CHAPTER NINE

In the clearing in the swamp between Master Yoda's small hut and the temporary durafabric tent she had erected for herself, Danaé had her left palm on the ground and held her body vertically in the air.  Her right arm was extended parallel to the ground, her palm facing the treetops above.  Master Yoda stood on the soles of her boots, supervising her meditative trance.  To the side three metal crates and Artoo hovered a few feet off the ground where she was suspending them in the mist with the Force.  Also using the Force she directed the blood in her body to maintain its usual flow despite the fact that she was upside down. 

Even with her eyes closed, Danaé perceived all of this in the energy field flowing around her.  As she had since her arrival, she reveled in the sensation of the teeming quantities of life in the bog.  The living Force was incredibly powerful here, and that made her meditations remarkably easier. 

Yoda's voice intruded into her serene repose.  "See through the Force often do you?" 

"Not really," she answered calmly.  "I have difficulty using the unifying Force that way."

"Difficult it is for you, hmm?  And give up so easily you do?"

"I just get frustrated," Danaé sighed.  "And yes, I do give up."

"Inherited this honesty from your mother you did," Yoda laughed.  "Remember it in your father at your age I do not." 

"I'll take your word for it."

"Stretch into the Force, young Padawan.  Focus not on living or unifying.  Simply stretch into the Force."

"Yes, Master Yoda," she agreed.  "I will do my best." 

Danaé opened her mind to the energy swirling around her in the swamp, pulling its currents through her body and absorbing its strength into her spirit.  Soon she was focused only on the flow of the Force itself, having forgotten her physical body or the levitating objects or the diminutive Master standing on her feet.  Completely immersed in the patterns of life energy, she released her doubts about her ability to see through the Force and willed images appear in her mind. 

She knew the Masters often probed forgotten memories and remembered deceased friends in their meditations as a means to stay attuned to their paths in life and the individuals they had become.  Although she did not seek anything in particular, with a burst of concentration she sought the past in the ether.

She slowly approached her sister, who was gazing out the wide windows of a small anteroom in the Royal Palace in Theed.  Uncharacteristically Leia was fidgeting and pacing, more nervous than Danaé ever had seen her.  Leia's white dress shimmered in the bright Naboo sunlight streaming over the plummeting waterfalls and through the glass to warm the stone floor beneath their feet. 

Danaé placed her hand gently on Leia's arm.  "You'll be fine," she soothed.  "Pretend it's just another appearance in the youth program or the Royal Court."

Leia continued to pace.  "I wish I could," she sighed.  "I wish I could.  But I know I'm going to forget the vows.  I memorized them a hundred times, and I know I'll still forget them and Jarren will remember his and I'll look like an idiot in front of everybody."

"No, you won't," Danaé said calmly, suppressing her chuckle at her sister's apprehensive ramblings.  "Because I memorized them with you, and if you forget, I'll just project them into your mind to help you remember.  No one will know."

Leia grinned broadly.  "Really?  You'll do that for me?" 

"Of course I will," Danaé smiled.  "Of course I will." 

The scene disappeared in her consciousness before she could see any more.  Wistfully Danaé gave a mental shrug and opened her mind to the Force again.  This time she sought a vision from her future. 

She was in the Lake Country of Naboo, walking up a grassy lawn toward a villa at the top of a hill.  She couldn't see her, but she felt her mother's presence following a few paces behind her.  Her eyes studied the way the shining sun lit the stone walls of the building and brightened the green leaves and grass around her.  The wonderful aroma of the flowers made her smile. 

She looked down again when she heard the calls. 

"Auntie Danaé!  Auntie Danaé!" shouted a young girl about six years old.  Her brown hair was tied back in a braid that bobbed as she ran forward, and a small lightsaber handle flapped from the belt of her youngling Jedi robes. 

"Grandma!  Grandma!" cried the young boy with her.  He had the short haircut of a male youngling and wore the same attire as his twin sister. 

"Come here, you two," she heard her mother say from behind her. 

And then the new scene vanished too. 

This was more success than she ever had experience before, so Danaé held her focus and continued.  It took her only a moment to realize how many days it had been since she last had seen or even spoken to anyone in her family.  Deliberately she surged out her perceptions to search for them. 

As soon as she began she felt a chill run up her spine. 

She saw Luke and heard a yell of unimaginable pain. 

She saw Leia and felt heart-rending terror. 

She saw Bryon and watched him spit up blood. 

She saw her father and…

An incoherent scream of agony and fear escaped her mouth as her concentration failed.  Artoo squealed frantically as he toppled in the air and crashed to the ground along with the three crates.  Her body collapsed into a heap on the mud.  And Yoda fell to the ground next to her with an undignified thump. 

"Fine I am," the Jedi Master said as he sat up and wiggled his long, pointy ears.  He peered closely into her eyes.  "Fine you are not."

"Master Yoda," she rasped when she found her breath again, "what was that?" 

Yoda grimaced and looked sadly into her eyes.  "It is the future you see.  Soon.  Yes, very soon."

Danaé pulled herself up into a sitting position and clutched her knees to her chest.  "I have to go," she said after a long pause.  "My family needs me.  I have to go to them." 

"Hmm," Yoda sighed.  He poked at the mud with the end of his gimer stick.  "How feel you?  Ready are you, to face what may come to you when you return to the galaxy beyond this swamp?  Hmm?"

She let her eyes wander through the misty bog around them.  A series of deep breaths cleared her mind and banished the lingering pain of the final vision.  "Yes," she declared finally.  "Yes, I am ready." 

"Certain are you, hmm?"

"No," she admitted calmly.  "I'm not certain.  But I feel more ready than I have ever felt before." 

"Enough that is," Yoda said quietly.  Using his stick for balance he rose to his feet.  "Depart quickly you must.  Your gear to the ship we must take.  Help you I will." 

Danaé stood as well, towering over the solemn Jedi Master.  "Thank you, Master Yoda."

---

"You don't think we should have commed ahead?" asked Obi-Wan skeptically. 

"Trust me, old man," Anakin winked.  "It's more fun this way." 

"Just for once," Obi-Wan sighed, "I'd like to go somewhere without you insisting on making it fun, or amusing, or entertaining, or…"

"I get the message, Master," Anakin chuckled.  "I'll keep it in mind for next time." 

As the cool nighttime air grew gloomier around them, they finally arrived at their destination on the narrow cobblestone street between the stone houses.  Anakin led the way up the stairs and rang the door chime. 

After brief pause the elegant wooden door swung open to reveal a smiling young woman a few years older than Leia with curly brown hair and bright blue eyes.  "Uncle Ani!" she exclaimed in delight.  "Uncle Ani!  I can't believe it's you!"

"Hello, Ryoo," he smiled, pulling her into a warm embrace. 

Within his grip she turned back over her shoulder and hollered inside.  "Everyone!  Everyone!  Uncle Ani's here!  And he brought Uncle Obi-Wan with him!" 

With Ryoo dragging them by their hands, Anakin and Obi-Wan walked into the sitting room of the Naberrie home.  Ruwee and Jobal were waiting for them in the open doorway, with Pooja and Sola right behind.  After a round of happy embraces and cheerful greetings they moved toward the chairs. 

Then Pooja burst right up to Anakin and held out her left hand.  "Look, Uncle Ani," she all but squealed in excitement, her long hair bouncing in time with the spring in her step.  "See my ring?  Isn't it gorgeous?" 

Anakin gently took his niece's hand and held it closer to his face.  "It's lovely, dear, it really is," he smiled.  "I guess that Lars boy has a taste in gems almost as impressive as his taste in women." 

Pooja blushed fiercely and looked down at the floor.  "Thank you," she said shyly. 

Anakin noticed the quizzical expression on Obi-Wan's face.  Owen and Beru's eldest, Cliegg.  Named for his grandfather, he sent telepathically through the Force.  They've been a couple at least three years.  Maybe more.  I forget.  Over twenty years ago Anakin and Padmé had persuaded Owen and Beru to sell the moisture farm on Tatooine and move to Naboo.  Although it had taken some time to become adjusted to having left behind the only life they had ever known, the verdant planet now suited the Lars family just fine.  Owen had risen to become manager of repair and mechanics facilities at the Theed spaceport, Beru had worked hard to earn her position a highly regarded advisor in the Royal Court, and their three children had grown up as good friends of the Naberries, the Skywalkers, and the Bellions. 

Obi-Wan nodded.  "I'm delighted for you, Pooja," he told her gently.  "How long ago did you receive this?" 

"Oh, it's been almost a month now," she said. 

Anakin frowned.  "I wonder when Padmé was planning to tell me?"

Obi-Wan grinned mischievously.  "Are you certain she didn't?"

Anakin tried to glower at his old friend, but with everyone laughing uproariously at his expense he couldn't hold the face and laughed too. 

When the mirth finally subsided, Jobal reached out a hand and briefly took Anakin's arm.  "We didn't know you were on Naboo, Anakin.  This is quite a surprise." 

"It was a secret mission," Obi-Wan said quickly, always adept at smoothing over difficult explanations.  "We were searching for information of interest to the Order and it was imperative our presence here not be known." 

Ruwee nodded knowingly.  "Your ship is docked at the Palace, then?"

"Yes," Anakin replied.  "We learned what we needed earlier tonight," he continued, playing off Obi-Wan's setup, "so we will be leaving in the morning."

"And you knew better than to go home without seeing us first," Ryoo laughed. 

"Indeed," Anakin winked.  "I have your aunt to account to, after all." 

"You look exhausted, Anakin," said Jobal tenderly.  "Have you eaten dinner?" 

Anakin smiled and ran his fingers through his short gray hair.  "Well, actually…"

---

Hours later Anakin awoke to the persistent beeping of his emergency-frequency comlink.  It was a sound he always dreaded.  The last time it had brought good news was almost twenty years ago, when Padmé had signaled him that she was going into labor with Bryon. 

He didn't need any premonitions in the Force to have a bad feeling about it. 

Climbing reluctantly out of bed, he found the palm-sized device on the small desk in the guest bedroom.  For a long moment he couldn't bring himself to look at it.  It might be the Temple.  Or Leia.  Or Mara.  Or Danaé.  Before he could panic any further he held the tiny screen up to his eyes. 

"Padmé," he whispered.

Taking care to muffle his hurried footfalls with the Force, Anakin rushed to a small room in the back of the basement of the house.  Ever since Padmé's days as Queen Amidala of Naboo the Naberries had maintained a secured comlink connection to the Royal Palace, which in turn could send unbreakably encrypted signals anywhere in the galaxy.  After the viewscreen hummed to its activated state, he entered his wife's code and waited.  He knew she would see from the transmission identifier that he was contacting her from her parents' home.

When the tiny image of her face appeared, it was obvious she was severely distressed.  "Ani?"

"Yes, angel.  I'm here."   

The alarmed words flew from her mouth in a nearly incomprehensible deluge.  "Awful." "Scared." "Convoy." "On the move." "Bryon." "Scared."

He took a deep breath.  "Slow down, angel," he said as reassuringly as he could.  "Please."

"I'm sorry," she hiccupped.  "It's just awful, Ani.  I'm so scared."  She wiped her eyes.  "The Vyhrragian fleet, the one that hit Alderaan… it's… it's… it's found Mill's convoy, Ani.  They're attacking it.  Live on the Holonet, Ani.  Bryon's there, protecting Mill.  The battle's not even over and… how will we… it will take so long to get word from them and I… I can't handle this, Ani.  I need you."

"I'm here, angel," he said quietly.  "I'm here."  For a brief moment he closed his eyes and surged his awareness out into the Force.  "I would know if anything happened, angel.  I promise.  If I don't sense anything happen, that means he's okay." 

"Keep your focus on him, Ani, please.  I have to know.  I have to know he's okay."

"I will, angel.  I will."  He clasped his hands in his lap to prevent himself from drumming nervously on the table.  "There was something more?"

"Yes," she said.  "Reports are coming in from the front.  Argis is readying an invasion fleet to conquer Gimna 3.  They're already encroaching on the system and more warships are on the move."

"At the same time the Chancellor's convoy is attacked," Anakin frowned.  "That can't be a coincidence." 

"I don't think so either," Padmé shook her head.  "I have to contact Leia on Pharenniol, Ani.  We have to get her away from there.  We have to get her to safety."

"Angel, I need wake Obi-Wan and then I need to go to the Palace," he said calmly.  "I need to be able to use multiple feeds at once, and I can't do that here.  Once I'm there, we'll figure out what to do about everyone, okay?  About Leia, and Danaé, and Luke and Mara.  And I'll find out about Bryon too, I promise, okay?  Promise me you won't do anything until I'm there.  Please?  Promise me?"

"I promise, Ani," she sobbed.  "I'll be waiting."

"Twenty minutes," he said.  "I'll see you again in twenty minutes." 

When she nodded, he deactivated the transmitter and charged from the room as fast as he could run. 

---

The emergency alarms on the Republic cruiser Optimus blared as Bryon ran down a corridor with his personal detail of a dozen Special Forces soldiers on his heels.  Their black battle armor rattled and their boots thumped against the floors.  Bryon lifted up the rounded black face shield of his helmet and flipped down the small comlink microphone.  "Bridge, this is Major Skywalker.  I need a status report."

"An enemy transport used a fighter escort to penetrate the main docking bay," reported a grim male voice.  "Enemy units have discharged and are spreading out into the interior." 

"Can we expect reinforcements from the convoy?"

"Negative, Major," the voice said.  "The enemy fleet is considerable.  All other warships are engaged with them.  We're on our own." 

"Roger, Bridge.  Skywalker out."  Bryon took a deep breath and kept running.  He flicked a switch and addressed the soldiers under his command.  "Pryzill, fortify the stateroom.  Krannar, take position in the approach corridor.  Graff, search and destroy."  His three subordinates replied affirmatively.  

Bryon knew he had to make a decision quickly about where he should go.  There were two hundred Special Forces troops on the cruiser, and he had only a few with him.  They wouldn't make much difference to the combat positions, but he could make a difference as a commander.  So he decided to head toward Will's units. 

After only a few more strides the utterly disorganized, frantic updates began to spill out over the comlink feed.  "Brownshirts, sector Delta Four."  "Brownshirts, sector Bravo Two."  "Brownshirts, sector Alpha Three."  "Brownshirts, sector Delta Three." 

Bryon couldn't find a pattern in the announced locations, so he changed course toward the closest one, Delta Three.  He quickened his pace and surged around a corner into another hallway. 

The enemy already was there.

Blocking their passage was a formation of over twenty soldiers wearing tan body armor over green fatigues.  They were set up in an infantry attack formation, some men kneeling and others staggered behind them.  In the center of the group stood two tall figures dressed in black tunics and pants, black boots and gloves, and black cloaks with hoods drawn up to conceal their faces – and holding ignited red lightsabers in their hands. 

Instantly the brownshirts opened fire on Bryon and his men. 

Bryon dropped to the floor and rolled to the side, dodging blaster bolts as he jammed the shield down over his face, whipped his blaster rifle's strap off his shoulder, and sprang up into a firing crouch.  Around him the soldiers in his detail dove into similar evasive tumbles and took up defensive positions when they rose again. 

After only a few seconds it was clear to Bryon that they would have to retreat.  Although several brownshirts on the edges had been taken out, the two Sith Lords were repelling incoming blaster fire with their lightsabers.  It would be impossible to hit the brownshirts they were defending – much less to take out the Sith themselves.  Byron fired a few more shots at the outer brownshirts, then waved his hand to signal the pullback. 

The Special Forces soldiers ran backwards around the corner again with rifles blazing.  Only eight of them made it out. 

Bryon spoke quickly into his comlink.  "Attention all units, two Sith Lords at Delta Three.  Repeat, two Sith Lords at Delta Three." 

"Major, this is Knight Syasin," said one of the four Jedi in the Supreme Chancellor's security detail.  "What do you wish for us to do?" 

"Hold the stateroom," Bryon ordered.  "Hold the stateroom.  I'll try to cut them off." 

Looking over his shoulder he saw that the Sith and their brownshirts had not pursued them.  His guess was that they intended to assassinate Chancellor Millius, which would make the stateroom their destination.  As he ran with his surviving seven soldiers, he reached down to his belt for the concussion grenades.  All four still were there.  If he hurried, he might be able to intercept the Sith's group before they reached the approach hallway. 

He wasn't sure whether the grenades would harm the Sith, but at the very least they could take out the brownshirts around them.  And then the four Jedi would have to do their job. 

---

In the richly appointed stateroom of the cruiser Supreme Chancellor Bail Millius stood at the wide viewport, watching the Vyhrragian fleet engage with the Republic Navy warships in his convoy.  The massive cannons from both sides sent a flurry of shots between the vessels.  The convoy outnumbered the enemy, but already two ships from each side had been destroyed.  All this only an hour before they would have arrived at Alderaan.

From near the door a sudden order filled the room.  "Take up positions," First Sergeant Pryzill directed the thirty Special Forces troops set up in four rows to fire out into the hallway.  "They're almost here."

One of the Jedi put his hand on Millius' shoulder.  "We will protect you, Your Excellency."

Millius sighed.  He should have listened to Padmé.  "Yes, I know," he said quietly.  "May the Force be with you." 

---

Just as Bryon thought they might reach the position in time, they swung around another corner to face twenty more brownshirts.  These were not set up in formation, though, and there were no Sith Lords with them. 

Without waiting for instructions the seven soldiers behind him opened fire.  Bryon raised his blaster rifle to his shoulder and began to shoot as well, taking down a brownshirt with every pull of the trigger.  After only a few seconds all the enemies were dead.  But so were another two of the men in Bryon's detail.  The six of them regrouped in the hallway while Bryon reactivated his comlink, which had switched off during the quick skirmish. 

All he heard were frantic screams and panicked yells.  The stateroom was under attack.  Krannar's position had been overrun, and Pryzill's men were shooting blindly down the hallway toward the approaching brownshirts.  Elsewhere in the cruiser Will Graff had six separate squads hunting down other groups of brownshirts, and three of those squads had come under heavy fire and were being decimated.  The siege of the Optimus was turning into a rout. 

"Come on," Bryon barked to his men.  "We have to get to the stateroom."

---

Darth Malus whirled his shimmering ruby laser sword in front of him with precision gained from many years of experience.  The dozens of Republic Army soldiers inside the stateroom had no chance of hitting him with their bolts.  Slowly he advanced on them until he stood just outside the door. 

Behind him he sensed Darth Delicti arrive at his shoulder, her red lightsaber deflecting many of the incoming shots right back at the shooters. 

Without losing an iota of concentration on his defense, he turned his head around and scowled.  "We should have killed the Skywalker boy.  It was the perfect opportunity."

"I agree," she shrugged.  "But orders are orders.  Master Vengous foresaw this.  She has a good reason to delay the inevitable.  I am certain of it."

"You are no doubt correct."  Then he tipped his head toward the open doorway and flashed a wicked grin.  "Ladies first."

She grinned back with equally depraved delight.  "Well, if you insist…" 

---

Bryon and his five soldiers nearly had reached the stateroom when yet another group of brownshirts appeared in their path. 

"Blast it!" he yelled in anguish.  "How can there be so many?" 

He shot dead three of the enemies, and the others behind him got seven more.  The remaining six brownshirts took advantage, however, and sent a torrent of blaster bolts at them.  Before he could get out of the way, Bryon felt one bolt slam straight into the breastplate of his black battle armor.  The force of the strike knocked the wind from his lungs, but the armor held and the laser blast did not reach his body beneath.  A split-second later another bolt struck his left shoulder guard, spinning him around like a child's toy.  And then a third shot struck him in the back as he spun, driving him headfirst to the floor with a vicious smack.  Through all of it he never lost his grip on his rifle. 

He lay there, unable to move.  Above him he heard the screech of blaster fire continue.  There were screams of pain as more men fell; friend and foe he could not distinguish.  After a few more seconds he sucked air into his lungs again and compelled his legs to power themselves.  He lunged upright and whirled around to face what was left of the firefight.  With a single squeeze of his trigger he shot the last brownshirt full in the face. 

Only one man from his detail was still alive, and he had a badly wounded leg.  "Major?" 

"Stateroom," he rasped, still struggling to breathe and trying to concentrate as his muddled thoughts swam around inside his skull.  He and the sole survivor staggered hurriedly down the hallway.  He tapped the comlink in his helmet but it only buzzed with static; it must have broken when his head hit the floor.  After several dozen paces they reached the hallway's end and turned to the right. 

The scene in front of them was horrific.  Piles of corpses in the Special Forces' black battle armor littered the passageway, interspersed with a large number of slain brownshirts.  As they stepped gingerly through the carnage, Bryon did not see anyone alive.  After another few steps his gaze scanning the ground caught the sight of Krannar's dead body; it was bent in an unnatural direction at the waist and the breastplate of his armor was riddled with punctures from blaster bolts. 

They nearly had reached the door to the stateroom when a shot rang out.  Bryon spun to see that one of the fallen brownshirts was alive after all and had risen on an elbow to shoot his last companion.  His loyal subordinate slumped to the ground, wisps of smoke rising from a hole at the base of his spine in the gap between two plates of armor covering his back. 

Without a word Bryon raised his rifle and shot the prone brownshirt in the head.  Again.  And again.  And again.  And again. 

Bryon turned and hobbled forward into the stateroom.  More piles of dead Special Forces troops and brownshirts filled the entrance to the elegant salon.  His feet shuffled beneath him and he nearly fell.  He looked down to see if he had tripped over a corpse when he realized there was a searing pain in his left shoulder.  A quick glance revealed that the shot had shattered the armor.  Although the laser had not hit his skin, shards of the armor were protruding from his flesh and blood was running down the black armor on his arm.  The indescribable pain and the sight of the injury nearly overwhelmed his still-fuzzy mind. 

He gritted his teeth and forced his feet to move again.  As he staggered forward he saw Pryzill among the slain soldiers, killed by a blaster bolt through his helmet.  Bryon moved through the rest of the sickening slaughter into the clear floor of the main space of the stateroom.  When he reached the rear of the salon he saw what he had feared. 

Charred scarring from lightsaber blades marred the floor, ceiling, and walls, as well as the broken furniture strewn in disarray.  Clearly a duel of massive scope and ferocity had been waged in the stateroom over the course of several minutes.  And its outcome was plain to see – the bodies of the four Jedi lay scattered on the lush teal carpets, each slain by a single lightsaber wound through the torso. 

Behind them was the identically impaled corpse of the Supreme Chancellor. 

"No," Bryon stammered.  "No.  No."  At that moment his body gave out.  Still not recovered from the trauma of brutally striking the floor, his brain was overpowered by the agony of the shoulder wound.  As he felt himself losing consciousness he looked out the viewport into the stars, and he thought only of his last conversation with his mother.  "I'm sorry," he gasped. 

Then everything went black.

---

She awoke to the sound of Sarré's bare feet thumping on the metal floors as her handmaiden burst out of the small room containing their bunks.  Leia rubbed the sleep from her eyes and blinked repeatedly.  The Millennium Falcon was speeding through hyperspace toward Coruscant, and from the tiredness still clouding her mind she guessed she probably had been asleep only a few hours.  Sitting up in bed, she found her hairbrush and began to untangle her long brown tresses. 

Sarré returned a few minutes later with a medpac in her arms.  "Sorry," she apologized hoarsely.  "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay," Leia smiled warmly. 

"I barely made it to the refresher in time," Sarré groaned.  She set the medpac on her bed and stood over it as she began her search.  "I must have gotten something from the food in the camp; I never did trust their sanitary treatments.  As soon as I figure out what it is I'll take the meds for it." 

Watching her friend digging through the medpac like a crazed gundark, Leia had a sudden flash of insight.  The mood swings.  The overreactions.  The inability to sleep.  The unpredictability.  And now vomiting? 

"Where is that blasted tester?" growled Sarré.  A large pile of items already had accumulated on her bunk. 

"Slow down," Leia soothed as she sprang to her feet.  "Sit.  I'll get it." 

Sarré flashed an angry glare, but then she immediately subsided and sat down next to the medpac.  "Okay." 

Leia checked quickly through the pile, didn't see the scanner she wanted, and turned to the medpac.  After only a few seconds she found the requisite device.  It activated with a whir, and Leia found the necessary setting with a quick tap on the small display screen.  "All set," she said gently.  "Hold out your hand." 

Sarré complied, extending her left hand for the blood sample.  She flinched as the scanner's tiny needle pricked her finger, withdrew a few drops of blood, and applied a thin layer of spray bandage to seal the minute wound. 

Leia stood next to the seated Sarré while the scanner hummed.  Neither of them said anything. 

Finally the device beeped.  Sarré looked up.  "So, what do I have?" 

"Nothing," Leia said.  "It's morning sickness." 

Sarré nearly hit her head on the upper bunk when she shot to her feet.  "That's impossible!  Run it again!  It can't be right!  It can't be right!" 

Leia sighed.  There was no mistake – of that she was absolutely certain.  But to appease her friend she had the scanner double-check the analysis. 

Sarré was pacing back and forth in the dimly lit cabin, wringing her hands and muttering anxious denials under her breath.  "It can't be.  We're not ready.  It can't…  No, it just…  No…  please…"  Finally the device beeped again.  "It's something else, right?  Right?" 

"No, Sarré," Leia shook her head.  "You're pregnant."  After tossing the scanner gently to the bed next to the medpac, she slowly stepped over and pulled her best friend into a fierce embrace.  Neither of them tried to hold back their tears. 

A few minutes later they sat side-by-side on Leia's bed.  Leia had been thinking everything over while they cried, and she was pretty sure she had figured it all out.  "Sarré?"

"Yes?"

"I need to ask you a few things.  You're going to have questions, but I want you to hold off with them until I finish.  Will you promise me that?"

"Yes.  I promise."

"You and Bryon got married when you were on Naboo, didn't you?" 

Sarré's eyes bugged out, but she restrained herself as she had pledged.  "Yes."

"But you didn't take the counter-injection."

"No, I didn't.  How could this happen?  We're not ready yet!  This isn't supposed to happen!"

Leia sighed and pulled her traumatized friend into a hug again.  "I'm getting to that.  Sarré, I need to ask you something very personal."

"Okay," Sarré replied a little reluctantly. 

Leia knew her little brother.  She knew the way he thought and felt and acted.  And she was confident she knew what he inadvertently had done.  "After you were married, and you…  well…  celebrated…  Bryon said something afterwards, didn't he?  While you were still in bed?  Something like, 'You're going to be a wonderful mother.'  Right?" 

Sarré jolted back and gasped loudly.  Her face was completely pale.  "That's exactly what he said."  She started to tremble.  "How did you know?" 

"Because that's what I said to Jarren." 

Sarré suddenly sat forward again.  "What?"

Leia didn't say anything.  She couldn't speak.  It took all her concentration to hold back the next wave of building tears. 

"Leia?  What are you talking about?  You were never preg…"  Sarré stopped abruptly and stared into Leia's eyes.  "You were.  You were!  Why didn't you tell me?" 

Leia closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall.  "I can't believe Daddy didn't warn Bryon!  What was he thinking?  He wasn't thinking!  That's the problem.  Blast it!" 

"Leia," said Sarré gently, "I'm really confused right now, and I think you need to tell me everything from the beginning." 

"I'm sorry," Leia sighed without opening her eyes.  "You're right."  She took a deep breath and started.  "Before Jarren left for Gimna 3, we had a… well… amorous night together.  That night in bed I told him that he would be a wonderful father.  I was still on the injections then, and we talked about going off them when he got back.  I didn't think about it again for weeks.  Then one night after dinner Daddy pulled me aside."

Sarré nodded understandingly.  "He sensed it."

"Yes, he did.  He asked if I'd been to the doctor lately.  When I said no, he said I should.  I got pretty frantic thinking something was really wrong, and the only way he could calm me down was to tell me what he had perceived in the Force."  Leia choked down a sob.  "It was the next morning we found out Jarren had been murdered.  And I…  I…"

"You miscarried," Sarré whispered, stunned by the realization as it hit her.  "So that's why…  The first two days you handled your grief so well.  I thought you were going to make it.  And then you just lost it.  You were inconsolable.  I remember it so clearly.  You had to be sedated for weeks.  And it was because you'd lost the baby too." 

"Yes."  Leia opened her eyes, and her tears flowed freely.  "Yes."  It took great effort to regain her voice.  "Daddy's the only person in the galaxy who ever knew.  I never made it to the doctor."  She shook with sobs.  "I never told Mom.  It would have killed her."

"Why didn't you tell me, Leia?  Why?"

"I couldn't.  I couldn't.  I just couldn't."

Now Sarré was the one pulling Leia into an embrace.  "It's okay.  It's okay.  I forgive you." 

"She was a girl," Leia confessed quietly after a minute.  "I was going to have a daughter.  A Jedi.  My daughter would have been a Jedi." 

"Anakin could tell that?  After only a month?"  Sarré's voice had a distinct hint of interest. 

"He did.  He can find out anything he wants, when he tries hard enough." 

"Because you asked him to."

Leia could only nod weakly.  "I wish I hadn't.  Now I wish I didn't know." 

Sarré squeezed her close.  "I still don't understand what this has to do with Bryon.  How could I get pregnant if I'm on the injections?" 

Leia took a deep breath.  "It's going to sound ridiculous."

"I can handle it."

"Because he's a Skywalker."

Sarré laughed.  "You're going to have to say more than that to convince me!" 

Leia laughed too.  "I suppose so.  Well, I guess they never told you or Bryon but…  he was… an accident.  After Danaé was born, my Mom went on the injections again.  One night she was feeling sad because I was the only child who wouldn't be a Jedi.  And Daddy tried to make her feel better and…  well… anyway, he told her that maybe someday she would get her wish.  He… wanted it to happen for her…  and… it did."

"Are you saying that him wishing for it made it so?" 

"I told you it sounds ridiculous.  When I married Jarren, Daddy told me that story.  Just in case, so I'd know to be careful about even thinking it.  I laughed at him; I thought he was being completely paranoid.  But there was only one time I ever made a wish like that…"  She let her voice trail off; she couldn't go on. 

"And Bryon did too.  On Naboo.  He must have wished it.  And the Force granted it." 

"That's right."

Sarré sighed deeply.  "Leia?"

"Yes?"

"Wasn't Luke taking an awful risk, then, with his… well… with the girls in the Temple?" 

Leia chuckled.  "Sort of.  First of all, don't let the stories fool you.  He only did…  that… with a few of them.  And there's no way he ever would have wished for a child, even for a millisecond, so the injections would have worked fine.  Plus, Mara says the girls in the Temple all know how to use the Force to…  prevent conception… and I'm sure they did that too when they were… with him."

"Unless they lied to Luke about their intentions."

"I guess he felt he could trust them." 

"Yeah."  Sarré held Leia closely for a few silent minutes.  Then she sighed and spoke again.  "Promise me you won't tell anyone.  About the wedding, and especially about me being…  Anyone.  Anyone at all.  Bryon has to be the next person to know.  It can't be any other way.  Promise me."

"He should have known before me," Leia said quietly.  "Yes, Sarré, I promise.  And you have to promise me not to tell anyone about… about what I told you.  Not even Bryon, okay?  Not even him.  And definitely not my Mom.  Not under any circumstances.  I'll tell Daddy to talk to Bryon about this, but you can't tell Bryon about my… my… my daughter.  You just can't.  I'm sorry." 

"I promise, Leia.  I promise." 

---

The static-laden blue holographic image rose over the desk.  "I apologize for the delay," Darth Vengous' image said coolly.  "I encountered an unexpected obstacle in my departure from Naboo." 

"An unexpected obstacle, you say?"  Tarkin raised his eyebrows as he leaned forward in his chair.  "Do tell."

"The Chosen One and Kenobi were there," she grumbled.  "It necessitated some creativity on my part to make our escape without revealing the full extent of my powers.  That must come only in the situation of our choosing, when he will be helpless to resist them." 

"Indeed," Tarkin nodded.  "I am pleased you were able to hold to the plan." 

"As am I," Vengous agreed.  "But we shall discuss this further later.  In the meantime, is the next stage of the design ready to be executed?"

"It is, my friend." 

"Very good.  Lady Delicti, it seems your mission went smoothly."

The adjacent blue holographic image nodded.  "We had an exceptional complement of the brownshirts with us, Master.  They decimated the Special Forces with ease.  The four Jedi at the scene put up a valiant effort, but ultimately were dispatched with little difficulty."

"Excellent work, my young apprentice.  The diversion is accomplished, and the Senate will be crippled at the most inopportune time.  Pass along my congratulations to Lord Malus."

"Of course, Master," Delicti said.  "He asked me to mention his disappointment that we could not slay the Skywalker boy when he was within our grasp."

"All in due time, Lady Delicti.  All in due time," Vengous chuckled darkly.  "We must wait until we can maximize the impact of his demise on the others." 

"As you wish, Master.  We will reach the next destination within hours."

From beneath her cowl Vengous smiled.  "I will arrive shortly," she said, "and will await you.  And how does the rest of the operation fare, General Tarkin?" 

"The initial strike teams have taken up positions around Gimna 3 and the fleet has begun massing for the assault.  The Republic detected this, of course, but the assassination prevented the formation of an immediate response.  It now appears they have begun preparations for an evacuation of refugees and personnel.  They must have concluded that the delay has cost them the opportunity hold the planet."

"The diversion and the principal attack worked exactly as we predicted," Vengous grinned.  "And now the trap is set.  I am very pleased." 

"You should be aware that we have not yet been able to confirm the locations of the Skywalkers," explained Tarkin calmly.  "I cannot tell you with certainty they will be there."

"They will," Vengous stated flatly.  "Although the killing of the Organa boy did not lure them to the planet, this attack will.  This system has too much emotional meaning to them because of it, which is what makes it the perfect target now.  They will be there.  All of them.  I have foreseen it."

"Then it is inevitable, my friend," Tarkin said appreciatively. 

"Move ahead with the assault as scheduled, General.  We will do the rest," Vengous directed.  "Give Lord Regelous my best wishes for the success of his troops.  And I look forward to your arrival, Lady Delicti."

"And I to seeing you, Master," said the other holographic image. 

"Until next time, then," Tarkin smiled broadly, "when we will celebrate our conquest of Gimna 3 and the beginning of the demise of the Skywalkers."  When the two images nodded respectfully, he tapped the button to terminate the feeds.  Then he rose from his chair and whistled a triumphant martial march as he strode confidently toward the door.  

---

"Major?  Can you hear me?" 

The soothing feminine voice woke Bryon from his stupor. 

"Major?  If you can hear me, please squeeze my hand."

He felt the soft skin of a small hand slide into his and he squeezed it back gently.  But he still couldn't remember where he was and his eyes seemed glued shut.  With a cough he managed to force a word from his throat.  "Sarré?"

"No, Major," the soft voice said.  "It's Kessa Brittin." 

Still keeping his eyes closed, he took a deep, hitching breath and spoke again.  "Where… are we?" 

"You're in the medical ward of the Optimus, Major.  There was a battle on board.  Do you remember?" 

Bryon tried to concentrate for a moment, except the heavy sedation was nearly overwhelming.  As he struggled to think coherently, his head began to pound in agony again.  After a few moments he was able to recall what had happened.  Then he noted that the piercing pain in his left shoulder seemed to have subsided; he could feel a massive wrap of bacta bandages around it underneath the thin patient's gown he now apparently was wearing.  And his ribs only ached a little from the strike to the chest.  "Yes," he gasped.  "But… my head…  still…"

"You have a severe concussion," Kessa explained quietly.  "The medical droid says it will take several more hours for the bactade to have its full effect.  And you've been injected with the counter-sedative.  You'll feel awake very soon." 

He tried to open his eyes and realized he could barely do so.  They must have swollen up from the head injury.  With great effort he did and looked at his aide.  She still wore her gray combat fatigues but not the battle armor.  "What's… wrong?  I mean… why did… you wake me?" 

"There's a transmission for you from the Royal Palace on Naboo.  From your father."

Bryon nodded.  "Yes.  Bring it… to me."  When she started to turn away, he reached out for her arm.  "Did… Graff…"

Kessa smiled weakly as she turned back with a hand-held viewscreen.  "Yes, he's alive," she nodded.  "We lost over a hundred and fifty men, but he made it." 

"You did… too," he smiled back. 

"Yes," she said.  "I was with one of the lucky units."  She stood up from his bedside.  "I'll be outside." 

Bryon heaved himself into a sitting postion, lifted the small viewscreen, and tapped its surface.  It activated with an image of his father.  "Dad," he said slowly as he struggled to gain control of his breathing and his rapidly clearing train of thought.  "I'm here." 

"It's a great relief to see you, Bryon," said his father sincerely.  "We've been very worried.  I know what's happened to the convoy; I've already been debriefed by Captain Graff."

"Okay."

"Bryon, it's Mom."  He couldn't see her face; her father must have patched her into the feed.  And he could tell she was crying.  "It's so wonderful to hear your voice."

"You too." 

"Here's the situation," his father began calmly.  "Argis is massing forces for an assault on Gimna 3.  Our garrison on the planet is far too small to hold it.  There are many thousands of refugees that must be evacuated immediately from in and around Gonnolli, the capital city, as well as the Republic leadership on the planet.  The operation has already begun, but we're going to continue it to the very end.  I need to know your status." 

"I'm injured," Bryon said carefully, "but I'll be fine before I could get there.  I don't have many men left, though.  I don't know what difference I could make."

"Bryon, the Chancellor is dead.  The Senate will be in emergency session shortly.  You understand that any orders I give to military units would take precedence unless countermanded by Commander General Dodonna himself?" 

"Yes, Dad, of course."

"Two regiments of regulars will be arriving at Gonnolli soon, along with a battalion of Special Forces."  Anakin looked firmly into Bryon's eyes over the viewscreen.  "I know you've run many operations like this before, if not on quite so large a scale.  I need someone I trust in command of the Army units, Bryon.  I need you." 

"I don't know," Bryon said forlornly.  "I failed here.  I failed.  I can't fail again, not with those stakes." 

His father did not react to his reluctance.  "Danaé's already on her way to meet us there.  Luke and Mara are on Tatooine and as soon as we're finished, Obi-Wan and I are contacting them and ordering them to join us immediately at Naboo, and we'll be on our way.  And the Millennium Falcon is headed there too." 

Bryon shuddered with fear.  Sarré.  Sarré would be there.  She would be much, much safer if he could protect her himself.  Nothing else mattered.  "How will I get there?"

"One of the corvettes in the convoy is suitable.  I will order it to transport you." 

"I'll bring the men I have left," Bryon said.  "Can you transmit maps of the city and the evacuation routes out of the atmosphere?" 

"Of course.  Everything I have will be waiting for you at the corvette." 

Bryon steeled himself to ask the difficult question.  "Dad?  Why is Sarré going there?  It's too dangerous." 

"Believe me, Bryon," his mother's voice interjected in distress, "I told Leia that.  So many times.  But she wouldn't listen to me.  Even if your father had ordered Captain Solo not to go, she would have found a way."

While she had been speaking, it all had come together for Bryon.  "Jarren," he rasped.  "These were the refugees Jarren was trying to help last year when he was murdered.  She couldn't let them be slaughtered." 

"That's right," Padmé agreed.  "I'm sorry." 

"It's not your fault," Bryon sighed.  "Okay, Dad, issue the orders.  I'll get us to the corvette, and I'll see you at Gimna 3 as soon as we can get there." 

"Thank you, Bryon," his father nodded solemnly.  "May the Force be with you."

"And with you, Dad."  The viewscreen cut away to static when the feed terminated from the other end.  Bryon deactivated the device and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.  He took another hitching breath and raised his voice.  "Kessa?"

A moment later his diminutive staff secretary burst through the open doorway.  "Yes, Major?" 

"Ask Will to find me right away and then gather the survivors.  We must depart without delay.  We have a mission from the Jedi Council."

---

Luke awoke suddenly.  His mind was instantly on alert and he felt his awareness automatically latch on to his lightsaber handle on the small table across the room.  But even probing in the Force and trying to trigger his subconscious perceptions to reveal themselves he couldn't figure out what had awakened him.  He glanced quickly around the room.  Nothing had been disturbed from the night before.  The rays of light streaming in the tiny window seemed to indicate that it was mid-morning, if not later.  He surged his awareness into the hallway, but no one was there who might have knocked at the door. 

It didn't occur to him that he was lying in bed with Mara in his arms until she stirred, nuzzled his neck, and exhaled a deep, contented sigh. 

He lifted his head a little to see that she had opened her eyes.  "Hey," he said lamely. 

She smiled.  "Hey." 

He wanted to say more but didn't know what to say or where to begin.  Something had happened between them.  Everything had happened between them.  They hadn't talked about it or planned it or even realized it was going to happen until it simply did.  She hadn't said she loved him; he hadn't said he loved her.  They had driven off the pain of their grief with their passion, but now that reality was back again their friends still were dead.  Had it been nothing more than lust that had made the anguish disappear for a while, or had they been able to find such blissful comfort with each other because of a long-simmering affection much deeper than that?  He wasn't sure, and he had no idea how to talk to her about it.  He was unprepared for this moment.  Totally unprepared. 

Her green eyes gazed back at him with a similar apprehension.  She blinked, swallowed hard, and looked like she was about to say something when a sharp beeping sound echoed through the room. 

Luke bolted upright in the bed.  It was his emergency-frequency comlink – the "second attempt" alarm.  He burst his perceptions toward his utility belt on the floor on the other side of the room and extended his hand.  Only a second later the small device launched from his belt and smacked into his palm.  He read the code on the display.  "It's Master Obi-Wan," he told Mara. 

Even though it was an audio-only device, Mara pulled up the sheet all the way around her shoulders.  "Okay."

Luke tapped the button on the side and waited for the confirmation that the connection was opened and successfully encrypted.  "Yes, Master?"

"Luke, have you completed the mission on Tatooine?" 

Luke's face fell and he met Mara's gaze.  She nodded sadly.  "Yes, Master," he said. 

"Then I am issuing you new orders effective immediately.  Argis is arraying a fleet to attack Gimna 3.  Your father and I are coordinating an evacuation of refugees and Republic personnel.  We need your assistance."  His Master's voice paused briefly.  "Anakin wants to know if Mara is with you."

Luke nearly dropped the comlink.  Mara mouthed words to him: "Do you think they know?"  He shook his head.  "Yes, Master, she is." 

"Excellent.  That will save us all a lot of time.  We are currently on Naboo.  Arrange the fastest possible transportation you can find to Theed and meet us immediately.  Cost is no obstacle.  Your father's ship will get us all to Gimna 3 very quickly from here."

"Understood, Master.  We should be able to depart within the hour."

"Very good, Luke.  May the Force be with you."

"And with you, Master."  Luke deactivated the comlink let his hands fall into his lap. 

Mara sat up too.  "I guess… we should get dressed and go."

"Yeah," he agreed.  "We should." 

A few minutes later they strode quickly through the crowded streets of Mos Eisley.  On the recommendation of the inn's proprietress they were heading to a nearby cantina to find a charter pilot. 

Luke made his point one more time.  "It would be cheaper just to buy a ship," he grumbled. 

"Maybe it'd be cheaper," Mara conceded, "but we can't be assured about quality.  We might end up stranded in deep space or hopelessly off course or who knows what else."

"I'd inspect the ship first," he insisted.  "I'd be able to tell if there were any major defects."

"I know you like to fly, and I'd be more than happy to let you, but we don't have that kind of time," she said firmly.  "Time for an inspection.  Time to negotiate a sale.  If we go with a charter, we can leave right away and we know the ship will be functional because it's the pilot's job to make sure of it."

"I suppose you have a point."

"Yes, I do." 

"When you're setting this up," he chuckled, "just try not to use any of your Master's aggressive negotiation techniques, okay?" 

"I won't," she laughed.  "I promise." 

Once they reached the cantina, Mara went directly to the bartender.  After a short exchange he pointed her in the direction of a booth along the far wall.  They both kept their cloaks drawn tightly, concealing their Jedi robes from even the most prying eyes.  Luke kept his hand on his lightsaber handle as they slid into the bench opposite the table's occupants: a tall, bearded man and a shorter, very attractive woman. 

"We need passage to Naboo, departing immediately," Mara explained calmly over the din of the lively tune being played by the motley band of Bith and other aliens.  "Word is yours is the fastest ship in port right now."

"That's true," the man grinned.  "I can get you there in under six standard hours.  It'll cost you, though." 

Mara winked.  "Two thousand now, fifteen when we reach Naboo."

"Seventeen?"  The man's eyes lit up and he glanced quickly to his companion.  "You've got yourselves a ship.  I'm Talon Karrde, and this is my associate, Shada D'ukal."

"I'm Arica," lied Mara perfectly, using an alias she had created years ago for an undercover mission with her Master, "and this is my husband, Kane Starkiller." 

After a polite set of nods around the table, Karrde rose.  "Docking bay ninety-four.  We'll be ready in ten minutes." 

"Ninety-four," Mara nodded. 

After the pair was gone, Luke glanced around at the clientele of the cantina and shook his head.  "When the dossier from the Temple said Mos Eisley was a wretched hive of scum and villainy, they weren't kidding." 

Mara laughed.  "Let's just hope our ride is neither."