs' greater numbers, however, increasingly allowed small groups of starfighters to evade Green Squadron's formations and streak toward the facility. Luke, Mara, and Danaé struggled to keep up the rearguard defense.
"Three more, mark one-one-five," Mara said quickly. She swerved her X-Wing into position and fired her laser cannons, destroying a TIE. Moments later she took aim at the other two and annihilated them as well. Outside her transparisteel cockpit canopy she saw a fierce dogfight raging between Luke's and Danaé's X-Wings and a quartet of TIE fighters. She was about to move to assist when excellent shots by the pair incinerated all four.
"Great shooting!" Luke's voice cheered his sister over the comlink in Mara's helmet. "You're really getting good at this."
"Thanks," Danaé chuckled. "Artoo says that too."
"He would know," Luke kidded. "He's seen a lot of combat with Dad."
Mara was about to add praise of her own when she saw in the distance another pair of TIEs charging toward the space station. "Two bogies, mark three-one-two. I'm on them." She punched her drives to full speed and sailed toward the enemies with cannons blazing.
Just after she blasted them, a horrible scream pierced her ears over the comlink. She took a deep breath to shake the sinking feeling in her stomach.
"Skywalker One, this is Green Two," said a Navy officer's voice. "We've lost Green Leader."
"Green Two, repeat," Luke said, his voice shaken.
"Green Leader is gone," the voice replied solemnly. "We've lost Captain Darklighter. You're the next highest rank present, sir."
"Understood, Green Two," Luke responded, the authority restored in his voice.
"Roger," said Green Two. "Green Squadron, this is Green Two. Skywalker One is now Green Leader. Repeat, Skywalker One is now Green Leader."
"Skywalker Two, Jade, hold position," Luke ordered firmly. "Greens Twenty to Twenty-Six, fall back and assist with object defense. Remaining Wings stay on target. I'm on my way."
Mara brought her X-Wing around on a lone TIE fighter surging toward the shipyard. The pilot swooped to port, then dove to starboard, trying to shake her from his tail. She was not one of the better pilots in the Jedi Order, and certainly was nowhere near to earning an Ace rating. But against an ordinary opponent she had little difficulty at all. When the TIE tried its third evasive maneuver, she never even lost targeting contact. She squeezed her triggers and watched the starfighter explode in a massive fireball.
Then she quickly sent a telepathic message to Luke. May the Force be with you, Green Leader.
---
Thunder Three's location was a broad ferrocrete plaza bounded on one edge by a series of cargo loading docks and on the others by the manufacturing plant's gargantuan warehouses. Bryon arrived midway along the left side to find the expansive area overrun with Vyhrragian troopers in tan body armor over green fatigues. The brownshirts had breached the first defensive perimeter the Republic regulars had established just outside the docks and were beginning to move toward the gaping maws of the open bays of the warehouses on the far side of the plaza; apparently his soldiers had managed to close in time the bays on the plaza's sides. Many dozens of corpses attired in the Army's gray battle armor over gray fatigues lay scattered around the bloody battlefield along with a large number of slain brownshirts.
Quickly Bryon raised his heavy blaster rifle to his shoulder and opened fire on the nearest squad of brownshirts. The twelve Special Forces soldiers with him did the same. Within a few moments they had cleared a path through the enemy to the center portion of the second perimeter and clambered over it to join the remaining regulars holding that position. While his detail joined the others in firing over the makeshift barricades at the oncoming brownshirts, Bryon looked for the closest commanding officer.
After a few seconds he found an Army sergeant he did not know. "Where is Lieutenant Allitisi?" Bryon asked bluntly.
The sergeant's face fell. "He's dead, sir."
"What?"
"He's dead." When his superior did not react, the sergeant continued. "He was killed when the first wave of brownshirts breached our position, sir."
Bryon nearly screamed in rage but held his composure. "Who is in command here now?"
"First Sergeant Pryzill arrived soon after, sir. His men are holding the right flank."
"Thank you, Sergeant," Bryon nodded. "You may return to your units."
"What's left of them, sir," the sergeant frowned grimly as he jogged away.
Bryon adjusted his helmet and hunkered down behind the barricades. "Thunder Two, status."
"The flanks are holding," Pryzill replied after a long pause. "The center has nearly collapsed. Even when the two platoons of Special Forces arrived we barely held against their charge."
"I can see that for myself."
"We need reinforcements badly or we're done for."
"That's what I was afraid of," Bryon sighed. He thought for a moment, then made his decision. "Thunder Base, are there any signs of additional enemy units?"
"No, sir," the communications officer reported.
"Very well. Thunder One, bring your remaining platoons here immediately. We have no alternative."
"Acknowledged," Will Graff replied. "But you'll have to hold for several more minutes."
"We can't do that. The brownshirts are too much for the regulars."
"I'm sorry, Major, but we can't get there any faster."
"Acknowledged." Bryon slumped back against the barricades and crossed his arms over his chest. His good friend Allitisi was dead. Just like that. No word. No goodbyes. And no one had even bothered to inform him over the comlink. Bryon slammed his black-gloved right fist into the armor plating on his thigh. Piercing stings of pain shot through his hand and up his arm. A vicious scowl crossed his face and he rose to his feet.
The brownshirts had killed his friend, and they were going to pay a heavy price.
"Commanding officers at Thunder Three, status report." Within seconds he learned that fewer than half of the two hundred regulars in the company, and only about thirty of the hundred Special Forces sent initially, were still alive. That was not good. Not good at all. "Thunder Two, Thunder Four, status report." The units on the flanks had fared much better, with over three hundred of their regulars remaining.
Bryon and his detail fired at the closest brownshirts and bought a brief amount of time for the surviving regulars at his position to regroup and prepare for the next wave. "Thunder Base, best estimate of remaining enemies."
"About six hundred, sir," the communications officer answered.
Bryon shook his head in disbelief. How the Vyhrragians had crammed so many soldiers into the single cargo carrier he had no idea. But he knew he had only one option for holding his position. "Thunder Two, Thunder Four, release the flanks and charge."
"Are you sure, Major?" asked Pryzill reluctantly.
"It will work," Bryon replied firmly. "They will surrender."
"Many regulars will be killed," Krannar pointed out. "All the Special Forces we have for now are with you."
"I'm aware of that," Bryon snapped, having paused only a split-second to shoot an onrushing brownshirt in the head. "But we can't afford to wait for the others and I have no intention of letting the brownshirts enter the facility. And they're out of position to defend this." He didn't need to tell them why – the enemy simply hadn't anticipated a Republic officer being willing to send so many men to their deaths to ensure victory. Over the course of the conflict Bryon's orders had led to the deaths of unknown thousands of enemies and many hundreds of Republic soldiers. This immediate decision – right here, right now – did not faze him in the least. Just as none of the others ever had at the time he had made it. Not with what was a stake in each skirmish. Not in the heat of battle. But the Vyhrragians had no way of knowing that.
"Order the charge," he barked when no responses came over the feed. "Now!"
"Yes, sir," the two first sergeants affirmed.
Bryon focused again on firing his rifle and sent a constant stream of laser bolts into the nearby opposing troops. The loss of life probably would be very high, especially among the regulars, so all he could do was hope it didn't take too long for the brownshirts to surrender. Continuing to fire without interruption, he growled under his breath at the enemy.
"You're going to regret you ever crossed me."
---
The dogfights between the Y-Wings and TIEs continued to rage unabated, although the Republic's fighters now clearly were beginning to take the advantage. With Luke's leadership the Navy pilots were continually striking weak points in the Vyhrragian formations. Although additional Republic casualties were inevitable, within a few more minutes the enemy would have no choice but to surrender or be swiftly wiped out.
Danaé swung her X-Wing around and blasted another TIE. With time on the trip from Coruscant to Corellia to prepare her mind, she had reached a level of emotional harmony that enabled her to accept the sensations of the deaths in the Force without becoming distracted or suffering any noticeable effects. It was a vast improvement from the terrible pain she had experienced at the Battle of the Trade Spine six months ago. And while she continued to abhor the loss of life the battle was causing, she now was able to perform her duties with far less trauma.
Another steep loop brought her into position to annihilate a TIE fighter. Following in the Force the flow of the battle and the rapid movements of dozens of starfighters, she perceived a nearby vulnerability and steered toward it. The Force surged around her and through her body, and brought her renewed energy even as the duration of the battle became progressively longer.
Suddenly something pierced through the currents in the energy field and stabbed at her heart.
No.
It couldn't be.
No.
Danaé's hands fell from the control stick and her torso slumped forward against the restraints.
It was impossible.
No.
Yet she knew what she had sensed in the Force.
Oga? Master Trill? Where are you? Could he really still be alive?
He wasn't here at Corellia; she was certain of that. And yet there was no question she had sensed his unique signature in the Force. Maybe he wasn't dead after all. Apparently he was alive.
As suddenly as the perception had reached her in the Force, a voice screamed frantically over the comlink in her helmet.
"Danaé!"
It was Luke.
He had sensed her danger in the Force but was too far away to assist her himself. Fortunately his desperate holler shocked her back to reality.
"Danaé! Pull up! Pull up! Pull up!" Artoo squealed frantically too.
Somehow, some remarkable combination of her conscious mind and the guidance of the Force, something enabled her to grab the control stick and slam it to her abdomen in time to avoid the barrage of laser blasts that two TIEs had fired at her uncontrolled, drifting X-Wing.
An instant later Mara's X-Wing swooped in and destroyed the two threatening enemy starfighters.
Luke's voice came over the comlink again. "What happened, Danaé?"
"I… I… I'm not sure," she mumbled forlornly. She couldn't tell them. She just couldn't.
"You were almost killed, Danaé," Luke said sternly. "Go back to the hangar."
"No," she refused firmly. "I'm fine now." That was true to a point. She had regained her attunement to the battle and was flying her X-Wing smoothly again. "I just lost my focus for a second there."
"Why?" asked Mara with great concern in her voice.
"I think the deaths in the battle just got to be too much for me," Danaé lied. "I shook it off. I can finish this. I will do my duty." She took a deep breath. "I swear to you I'll be fine. I promise." Artoo blooped a reluctant agreement that she seemed to have regained her composure.
"I don't like this at all," Luke declared. "But there's no time to debate it." His voice became incredibly serious, almost angrily stern. "Be careful, Danaé."
"I will, Luke," she insisted calmly. She swung around and blasted a pair of TIEs to emphasize the point.
A few minutes later the remaining Vyhrragian starfighter units capitulated, followed almost immediately by word from Bryon of the enemy's unconditional surrender on the ground.
---
Approaching the small room containing their bunks on the Falcon, Sarré knew she had to find a way – and soon – to keep herself distracted from how much she missed Bryon. Not only had she been feeling terribly lonely the last few days, but it also was becoming increasingly painful to keep the marriage a secret from Leia. She hadn't had to lie to Leia, at least not yet, but Leia was her closest friend in the galaxy and Sarré desperately wanted to tell her. She needed to share her joy with her best friend, even if Leia would be temporarily angry about having missing the ceremony.
When she heard Leia speaking inside the cramped bedchamber, Sarré paused in the narrow passageway of the freighter. It took only a moment, however, for her to realize what was going on. In the last two months or so Leia had started "talking" to her late husband Jarren Organa, sometimes only in her head, sometimes out loud – imaginary conversations in which she discussed with him what was on her mind.
Lately those conversations seemed to involve only two topics: either the Vyhrragian crisis or Han Solo.
After a deep breath Sarré rapped her knuckles on the open doorframe and walked inside.
---
Han kept his eyes focused on the stars outside the round viewport of the Falcon's cockpit. "I'm not discussing this with you."
Chewie growled in mock fury.
"No. Under no circumstances."
This time Chewie grumbled in annoyance.
"I don't care. No."
The Wookiee crossed his arms over his chest and harrumphed indignantly.
"Go ahead. Be angry. I'm still not talking about this."
Chewie heard footsteps approaching and roared a soaring complaint down the hallway.
"Really?" asked Lando as he emerged through the open doorway and strapped into his seat behind Han. "After all that we've done for him?"
Han didn't say a word. He continued to look out the viewport.
Chewie wroofed another derisive remark. "I couldn't agree more," Lando concurred with highly exaggerated affectations of hurt feelings.
Still Han did not turn to face them. "Is the next hyperspace jump calculated or not?"
Chewie winked at Lando, then nodded his head.
Han, of course, could not see it. "Well?"
Chewie nodded again.
"Chewie?"
This time Chewie could not suppress his chuckle as he nodded for a third time.
"Laugh it up, fuzzball." Han had glanced over just enough to see the motion from the corner of his eye. He reached down and pulled the lever, causing the stars to elongate into streaks of light. Then he finally turned to face his friends. He was trying to glare at them angrily, but really he looked ridiculous.
Chewie burst out into a very pleased belly laugh, which Lando joined. "Seriously, Han," his friend said after he controlled his breathing again, "it's not like we can't tell a difference now that you're with her again. You're not making it very difficult for us to see that you have feelings for her."
"If it's obvious even to you two nimrods, then I guess I don't have to say anything, do I?"
---
Sitting cross-legged on one of the lower beds, her hands in her lap, Leia was startled from her invented deliberations by the quiet tapping. She looked up to see her handmaiden pace over and sit down on the bed opposite her, letting her feet dangle over the edge.
Sarré smiled warmly. "You were talking to Jarren again, weren't you?"
Leia nodded. "Yes, I was." She uncrossed her legs and dangled them over her bed, matching her handmaiden's reclined pose. "Six days ago was one year since he was murdered."
"I remember," Sarré said gently. She reached up and began to untie the looping combat braids in her blonde hair. "I figured you didn't want to talk about it, since you didn't say anything."
Leia smiled back and started untying her braids too. "It means he's been gone as long as we were married." Her hands stopped moving for a moment. "And I've realized I'm finding as the days go by that I don't miss him as much."
"And that's bothering you," Sarré finished the thought. "You feel as though you're somehow dishonoring his memory with these feelings." After Leia nodded sadly and went back to unbraiding her hair, her friend continued. "I'm going to say something to you that you need to hear," she said calmly. "I want you to understand that I don't mean it as an insult to you, and certainly not to Jarren or his memory. Okay?"
"Okay," Leia whispered, a little reluctantly.
"I know how much you loved Jarren," Sarré began softly. "And that he made you very happy. But I want you to ask yourself, deep down inside, whether you ever could love anyone else as much as you loved him."
Leia paused for a long time. "I don't know," she finally said truthfully. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean."
"Let me try to explain it this way," Sarré started again after a moment's thought. "Bryon is my destiny. I've felt it since I was a little girl. Even before I knew what being in love meant, or what adults who are in love with each other do, I knew I was going to marry him and bear his children and be with him forever. He was my first love, my first kiss, my first… well, my first everything. And my only one too." Her eyes had welled up, and she reached up a hand to wipe them. "If he ever died, I suppose I might marry again someday. I'm young. I'd have to move on somehow. But I would never, ever – ever – be able to love another man the way I love him. I know this. It is a fact. It's the truth. I know it with more certainty than I know anything else in the universe."
Leia sat in stunned silence. In all the years she had known Sarré, as childhood pals and teenaged troublemakers and young politicians, never had she heard her speak with such emotion and intensity. Leia found her own eyes tearing up as well. After a profoundly silent moment Leia found her voice again. "And you're asking whether I feel that way about Jarren." She paused. "Or if I ever did."
Tears were running down Sarré's face now. To try to keep her composure she reached under the bed for one of her shoulder bags and withdrew a hairbrush. "You see why I warned you."
"I'm not offended. Not at all," Leia insisted very tenderly. She reached beneath her bed and retrieved a brush from her bags; she found comfort in this simple act of friendship. "I suppose it is a fair question to ask," she sighed. "I loved Jarren very much. But you're right. He wasn't my first love. Or my first kiss. Or the first boy I snuck in while my parents were away." She laughed happily. "Or while they were home, for that matter! He made me very happy and I could have spent my life with him without regrets. But he's gone." She sighed sadly again and wiped her eyes. "And you're right. Deep down inside, in my soul, I know I could love someone else as much as I loved him. I could. If it was the right man I could."
Sarré kept brushing her hair, her tears having stopped temporarily. "Maybe even more?" she asked gently.
Leia stopped brushing to think. "I don't know. Maybe." She sat unmoving. "Maybe."
Sarré pressed ahead with the point she was trying to make. "And what do you feel for Han?"
Leia raised her eyebrows. "What?"
"How do you feel about Han?" her handmaiden persisted. For the last few years she had kept her blonde hair at shoulder length, but recently she had grown it out more; flowing down it now reached to the middle of her back. Even though the task was thoroughly completed already, she continued brushing anyway.
"I'm not really sure," the Senator from Naboo said in genuine consternation. She had reached the same point with her own hair. The long brown tresses that hung to the small of her back did not need any more brushing. She continued too.
"Oh, come on, Leia," laughed Sarré in ridicule. "How many hours did you spend, just so you could get to take this mission with him?" When Leia scrunched her forehead to think about it, she chuckled again. "It was a rhetorical question."
"Sorry," Leia giggled. "I guess I am… intrigued… by him."
"Then why have you been so… well… reluctant since we've been onboard with him? It's like you're holding back, or doubting yourself." Sarré held Leia's gaze firmly. "It's not typical for you, is all."
"I don't know," Leia sighed. "I guess it's because before I left, everyone told me to be careful, to watch out for myself, to be safe. It's like they don't trust him. Or me with him. Or something."
"Everyone who?"
"Mom. Daddy. Even Danaé. And Luke. He disapproves of this whole idea."
"I thought he liked Han," Sarré said with raised eyebrows.
"I thought so too," Leia smiled weakly. "I guess his opinion changed when he realized it might be something more serious than he thought."
"Don't listen to what they say. You can't live your life for them. Only for yourself. You have to follow your heart, regardless of what anyone else says. Even Luke or your parents."
"Even you?"
"Yes," Sarré chuckled. "Even me." She paused for a moment, pondering her friend's admissions. "You like him because he's a scoundrel," Sarré teased. "There aren't enough scoundrels in your life."
"I happen to like nice men," Leia insisted rather unconvincingly.
"Maybe, maybe not," Sarré grinned devilishly. "But I've watched the two of you, the way you worked together for the subcommittee. You've met your match, Leia. I've known you my whole life, and I've never seen you like this with anyone." Her eyes welled up again.
"He drives me mad. He's unbelievably frustrating. He makes me want to scream sometimes."
"And yet here you are…"
For a brief moment Leia met Sarré's eyes in an intense glare. Then she subsided with a deep sigh. "I suppose you have a point, Sarré."
"Yes, I think I do." For no apparent reason Sarré began to cry again. Her strategy a failure, she put the brush away. Then she leaned against the wall and hugged her knees to her chest while she sobbed.
"Well, I hope you're proud of yourself," Leia groaned, defeated. She looked carefully at her handmaiden. Padmé and Sabé both had commented on Sarré's uncharacteristic reticence since her return from Naboo. The only thing Leia had noticed was Sarré's increasingly volatile moodiness, especially the last week or so. It struck her as curious, and she resolved to keep a closer eye on her friend. Really, though, she assumed it probably was nothing more than simple lovesickness for Bryon. Without a doubt that was an emotion Leia had experienced herself in tremendous quantities for the last year, and for most of that time it had taken considerable effort not to feel jealous of Sarré's blossoming relationship with Bryon. Now, she realized, she might not have to suffer from those feelings anymore.
Through her tears Sarré laughed. "Oh, I am, Leia. I definitely am."
---
In a small docking bay of the orbital shipyard they had helped to save from destruction, the three young Jedi paced anxiously in the narrow area between Luke's X-Wing and Mara's next to it. Immediately after the battle Danaé had recorded a message to Master Windu in which she had reported her nearly fatal loss of focus and had asked for guidance. Although the report had seemed thorough to Luke and Mara, what they did not know was that Danaé had omitted the true reason for her emotional turmoil.
"I wonder what's taking so long?" muttered Mara under her breath. Their urgent transmission to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant should have been answered by now.
Luke raised his palms upward and shrugged; Danaé only smiled regretfully. Fortunately, at just that moment the portable holographic projector they had set up on the floor buzzed and began to form a static-laden blue image. The three of them rushed over and sat cross-legged in front of it.
When the image finally gained clarity, they understood the reason for the delay. Danaé had contacted only Master Windu with her grave concerns, but Master Kenobi and Master Skywalker were present as well.
"We have discussed your message," Obi-Wan began calmly, running his fingers through his short white beard. "We believe it is imperative that immediate action be taken to ensure your well-being, Danaé."
Danaé's eyes met her Master's over the transmission. "I am truly sorry for what happened, Master Windu. I hope it does not make you regret accepting me as your apprentice."
Mace shook his head kindly. "Of course it does not, Danaé. Nothing could have that effect. Nothing." He looked closely into her eyes. "The three of us agree, however, that simply having you return to the Temple for further meditation with me will not be fruitful. Were that adequate, it would already have worked. I want you to understand," he insisted firmly after a pause, "that we are not calling into question your fitness as a Jedi. Each of us must overcome obstacles on our path to Knighthood." He very purposefully turned to the side and looked at Anakin. "Some more difficult than others."
Danaé's firm nod demonstrated that his message had reached her loud and clear. "I understand, Master."
"Instead of returning to Coruscant, travel to the Dagobah system."
"I'm sorry, Master? The Dagobah system? Why?"
Mace smiled knowingly. "That is where Master Yoda lives now. We have contacted him, and he has agreed to work with you until your troubled feelings are resolved. He is the greatest instructor the Order has ever had. Far better than any of us," Mace chuckled; the other two Jedi Masters agreed with bemused nods. "He will help you attain the peace you need. I am certain of it."
"Thank you, Master," she nodded humbly. "I will depart right away."
It was Anakin's turn to speak. "Mara, Luke," he said strongly. "We have a mission for you that requires immediate action." As he had expected, the two instantly snapped their eyes to him and waited expectantly. "The Order has secretly been investigating possible connections between the Vyhrragians and the Hutt Criminal Syndicate."
Luke raised his eyebrows and Mara inadvertently emitted a quiet gasp.
"The two Padawans assigned to Tatooine have gone missing," he sighed. "They did not make their last three scheduled reports to the Temple. We believe they may be in imminent danger." He did not need to tell them that the Council's probing in the Force would have determined that fact. "When we are finished the Operations Office will transmit to you the information we possess about the course of the Padawans' investigation on Tatooine and their last known whereabouts, as well as the mission parameters and rules of engagement."
"Yes, Master, of course," Mara said quietly.
"The Order's presence on Tatooine is covert," Obi-Wan explained pointedly. "You cannot fly your X-Wings there; it would be too obvious. Along with the report Operations also will send an itinerary that uses commercial transportation to bring to you Tatooine in just over a standard day. The Navy will convey your fighters back to the Temple."
"Understood, Master," Luke nodded.
"Master?" asked Mara softly. "Why haven't you told us who it is?"
Anakin looked to Obi-Wan. "Operations will tell you what you need to know. Anything else could be a distraction," Obi-Wan said evasively. Mara and Luke nodded apprehensively.
"Very well," Anakin said. "May the Force be with you." With that, the image of the three Jedi Masters flickered and disappeared. The projector beeped, informing them it was holding the feed open for the expected information from the Temple.
Danaé glanced over with a sorrowful look in her eyes, and Mara and Luke met her gaze with great concern in theirs. Although all three of them knew this active, dangerous mission was the kind the pair usually preferred, this one was different. It was not good. There was only one reason they would not have been told the identity of either of the missing Padawans.
It must be someone close to them.
---
When the wavering blue holographic image of the three Padawans vanished from the middle of the triangle formed by their round cushioned stools, the three Jedi Masters in tan robes settled back into more relaxed postures and took deep breaths to clear their thoughts.
Mace spoke first. "I am concerned for Danaé," he said calmly. "She had made such admirable progress in controlling her feelings. A relapse now and then is understandable, of course. I only hope she is not too disappointed in herself."
"Even if she is, Yoda will help her understand," Obi-Wan noted. "Although I had the distinct impression she did not tell us everything that happened."
"She didn't," Anakin shook his head. It was not an interpretation or supposition. It was a conclusion.
Mace tilted his head thoughtfully. Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. Neither said anything, knowing Anakin would explain himself as soon as he found the right words.
"I know my daughter," he began quietly. "She was concealing something. And I think I know what it is." He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "Several times recently, when I have been probing for signs of the Sith in my meditations, I have detected a faint whisper of Oga Trill's signature in the Force."
Mace understood immediately. "And you believe she somehow may have sensed the same thing during the battle."
Anakin nodded solemnly.
"I have not sensed his presence," Obi-Wan said contemplatively. "Although none of us ever sensed his death either. If he is alive, and Danaé felt his presence, it certainly would explain her reaction." Obi-Wan looked closely into Anakin's eyes. "I will meditate on this tonight."
"As will I," Mace added. "This is a most unusual situation. Many times Jedi have disappeared, but we always have been able to perceive either when they died, or that they still lived. Something is not right here."
"I agree," Anakin frowned. Then he chuckled and dropped his face into his hands. "I hope our decision to send Luke and Mara to Tatooine was not unwise," said his muffled voice.
Obi-Wan shook his head and laughed too. "Are you reading my mind again, my old Padawan?"
"Your apprentices have exceptional skills," Mace reminded his old friends gently. "I am confident they will perform the mission efficiently and with discipline."
"You're probably right," Obi-Wan smiled. "I just hope he doesn't try anything foolish."
Anakin lifted his face up again and flashed a resigned – but nonetheless impish – smile. "I'd be more worried about her doing something, than him."
---
When Padmé slept alone she often had dreams: some good, some bad, some indistinct or simply mundane. When Anakin was present, on the other hand, she never dreamt at all. While they slumbered their bodies flowed in the Force as one, which meant that Anakin's supremely trained Jedi mind held its mental steadfastness and neither of them experienced dreams of any kind. After so many years this way Padmé hardly noticed anymore. And it did have one notable advantage.
Jedi don't have nightmares.
And yet tonight…
They stood in the Theed Palace main hangar, having infiltrated the building to initiate their strategy for retaking the capital from the invading Trade Federation. Leading the way was Qui-Gon Jinn. One pace off his shoulder strode a young Obi-Wan Kenobi, the age he was all those years ago. Anakin and Padmé followed right behind: she seemed to be fourteen again, the way she looked in her first year as Queen; he seemed older, perhaps from around the time when they were reunited on Coruscant a decade later.
The wide doors to the hallway opened, revealing a black-robed figure. When he tossed off his cloak, however, it wasn't the red-and-black tattooed Zabrak. It was Palpatine, dressed in black robes and holding a red lightsaber in a defensive position in front of his body.
Qui-Gon drew his green blade and rushed forward, only to be struck down with a single blow.
Obi-Wan charged ahead with his blue blade held high over his head and swung a powerful strike sure to slice the Sith Lord in two. An instant before the blow could land everything stopped – and their location abruptly shifted to an isolated landing platform high in the skies of Coruscant. Anakin, Padmé, and Obi-Wan stood together with Palpatine opposite them a few yards away. None of their appearances had changed.
Anakin thumbed on his blue laser sword and extended his arm with the blade parallel to the ground, pointing it directly at Palpatine's chest. The lightsaber launched in a straight line from his hand, sailed right past the red weapon, and impaled Sidious through the heart.
Again their location changed without warning and again the trio's appearances stayed the same. They stood in a high-ceilinged room with ornate marble floors, soaring granite columns, and intricate stained-glass windows for all four walls. A few paces in front of them was a black-cloaked figure. When the cloak billowed away, they saw a black-haired woman dressed in black robes who instantly drew and ignited her red lightsaber. Her face was blurred, clouded, and unrecognizable.
Obi-Wan attacked first. He was struck down with a single blow.
Then their surroundings vanished and they seemed shrouded only by a dull gray mist. The female Sith took the offensive, surging toward them aggressively.
Padmé's heart shattered into a thousand shards when the Sith stabbed Anakin cleanly through his abdomen. As his body slumped to the ground, she realized she had a blue lightsaber in her hands. She swung it hard, striking home to decapitate the Sith.
Anakin watched in horror as the Sith impaled Padmé through the heart before he could defend the blow. After her body collapsed in a heap, he decapitated the enemy with a single violent blow the likes of which he had not made in many, many years.
Simultaneously Anakin and Padmé jolted upright in bed, screaming in pure, unmitigated terror.
It took a moment for them to get their bearings. Then they fell into each other's arms and sobbed. Even though neither had seen the haunting final images of the other's vision, their hearts told them what they had been. After what seemed like an eternity, Anakin finally spoke.
"Do you know where that was? The last place?" he asked in a shaking whisper.
"Yes, actually," Padmé said, forcing the words from her quivering body. "It's the Cathedral of the Liberation in Theed. It was built in my second term as Queen to commemorate all who gave their lives in the blockade crisis."
"Oh, right. Yes, of course." It was the only reply Anakin could manage. They held each other for a long time, trying in vain to fight back their tears and control the pain that tore at their hearts. Finally he took a deep breath again and looked closely into her eyes. "I need to contact Obi-Wan," he said gently. "I need to figure out what this means."
"Of course, Ani," she agreed with a sad nod. "I'll wait here for you."
"Thank you, angel," he smiled. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I won't be long."
A few minutes later Anakin returned to the bedroom and climbed back into the bed with Padmé. He scooted across the sheets and wrapped her tightly in his arms.
She buried her face in his chest. "So?"
"Obi-Wan and I leave in the morning for Naboo." His voice barely was audible, but it was thick with pain.
"And I am to stay behind." She knew it was not debatable. Not this time. On a handful of occasions during the last two decades, when their minds had been unified in the Force in placid sleep or blissful ardor, she had experienced Force visions when he had received them – visions she always had felt she was not meant to see. And tonight was no exception: the Force had spoken to the Chosen One, not to her.
"Yes," he whispered tenderly. "We are not certain what we will find. But perhaps the new Sith Master. We may finally have been given a sign about how to proceed."
"I hope so," Padmé sighed. Then she smiled and kissed him on the lips.
"What?" he asked, curious how she could be pleased at a time like this.
"It's where it all started, Ani," she explained softly. "The circle is now complete."
"Possibly," he nodded. "But this time I am a Master."