CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Padmé rose from the chair, the two military commanders across the desk stood and snapped to attention. "Thank you for your candor, General Veers," she said. "And I appreciate your honesty as well, Admiral Piett. I will consider what you have said and give you a decision in the morning. In the meantime, please implement immediately the plans I have already approved."
"Of course, Your Excellency," the general nodded. Both men saluted, then bowed formally and strode quickly from the office.
After they had departed, Padmé tapped the intercom on the desk. "Nothing?"
"I'm sorry, Padmé," said Jenny's voice somberly from the small speaker. "I would have interrupted you."
"I know," Padmé said. She hadn't doubted that for a second, but still she had felt compelled to ask anyway. It had been over three standard hours since the military had confirmed that the Republic's task force at Gimna 3 had left the conquered system, and the processing of information on casualties and survivors was agonizingly slow. And no one had contacted her – not Anakin or the twins or Danaé or Bryon – even though she had a dedicated communications line to the fleet held open for her private comlink code for just that purpose. "This is all for today, Jenny," she sighed after a pause. "I'm ready to return to the residence."
"Of course," Jenny replied instantly. "Sabé commed in a few minutes ago to let you know she'll be there. Nalé offered to join her, but she declined. She figured you'd want to be alone."
"Yes," Padmé mumbled distractedly. More times than she ever could hope to count she had been immensely grateful to have a friend like Sabé in moments like this – a shoulder to cry on, an ear to rant to, an embrace in which to find solace.
"Master Secura is here with your security detail from the Jedi Council," Jenny said. "Should I send her in?"
"Yes, of course," Padmé agreed.
A long moment later door swished open and the middle-aged, blue-skinned female Twi'lek paced inside. "Supreme Chancellor Amidala," she said formally, "it is my pleasure to lead the team personally."
"I welcome your presence, Master Jedi," Padmé said simply, tipping her head in respect to the formality with which her long-time acquaintance had acknowledged the gravity of the circumstances.
"I wish I could say I bring word of the conditions at Gimna 3," the Jedi Master said grimly, "but the disturbances in the Force at that location have become so great the Council has been unable to discern anything."
Padmé nodded. She knew as well as Master Secura did that her family would contact her first, even before they contacted the Order. "I need to go home, Aayla," she sighed, inadvertently letting the weight of her fear and pain and desperate hope leak into her voice.
"Of course, Padmé," the Jedi smiled as reassuringly as she could. "It's late. You've had a very long day, not to mention the heavy burden of the obligations you have now assumed." She put a gentle hand on Padmé's shoulder. "The team understands the situation, Padmé. I'll introduce you to the unfamiliar faces in the morning. For now, just let us take you home."
Overcome by exhaustion and anxiety, Padmé could only nod again. She compelled her feet to move and followed the Twi'lek Master out into the reception area of the Supreme Chancellor's suite – the office she now occupied at the Senate – and when they arrived she couldn't suppress the shocked gasp that escaped her lips.
Eleven Jedi stood patiently in two parallel lines, hands clasped behind their backs and lightsaber handles on their hips glistening in the bright lights.
Padmé swallowed hard as Master Secura led her through the formation and the Jedi formed up a protective squad around her. Was the situation now so serious that the Council felt it necessary to treble the Supreme Chancellor's detail? Or was it because she was Anakin's wife? Or both?
The faces she recognized sent a chill down her spine: several powerful Masters with their highly skilled Padawans and an impressive complement of Knights, including to her recollection the four or five most dominant young fencers in the Order. And standing like an obelisk at the end of the line on her right, Mace Windu, who was without question the deadliest fighter in the Temple – other than Anakin, of course. Padmé's heart skipped a beat as she wondered whether this meant that Danaé would be one of her bodyguards once her daughter returned from Gimna 3.
If her daughter returned from Gimna 3.
Mace met Padmé's eyes and smiled his best warm, calm, soothing smile. She tried to smile back but couldn't. Instead she looked away, blinked back her tears, and kept her gaze on the floor as they walked.
---
Leia walked sluggishly through the sterile white hallway of the Republic Navy medical cruiser Panacea. Her plain white cotton pantsuit brushed softly with each step; it itched her skin, but she tolerated it because she knew she was lucky to be allowed in the intensive-care wing at all. Both her hands were sealed in fingerless gloves of stiff but thin plastisteel to prevent her from aggravating the numerous hairline fractures in tiny bones that she had inflicted on herself by pounding futilely on the metal walls of the evacuation transport. The stupor induced by the massive amount of sedation and painkillers she had been given left her in a haze.
Han was gone.
Gone.
It was the dominant thought in her muddled mind. She could see it clearly in her mind's eyes – the ship lifting off with him still on the ground, surrounded by brownshirts. Tears welled in her bloodshot eyes as she stumbled along.
It was impossible. It couldn't have happened. It must be a dream. A terrible, horrible dream.
But it was real. She couldn't remember all the details of the conversation, but she knew Chewbacca and Lando had been at her side from the moment of liftoff until just a few minutes ago. Over and over they had reassured her that Han would be safe, that they would find his location quickly, that soon he would be rescued. How they had ignored her anguished screams she could not comprehend. But she believed them. She trusted them. She had to.
With a few more dragging footsteps she entered a small white room. In its center was a bacta tank. Her little brother Bryon was suspended in the thick yellowish liquid, floating motionlessly. The respirator hissed and popped methodically, breathing for him. His legs and arms hung limply. Small surgery droids clustered at his chest, whirring and whizzing inside the tank as they worked at the large, raw wounds torn in his flesh. His skin was almost translucently pale, and his eyes were closed.
He looked like a corpse.
Dressed in white garb identical to hers, Danaé and Sarré sat crossed-legged on the floor in front of the tank. Danaé's hands were clasped in her lap and her eyes were closed. As she approached, Leia could see that Danaé's brow was furrowed and her skin was drenched in sweat. Leia wasn't sure she ever had seen her sister concentrating so fiercely. Danaé did not react to the sound of Leia's lethargic arrival, but Sarré did. Her handmaiden stood up and met Leia a few paces behind Danaé.
"How is he?" asked Leia quietly.
"Really bad," Sarré winced, wiping her eyes. "He hasn't regained consciousness and… They're saying he has a ten percent chance. If that."
Leia pulled Sarré into a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say."
Sarré shook her head. "You don't have to say anything."
Leia squeezed her friend firmly. "What's Danaé doing?"
"She's keeping him alive," Sarré whispered. "The medics say he'd be dead by now for sure, if it weren't for her. I don't know what she's doing with the Force, but it's keeping him alive. There's a chance that if she can hold on long enough, the droids might be able to implant enough temporary cybernetics and do the surgeries to save him."
"Is there anything I can do? Can I summon more Jedi?"
"No. There's no time. They said the next hour will be decisive."
Leia choked back a sob. "Anything for Danaé, then? Can we do anything to help her?"
"I don't think so," Sarré rasped. "I asked her a while ago, and she shook her head. I guess all I can do is wait and hope it's enough."
"I'll stay with you," Leia soothed. "I'll stay."
"Thanks," Sarré smiled weakly.
When Leia was jolted back to reality by the gentle whirring of small servomotors, she had no idea how long they had been sitting on the floor. She still had her arm around Sarré's shoulders, and her friend still was staring vacantly at the macabre body in the bacta tank. Leia turned her head around to see two familiar droids waiting respectfully in the open doorway. She had to blink hard several times before she felt her mind was functional again. "I'll be…"
"Go," Sarré whispered without looking at her.
Leia rose and walked over to Threepio and Artoo, who blooped a somber greeting. "Yes?"
"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mistress Leia," Threepio said as quietly as he could, which wasn't really very quiet. "But you asked to be notified when Mistress Mara awoke."
"She's awake?"
"Well, not exactly. She has not opened her eyes, but the medical droid says her brain rhythms clearly indicate conscious awareness."
"Artoo," came Sarré's voice from a few meters away, "what probability did you calculate from the data the medical droid gave you?"
Artoo whimpered and bleeped, and Threepio translated. "Only eight point one seven percent, I'm afraid."
"I see," said Sarré flatly without turning around to face them.
"Actually," Threepio said quickly, "Artoo has been known to make mistakes… from time to time."
"Leia, go see Mara," Sarré insisted softly. "She needs you more than I do right now."
Leia wasn't sure she believed that, but she knew better than to try to argue. "I'll be back as soon as I can. I promise."
"It's okay. Go."
Leia looked to Threepio. "What room?"
Artoo blooped. "One-twenty-one," reported Threepio.
Between her foggy thoughts and her concern for Bryon and Sarré and Mara, she forgot to thank the droids the way she usually would. Leia just ran.
---
Mara felt the small, bandaged hands squeezing both of hers, and she sensed the familiar presence in the Force. Leia was here. With great effort Mara finally forced her eyes open. She was lying on a bed in a small white room. A medical ship, probably. That was good.
"Oh." The gasp of relief and joy was clearly the only thing Leia could get her voice to speak.
Mara swallowed hard. "I'm… going… to… be fine," she managed to rasp.
Leia reached over to the side and handed her a short, round container with a thin tube out the top. "Drink."
Mara did. She felt the refreshing burst of cool water gush into her body. Immediately her thoughts turned to how much she still did not know about how the battle had ended. "We felt… in the Force," she started slowly. "Bryon. Is he?"
"He's alive, at least for now," Leia shook her head. Quickly she explained the situation in the bacta tank room, as well as what had happened to Han and why she had casts on her hands.
"And Luke? I felt… pain like… never before."
"He fought the Sith Master," Leia said softly. "She cut off his right hand."
"Oh, no," Mara gasped. "No."
"He's still in surgery," Leia explained. "They're attaching a cybernetic."
Mara wanted desperately to ask more about Luke, but other thoughts pressed ahead. "Master Kenobi? He's…"
"Yes," Leia nodded sadly. "He's gone. Danaé can't sense him in the Force any longer."
"And… your father?"
"He's next door. You both were catatonic when Danaé and Luke found you. He hasn't regained consciousness. But he doesn't appear to be injured."
Tentatively Mara reached out her perceptions into the Force. It surged into her, restoring energy to her spirit and strengthening her body. Yet she also felt a blazing fire of darkness sparkling in her mind. The vengeful wrath she bore toward her Master was not gone. Not at all. She wanted to slam her awareness closed immediately, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. First she had to stretch her feelings to the adjacent room. When she did, she instantly detected her Master's presence in the Force, muted and cold. He still seemed to be in the stasis she had blasted them into on Gimna 3. Nothing worse than that, no permanent injury to his body, was apparent to her. But the smoldering anger in her spirit only was growing stronger by the second, so before she could impulsively do anything she might regret she pulled back her perceptions and locked down her connection to the Force – and squelched her rising fury in its incipient stages.
"Not… physically," Mara whispered.
Leia looked very anxious. "What happened?"
"Has anyone… talked… to Padmé?"
"No," Leia said. "Danaé and I wanted to wait until we knew more about his condition."
"No time," Mara insisted. Every muscle in her body ached as she sat up in the bed, but she did not dare draw on the Force again. Not yet. Not until she had time to figure out what exactly had happened to her – what her Master had done to her. "We must… contact Padmé. Now."
"Mara! What happened?"
"No. Only… with Padmé."
Leia scowled, but she helped Mara to her feet. "Go slowly. Be careful."
Mara took a series of deep breaths as she swayed in the air. She drank the rest of the water Leia had provided, then with her arm around her friend's shoulders she began to hobble from the room.
When they passed the small mirror on the far wall, though, Mara stopped in her tracks and looked at herself. Her skin was sickly pale. Her eyes were swollen and surrounded by huge, deep blue bruises. Her red-gold hair stuck out wildly around her head. And in her green eyes she could see the twinkle of the dark fire she had tried to suppress. She looked terrible, but she had to go on. For Padmé.
It took them a while, but eventually they arrived at a small communications room at the end of the corridor. Leia snapped her data chip credentials into the viewscreen device and waited. Beneath the table Mara reached over and took Leia's hands in her own. They would need each other's strength to do this.
"Yes, Senator Organa," came the calm female voice of a Navy communications officer. The screen remained a soothing light-blue color. "What I can do for you?"
"I need a transmission to Coruscant. Top priority, maximum security. To the attention of access code Bantha-Gundark-Nexu on my card."
"Of course, Senator. Right away."
The wait was interminable, although probably it really was only a matter of a few more minutes. Finally Padmé's face appeared on the viewscreen. From the look in her eyes it was apparent she was very shaken that it was not Anakin who was contacting her. "Leia?"
"It's me, Mom," Leia said as calmly as she could, squeezing Mara's hands as if seeking reassurance. "And Mara's here too."
Padmé gazed at Leia first. When she turned to Mara, she gasped audibly and her face paled even more. "It's been hours and hours! I haven't heard anything! Nothing at all," she said with a frantic, wobbling voice. "What happened to you? What's going on?"
"Are you sitting down, Padmé?" rasped Mara.
"And you're not alone, are you?" asked Leia urgently.
Padmé was crying now. "We're at the residence. Sabé is here with me." Padmé wiped her eyes. "Tell me. Now. Whatever it is. Tell me."
"Obi-Wan is dead, Padmé," Mara whispered.
"Oh, no. No." Padmé tears flowed harder. But immediately she stared at them despondently over the viewscreen. "There's more. I know it. I can see it on your faces. Tell me."
"Danaé, Sarré, and I are fine," Leia said slowly. "Luke is injured but he'll recover. Mom… Several shots got through Bryon's armor. He's in a bacta tank now and… Danaé's healing him too, but… Mom… it's really, really bad and… Mom… he probably won't make it."
"No! No!" Padmé's face hardened into a mask of denial. "No. No." She looked away and said something inaudible, probably to Sabé. "Wait. Danaé's… Why isn't… Where's Anakin? What happened to Anakin?"
Mara took a deep breath and squeezed Leia's hands to steel herself for what she was going to have to explain to both of them. "Padmé," she said hoarsely, "we need to talk."
---
Mara found herself walking aimlessly in the sterile white corridors of the Panacea's intensive-care unit. The medical droids still were refusing her requests to see Luke, even though he had been out of surgery for over an hour. Leia and Sarré were continuing their vigil in the bacta tank room while Danaé struggled to use the Force to sustain Bryon's tenuous hold on life; in her own precarious emotional state Mara could not risk trying to assist. And Padmé – who in their absence had managed to get herself elected Supreme Chancellor of the Republic – had been completely numb with shock and denial by the time their transmission finally had ended.
So Mara walked.
The repetitive motion of her feet gradually smoothed her shattered emotions, and slowly and carefully she allowed herself to reach out into the Force again. For reassurance she gripped tightly the handle of her lightsaber, which hung from the makeshift cloth belt around the waist of her white pantsuit; the medical droids had tried to keep it from her, but the prospect of being swiftly dismembered by the shimmering energy blade had convinced them otherwise. Very tentatively at first, then with progressively more confidence, she let cool waves of life energy pour over her body like the gentle waterfall of a forest brook on Naboo. At last she was able to ease her sore muscles, steady her frantic thoughts, and find a bit of solace in the midst of all her anguish.
Without realizing it she found herself at the door to her Master's room in the infirmary – and immediately sensed his presence in the Force. He was awake. He was drawing on the Force too. He was not shielding or locked down. He was as strong and bright a beacon in the ether as ever.
But the sparkling joy that usually filled his presence was absent. Instead he registered as a somber, heavy, hollow, depressed spirit. Never before had she perceived anyone's Force signature so despairing. And she was glad.
He deserved it.
Mara waved open the door and strode inside. Her Master was sitting upright on his bed with his feet dangling over the edge and his back against the wall. His arms were crossed over the front of the white pantsuit and his weapons were nowhere to be seen. As she walked through the portal he lifted his eyes to look at her.
"I'm sorry, Mara," he said. "I failed you."
You sure did, she thought to herself. You've betrayed me, Master. I will never forgive you for this. And I will never forgive you for betraying Padmé's faith in you. She said nothing aloud, but only stared pitilessly into his eyes. The soothing, refreshing flow of the Force vaporized as a blazing inferno erupted in her gut.
"Please, Mara," he said. "I'm sorry."
Her hand rested on her weapon again. Glaring into the eyes of her traitorous Master, she wanted nothing more than to snatch it from her hip, ignite its shimmering blade, and impale him through the heart – to destroy his soul as he had done to her. Her fingers clenched fiercely around the handle as perspiration beaded on her forehead.
Her Master let his hands fall into his lap. His eyes did not leave hers, but it was clear he would not defend himself.
She wanted to strike him down. The desire was nearly overpowering. He was a monster – a hateful, despicable, horrible, vile monster. But killing him would be a fate too kind. He deserved an eternity of suffering for what he had done, for the pain he had brought to her, and to Leia, and to Padmé, and to all the others – to say nothing of the fact that his inability, and hers, to assist Danaé in the crucial early hours might yet cost Bryon his life. Mara wished she knew how to inflict infinite, everlasting pain, because only that would be adequate retribution for his crimes.
"I failed, Mara," he said again. "I'm sorry. Please, help me. I need your help."
She blinked twice just to be sure she wasn't imagining this. How dare you? How dare you say such things to me? You are not even worthy of my presence, much less serving as my Master – and you will never again be worthy of my help. In a burst of sudden decisiveness Mara released her grip on her blade and reached her hand up to the side of her face. With the heat of her wrath burning her determination into a perfect frenzy, she watched with immense pleasure as her Master's face fell when her fingers closed around the thin braid of hair looping behind her right ear.
With a violent yank Mara tore out her Padawan braid by its roots.
She held the limp strand in her fist for a long moment, then flung it angrily to him. He stared at her in disbelief, tears welling in his eyes and his mouth agape. The soft tickle of a single drop of blood slid down her cheek from the site of her self-inflicted wound. Without a word she spun on her heel and took a long stride toward the door.
"Mara, wait…"
She spun around again only long enough to spit in his face before she stalked out the door.
---
Luke lay on his back in a recovery room on the medical cruiser, pondering the uncannily smooth white surface of the ceiling. His nerves told him he had a right hand again, that spears of rib-rattling pain were shooting up his arm but were dulled into oblivion by countless injections of painkillers. He refused to look at the cybernetic hand any more, though. The synthflesh looked real enough and the digits responded as instantaneously to his mind's commands as his left hand did. But it wasn't his hand. It wasn't real. It was fake.
He thought it an appropriate emblem of his behavior as a Jedi.
Suddenly the dull murmur of chatter beyond the closed door of his room increased dramatically in volume and disturbed Luke's contemplations. The medical droid's smooth, gentle voice was barking indiscernible denials, only to be answered by outbursts from an angry, shouting woman. That seemed odd, considering that Leia had been here only recently and the droid had allowed her to see him. Why would the droid be refusing her entry now? While the horrible news she had delivered certainly had upset him, he couldn't imagine how it could interfere with his recovery in any meaningful way.
Then he heard the distinctive snap-hiss of a lightsaber igniting, followed by a frightened electronic squeal only a droid could make. The next moment the door swished open and Mara strode through, her arm extended behind her to point her shimmering violet blade at a figure in the room beyond – no doubt the panicked medical droid. When she had stepped all the way inside she lowered the weapon and waited for the door to swish closed again – and then promptly plunged the energy blade through the control panel of the door, sending a shower of sparks and a cloud of smoke into the air.
"That's one way to get some privacy," Luke chuckled.
Mara spun around on her heel to face him, deactivating her weapon and clipping it to her cloth belt in a single smooth motion. The grim scowl on her face brightened a bit. "Here's another," she smirked.
Luke saw a flickering fire in her eyes as her palm snapped outward and an invisible strike of power in the Force blasted the observation cam from its perch on the ceiling in the corner of the room and shattered it to pieces against the wall. Only when he perceived that wave of energy bursting into the Force did Luke realize something else – something truly and utterly terrifying.
"Why are you shielding?" he asked softly as she paced over to his bedside. He noticed a small red streak down the front of her white shirt – the track of a single drop of blood.
She raised her eyebrows. "I'm not shielding."
"Then why can't I sense you?"
"What?"
He reached out his left hand – his right was strapped down to the bed to ensure it did not move while his arm adjusted to the cybernetic attachment – and rested his palm very tenderly on her cheek. "You're standing here in front of me," he said as he traced his fingertips over the thin, damp trail of crimson running from her hairline to her jaw, "your Padawan braid is gone, and I can't sense you in the Force."
"I… I… I guess I'm…" She reached up both hands to clasp his and pressed it to the bare skin on the side of her neck. He could feel her heart pounding and the quick rise and fall of her chest as she breathed heavily. Without letting go she closed her eyes and took a series of slow, deep breaths.
All of a sudden her presence blazed into the Force again with the blinding glory of a sun emerging from a solar eclipse. Luke smiled and pushed his fingers gently against her skin. When she opened her eyes, a single tear traced down each cheek. She released her hold and let him wipe them away. "I did it too," he said simply.
She looked at him in dismay.
"I let my anger take over," he nodded. "I lost control. I touched the dark side too."
Her left hand clasped his tightly while her right brushed long strands of sandy-brown hair off his forehead, and her green eyes held his gaze forlornly. "When?"
He could see in her eyes that she knew everything he had told Leia. "Fighting the Sith Master," he whispered. "She told me that Oga Trill was turning Danaé to the dark side. She taunted me with it; mocked me; exploited me." He took a slow, deep breath of his own. "She knew it would work, and she was right."
"It was true," Mara said quietly. "Master Trill was a Sith, and he did try to turn Danaé."
"I know," Luke nodded. "But that's all the more reason I should have been in control. If I had won, or at least gotten away, then I could have gone to help Danaé. Instead I… I… I almost got myself killed… and… I…"
"Luke, no," she whispered. "Shh."
"No, Mara," he said through the pain building in his voice. "Master Obi-Wan is dead because I failed."
"That's not true, Luke," she insisted, squeezing his hand for emphasis and resting her palm on his cheek.
"Yes, it is," he said. "Yes, it is."
"Well, then it's my fault Ralli and Gars are dead," she rejoined. "It's my fault we tried the rescue. You were right. We should have followed the orders. They might have died anyway, but their blood wouldn't be on our hands."
"But you're only partly to blame for that," Luke said as he felt his eyes welling up with tears. "I should have stood my ground. I should have refused to go with you. You wouldn't have gone in alone."
"I might have."
"No. I don't believe that. Not for a second."
"You didn't kill Obi-Wan, Luke," she persisted. "The Sith Master did. You can't blame yourself for this."
"But it is my fault," he said forcefully as he began to cry, "and my fault alone. If I'd stayed in control, I'd have been able to get away. Or we at least could have fought her together. I failed. I failed, Mara. I let her trick me into losing control – into using the dark side. And it's only because I failed that Master Obi-Wan had to fight her by himself. I got him killed, Mara. I did. It's all my fault."
She stood there, her left hand clutching his over her heart, her right wiping the tears off his face. She didn't say anything, but only gazed sadly into his eyes. After a long moment she released her hands, unclipped her lightsaber handle from the makeshift belt of her white pantsuit, and set the weapon on the small table next to the bed. Then she lifted the covers and began to crawl in with him.
"Be careful," he whispered. "My arm is still…"
She silenced him with a deep, passionate kiss. "I'll be careful," she promised tenderly when she finally let him breathe again.
He gulped air as she draped herself over him like a warm, familiar, comforting blanket. She feathered light kisses against his neck. "Mara… I don't know… We haven't talked about Tatooine… and I…" His breath was hitching in his throat and he was stammering uncontrollably. "I just… I'm not sure I'm ready to… and you and me… and I…"
She kissed him firmly on the lips again. "We both need this right now," she said in a husky, zealous voice that left no room for debate. "I don't care about anything else, Luke. I don't care what happens if we get caught. I don't care what the consequences are. I don't even care if this is a mistake. Right now I really just don't care."
In the overwhelming agony in her green eyes he saw a perfect reflection of his own emotions – grief, fear, anger, self-loathing, and most of all an aching, terrible, hollow despair. He reached up his left hand, weaved his fingers through the long red-gold hair on the back of her head, and crushed her mouth to his.
He didn't care either.
---
Danaé entered the intensive-care ward's small mess hall and immediately picked out her father and sister sitting across from each other at a small table on the far side of the room. Gracefully Danaé weaved her way through the other tables and past the chattering conversations of off-duty medical technicians and surgeons.
Arriving at the table, Danaé tried to motion Leia to stay seated, but her sister already had noticed her and had risen to her feet. Leia hugged Anakin around the shoulders and buried her face in his neck. After a long moment she released him and turned around. Danaé preempted her sister's question with a somber shrug and a weak smile. Leia took Danaé's hand and squeezed it firmly in a gesture of thanks, then walked quickly toward the exit. Danaé knew Leia didn't want to be away from Sarré's side any longer than absolutely necessary.
Danaé slid into the empty chair and met her father's terrified gaze. "I'm not here to tell you he's dead."
Anakin's shoulders slumped in relief and his face brightened just a little. He didn't say anything.
"The surgery droids finished an hour ago. He's been stable since then." She reached over and took her father's left hand; his right was in his lap under the table. "With the cybernetics and the surgeries his body is functioning enough to keep him alive in the bacta tank without my help, so they sent me away."
Her father could read the nervousness in her voice. "But he's still in grave condition."
"Yes," Danaé nodded. "He still might die. The medical droids said it will take six more hours to know if his body will reject the internal cybernetic implants. If he makes it that long, then he'll have survived the most dangerous period and he'll almost certainly live. If he can't… well… it's not like we could use the Force forever… so..."
He nodded in understanding. "He hasn't regained consciousness?"
"No."
Her father inhaled deeply and blew out a mournful sigh. Then he pulled back his hand to run his fingers through his short gray hair. "So why are you here?"
She looked at him quizzically. "To see you."
He frowned. "I'm surprised you'd want anything to do with me right now. Leia only came by to tell me what happened with everyone because she knew no one else had, and to let me know that she and Mara had contacted your mother a few hours ago. She couldn't even look me in the eyes. Not once the whole time."
"Where is Mara, by the way?"
"I don't know," he said. He brought his right hand up from beneath the table and unclenched his fist. Lying limply across his palm was a thin, severed Padawan braid of red-gold hair.
Danaé choked down a sob and took both his hands in hers. "I'm so sorry, Daddy," she whispered. "I'm sure she just needs time. I'm sure she'll forgive you."
"No," her father said. "No, she won't."
Danaé wanted to say something to convince him otherwise but couldn't find the words. After a long, heavy, achingly silent moment between them, she met his gaze. "What happened, Daddy? Tell me what happened."
Anakin talked for a long time, beginning with the nightmare vision from the Force on Coruscant and the frustrating search at the Cathedral of the Liberation in Theed. He described the sudden encounter with the Sith Master, the shocking revelation of her true identity, the vigorous duel between them, and her horrible words that had called into question everything he believed – everything he thought he knew – about the events leading to the defeat of Sidious. And then she had escaped without leaving any clues about whether Naboo might be attacked next. Before he had found any opportunity to meditate on the stunning developments, he had been called to Gimna 3 for the evacuation operation. And during the battle, when he had realized that the Sith were targeting his children for destruction – or worse – and he had felt their pain so piercingly through the Force, he had lost control. For the first time in over two decades he had given in to vengeance and hopelessness, and he had killed with the dark side of the Force.
Danaé reached up and wiped the wetness from his tear-stained cheeks with her fingers. "You'll get past this," she said tenderly, "just as you did the last time. I know you will. I promise."
Her father smiled weakly and chuckled a little. "Is that confidence I hear?" His trademark mischievous grin was back – just barely. "Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?"
Danaé laughed and took his hands again. She told him the truth about the sensation of Master Trill she had felt during the battle at Corellia, and then about her training on Dagobah with Yoda and her near-failure in the dark side tree-cave. Next she recounted her former Master's deception in the Gonnolli government building and her haunting discovery that Oga had fallen to the dark side and joined the Sith. She blinked back her tears and explained that it had been Anakin's personally developed lightsaber technique that had saved her life.
"I always knew this day would come," her father chuckled quietly when she finished. "I always knew that someday I would be the one admiring you, and not the other way around."
"Stop this, Daddy," she responded sharply yet gently. "You are a great man and a great Jedi. No one is perfect. No one is infallible." She took a deep breath and smiled. "That is what I learned from Yoda, don't you see? Failure is inevitable. If we demand perfection from ourselves, it can only bring disappointment. If you allow it to, failure will consume you – it will lead to despair. Everyone fails sometimes. The only thing you can do is learn from your failures and be stronger because of them."
Her father shook his head and his lips curled into a bemused smile. "When did you get so wise?"
She laughed. "The same time I finally found my Skywalker confidence, I guess."
"Quite the combination," he chuckled. "Confidence and wisdom in a Skywalker. I'm not sure the Order is ready for this."
Danaé winked and squeezed her father's hands again to signal her delight at his lighter mood. "Well, I guess they'll just have to get used to it, won't they?"
"Yes," he grinned. "Yes, they will."
"Daddy?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Did you think…" She paused, meeting his gaze. "Did you think Mom was really going to do it?"
He nodded. "After Millius was assassinated, yes. We never had a chance to discuss it, but I knew. She'd invoke the Regal Prerogative and run. I never doubted it. I just knew."
"We should go to the communications station and contact her. I'm sure she's waiting to hear from you."
Her father shook his head, his gaze fell to the tabletop, and his smile vanished. "No," he said. "Leia and Mara told her what happened. She knows I'm here. She knows I'm on the Panacea. If she wanted to talk to me, she'd have contacted the ship."
"Maybe she assumes you're still unconscious," Danaé suggested softly.
"I appreciate the thought, sweetheart, but I know your mother. That wouldn't stop her. She'd check in every five minutes until she got the result she wanted, if that's what it took."
Danaé nodded sadly. "But she hasn't."
"No," Anakin said. When his eyes met hers again, the anguish in the blue orbs was palpable. "Some things can only be discussed in person."
---
Darth Vengous ran her hands with practiced expertise over the controls on the cockpit console of the Ebony Fang, her deadly, heavily customized yacht. The starship had sublight and hyperdrives faster than nearly any in the galaxy and impenetrable dark side cloaking technology constructed from instructions in the Sith holocron. Bristling with concealed weapons, the vessel could destroy with ease even a sizeable squadron of opponents – and if outnumbered could outrun its pursuers in an instant. As much as she enjoyed the thrill of annihilating those who opposed her, that pleasure would have to wait for another time.
The Sith Master confirmed the settings for the hyperspace jump to Vyhrrag, then without shifting her eyes reached over with her left hand and pulled the lever. She watched out the sweeping viewport as the stars extended into brilliant streaks of light, leaving the newly conquered planet of Gimna 3 behind. The trap she had laid for the Skywalkers had exceeded the expectations of even her diabolical foresight.
As she had avowed to him on Naboo, the Chosen One had succumbed to the temptation of the dark side and had used its power to kill – and in the presence of his apprentice no less. His elder son had been weakened as well, attacking her in a blind rage that had cost him his soul and nearly his life, spared only by Kenobi's fruitless sacrifice. The effects of the Chosen One's actions would reverberate for the three Jedi for months to come. And his younger son was mortally wounded, and probably already dead.
In the chaos of the fall of Gonnolli, Lord Barbarus had been unable to assassinate the Senator from Naboo as well, but Vengous was not concerned. Already she had foreseen another opportunity, and she knew Barbarus would not fail her. More troubling, however, was the willpower of the Chosen One's younger daughter. Somehow the girl had withstood Lord Malus' mind compulsion enhanced with the dark side of the Force – and then had managed to kill him. How she had achieved that the Sith Master had no idea, but Malus always had been something of an unstable apprentice and Vengous' future plans did not necessitate his survival in any event. Her three remaining apprentices were more than sufficient to wipe the Skywalker bloodline from the galaxy and then topple the Jedi Order and the Republic along with it.
For a moment she wondered whether the Chosen One would be able to distinguish the truth from the lies she had told him on Naboo. She doubted he would be fooled by her false assertion that she had manipulated his friend Ellina to flirt with the power of the dark side. That might lead him in turn to deny the truth that Vengous had been allied with Sidious for nearly four years before his death, and indeed had trained with him after faking her death at Geonosis. She also suspected the Chosen One ultimately would not accept the lie that Sidious had let himself be killed – and she had no intention of letting him discover how close she had come to being captured on Coruscant with one Sith holocron, or that she had arrived only hours too late to prevent the Jedi from recovering the other.
Vengous sensed her trusted deputy approaching the cockpit. "You did well, Lady Delicti," she smiled as she spun her chair around.
"Thank you, Master," the young brunette said as she slid into the navigator's seat. "I am disappointed Lord Barbarus and I were unable to kill the Senator."
"It is no matter," Vengous chuckled, waving her hand dismissively. "You will have your chance soon enough."
Delicti nodded. "I expect Lord Regelous will be displeased that four of the Skywalkers still live."
"Lord Regelous must learn patience," the Sith Master growled. "Excessive ambition will be as destructive to our success as overconfidence or compassion. It was never my intent to prevail completely in this single mission, and it would serve him well to accept it. Killing the Army boy and restoring the darkness in the Chosen One were the only necessary objectives, and we inflicted far more harm than that upon his family. That we were unable to kill the Jedi boy and take the Jedi daughter is irrelevant. The damage has been done, and they will not recover from it."
"Yes, Master," Delicti said. "When do you plan to implement the next stage of your design?"
"In time, my friend," Vengous smiled broadly. "All in due time."
---
When she heard the approaching footsteps in the hallway Sarré took a deep breath and removed her hand from the smooth, curved transparisteel exterior of the bacta tank. She turned around and smiled weakly to Leia and Danaé, who already had joined her for the medical droid's imminent report on Bryon's condition. The sisters smiled too, trying their best to keep her spirits up.
The footsteps grew louder until Luke and Mara strode through the open doorway hand-in-hand. Sweat glistened on their skin, their hair was disheveled, and their white medical-ward pantsuits were rumpled.
Sarré glanced back at her companions. Danaé was looking over her shoulder at one of the tank's monitors, unsuccessful at suppressing the growing flush on her face. As she met Sarré's eyes Leia raised her eyebrows and tilted her head almost imperceptibly, a facial shrug Sarré knew well.
Luke apparently sensed their unease, because he released Mara's hand, strode directly to his twin, and flexed the fingers of his cybernetic right hand in front of her eyes. "How are the hands?"
"Very funny," Leia groaned, brandishing her bandaged palms in his face. "I wonder what effect plastisteel has on a human nose?"
"Okay, okay, okay," Luke laughed, backing away defensively. "Calm down."
A chuckling Danaé interposed herself between the squabbling twins, using her distinct advantage in height to separate them. Then Sarré suddenly realized Mara was at her elbow. "Hey."
"Hey," Mara said. "No word yet, I take it?"
"No," Sarré shook her head. "Any minute now."
As if on cue the medical droid wheeled into the room and approached the five. "I have analyzed the data collected by the monitors over the last six hours, the period in which the patient has been treated without Jedi assistance," the droid said in its soothing monotone. "Throughout this period, the patient has remained stable. In fact, the patient appears even to have regained a small amount of strength."
Sarré barely managed to suppress her flinch at the droid referring to Bryon so impersonally – and she did so at the cost of controlling her impatience. "What is your conclusion, Two-One-Bee?"
The droid rotated its expressionless metal visage to face her, but if it was bothered by her gruffness it showed no reaction. "The patient has endured through the window of gravest risk. I conclude the patient will survive."
Sarré did not even perceive it as her legs gave way and she collapsed to the floor. Immediately Leia and Mara knelt beside her and wrapped their arms around her shoulders. "Will… will…" Her voice simply didn't work. "Will…"
As if she had plucked the thought from Sarré's mind, Danaé addressed the droid. "Will he make a full recovery?"
The droid bobbed its head. "I estimate the patient will regain consciousness in about two days time and require nearly constant bacta tank treatment for at least two additional days. After a period of several weeks at least three rounds of surgeries will be required to remove the cybernetic implants and replace them with cloned organics. Considerable rehabilitation will be necessary, of course, but given the patient's remarkable physical condition prior to the injuries I believe a full recovery is quite likely."
Sarré couldn't stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks. "Thank you," she managed to rasp.
"No thanks are necessary," the droid replied in its eerily calm voice as it wheeled out the door. "Performing my functions successfully is sufficient."
Sarré let Leia and Mara help her to her feet and the five of them cried uncontrollably for several minutes. Luke broke the collective embrace first and walked over to the comlink panel near the door. He rejoined the group a short time later. "Eight more hours to Coruscant," he said.
"I'll go contact Mom," Danaé declared. "She needs some good news right now."
"I'll come too," Luke said. "It'll be a nice surprise."
After they left, Sarré fell into an embrace with Leia and Mara again. "I can't believe it," she sobbed as tears of joy ran down her face once more. "I just can't believe it."
---
Padmé paced back and forth at the wide window of their bedroom. Anakin was seated on the end of their bed, his hands in his lap and his head bowed. They had been talking for so many hours she had lost track of time. All she knew was that the sun had been high in the afternoon sky when they had begun, and now she saw only the murky blackness of night.
When the Panacea had arrived at Coruscant, Padmé had met the medical cruiser at the Navy yard. With Luke, Leia, Danaé, and Sarré at her side she had supervised Bryon's transfer to the Senate's hospital facility, where he would receive the highest possible quality of treatment. Her son still had not regained consciousness, but he was alive and that was all that mattered. They had stayed for hours in the bacta tank room, and she and Danaé had done their best to console the others. After a while Mara had joined them too. Eventually Sabé had come to take Sarré home, and the four youngsters had retired to their rooms at the residence, overcome by total exhaustion.
Padmé had returned to the residence to find Anakin in this exact pose. She had not expected to see him before then, and somehow she simply had known this was what he would do – he would stay invisible and wait for her to either reach him on the comlink or come home.
"Say something," Anakin said, breaking into her contemplations. "Anything. Please."
Padmé realized she hadn't spoken in quite some time. But what could she possibly say? There were no words for the outrage and anguish boiling inside her. Then it occurred to her that everything she had said to him so far, everything she had asked, had been simple and straightforward comments and queries about what had taken place on Gimna 3 and what had happened to him – not a single word about her emotions. Those thoughts she had kept bottled up inside, afraid to reveal aloud the full extent of the betrayal she felt. He probably had surmised it accurately enough from the fact that she had made no effort to contact him after Leia and Mara had made the dreadful transmission to her from the Panacea, but there was no reason to hold back. He deserved the truth – so she gave it to him. "You betrayed your vow to me, Anakin."
"I know," he nodded.
"You promised," she said, her voice getting louder of its own accord. "You promised me that you would never use the dark side again. You promised me that the strength of our love was enough to keep you on light side."
He stared silently at the floor.
"I trusted you and you betrayed me!" She heard herself shouting, and she didn't care. After the initial shock of Mara's revelation had worn off, she had tried to ignore the truth by focusing on the business of her new office. But that hadn't worked, not for more than a few hours, before immensity of his betrayal had struck home with the horrible sting of a fire wasp. She hadn't thought pain of this magnitude was possible. "How could you do this, Anakin? How could you do this?"
"I lost control," he said, his voice an almost inaudible whisper. "Our children needed me and…"
"Our children?" She stopped her pacing as she screamed to interrupt him. For him to bring them into this only made her fury all the more volcanic. It had been the thought that her children would need her, that they would depend on her to heal from their father's treason, that had been the only thing that had kept her sane. "Our children? Our children needed you to be the Jedi Master you're supposed to be, Anakin!"
"I know that," he conceded. "And I failed."
"You failed all of us," she growled as she began pacing again. She hadn't believed this moment could ever happen. He couldn't fail again. He couldn't. He'd promised her. But he had, and that terrifying reality had destroyed everything she thought was true and good and honest in her life. The foundation of her existence was gone.
"I can't excuse what I did, Padmé," he said. "I learned that lesson long ago. I can't be all-powerful, no matter how much I wish I could be."
She glared at him. "And I suppose you just forgot?"
"I wasn't thinking clearly. You know I wasn't. Bryon was dying and I wasn't there to help him."
"And guess what? You hated all those brownshirts to death and you still weren't there for him."
"I know," he said. "I wasn't rational."
"Well, that's just great," she laughed helplessly. His remorse was sincere; she couldn't deny that. But his guilt and penitence couldn't undo his malicious act or the perfidy it signified. She didn't know how she could ever get past this. "And what happens the next time you're not rational? Are you going to wipe out the entire Senate because they're giving me trouble? Are you going to kill Mara if she fails the Trials?"
"I'd never do those things and you know it!"
"Do I?" She pounded a fist on the transparisteel window. The sharp stab of pain shot up her arm and into her shoulder, but she didn't care. She wanted to punch him – to kick him – to throttle him with her bare hands. Instead she clutched her aching hand and paced some more. "Do I? Do I, Anakin? I thought you'd never kill from anger again either, and I was wrong about that."
"You're right," he nodded. "I'm sorry."
Padmé spun on her heel and headed back in the other direction along the window. This was all so surreal. Incomprehensible. Impossible. There was no way she could possibly deal with this. Ever. "Why couldn't you just commit adultery like a normal husband?"
"You don't mean that."
"Actually, I do," she hissed. "That I could forgive. Not easily, mind you, but I could. This… this… this is so much worse than that."
"I'm sorry," he said again. "I failed."
"You don't get it, do you?" She stopped and spun to face him, glaring coldly into his eyes. For some reason she still was holding something back, and she couldn't contain her burning ire any longer. She let the words fly from her mouth in a detonation of self-loathing. "You've made me feel like a failure. My love was supposed to keep you calm. My love was supposed to keep you at peace. And it wasn't good enough. My love wasn't good enough for you. I wasn't good enough. Don't you get it? I failed you."
"That's ridiculous!" He sprang to his feet and took a step toward her, only to back away when she pointed a finger squarely at his chest. "I'm the one who failed. You didn't. You could never fail me, angel. Never. You could never fail me. I'm the one who failed, angel, listen to me…"
"No!" she shouted. She couldn't handle this a single second longer. The pain was unbearable. She had to make it stop right now. "Don't 'angel' me, Anakin!"
He flinched at her rebuke and stood mutely with his hands hanging limply at his sides.
Padmé turned away and gazed sightlessly out the window. Despite the scorching rage burning in her gut, truly she felt hollow – empty – vacant. The moment she had heard Mara's words, her heart had shattered into a million shards. Now she had nothing left to give – not to him. Not after what he had done. Not after he had, in one inconceivable instant, demolished the very basis of their marriage, the foundation on which she had built her life with him for nearly a quarter-century. Just like that, everything was gone. It left her with a profound void in her heart. "I want to be alone," she finally said after the pained, intense silence. "You should go."
"I need you," he said to her back, the agony in his voice tearing at the buried hints of compassion deep beneath her fury. "You need me. We need each other more than ever. I need your help. Please. Please help me."
Again she was quiet for a very long time. How could she go on, when she couldn't even look at him? How could she hug him – kiss him – hold him – give her body to him? He had betrayed her more horrifically than she ever had imagined possible, and it was all her fault. She wasn't good enough for him. Her love hadn't been enough. If only she had loved him more passionately, more intensely, more fiercely, more powerfully… If only she had been enough for him, this would never have happened. He had betrayed her, but only because she had betrayed him with her inadequacy. This was all her fault. "I don't know," she finally whispered. "I don't think I can handle this. I don't think I can trust you. You betrayed me, Anakin, and I failed you. I can't handle this."
"Please, Padmé, don't," he pleaded. "Please."
She faced him again, and the simple sight of him engulfed her with utter hopelessness. The void in her heart swallowed her soul. "No," she said. "I can't. I just can't."
His legs were shaking beneath him. "What can I do? I will do anything you ask."
She only shook her head. She had nothing left. Nothing. Nothing at all. She was dead inside. "Leave," she said. "You can leave."
For an eternal moment she watched his dull blue eyes cry out to her infinite pain until without another word Anakin tipped his head in a simple nod and walked out the bedroom door.
Padmé could only stare at the empty space in the room where he had been sitting for so long, unable to move or think or do anything at all as tears streamed down her cheeks. Finally she found the will to stagger across the room to her vanity. She reached around to the back of her neck and unclasped the thin chain, catching the japoor snippet in her other hand as it fell from her throat. After a long and slow deep breath, she set the pendant down on the dark wooden surface at the base of the large mirror – an act of total defeat more excruciating than any other in her entire life.
Then she collapsed into the chair and sobbed.