PART 3: IN LIMBO…
I'm so confused.
My restless nights are full of images; often cruel, full
of people I don't recognize. Not that I recognize anyone, anymore.
The dreams… nightmares… are strange. Most have a tall
man in full black body armor, with a cape just as dark. I know him, somehow. Once I saw a planet destroyed by a moon—no, a space station—as a horrified
young woman watched. The planet was Alderaan. I don't know how I know
that.
I don't know how I know anything, anymore. Something's
happened to me. I can't remember…
My caretakers are Jedi. If I choose, I can feel where
they are, listen to what they're saying throughout the building.
I think it's a building. They won't let me leave this
windowless suite.
A few days ago, I lifted a datapad a few centimeters off
the table. An apprentice Healer abruptly entered and grabbed it from me.
'You're not supposed to do that!' she'd hissed, looking
angry and worried. She's right, too. I'm not.
Why not?
I do not know, cannot even learn what has happened to
me. 'It's all right,' they, especially the one called Ben, soothe. 'You're
safe, now.'
Safe from what? I ask. They look at me as if I'm crazy.
Maybe I am. I hope so.
Because I fear the alternative.
Why am I throwing up?
I don't eat breakfast. I throw up. I feel hungrier than
I ever have in my life. I'm constantly fatigued. My abs are sore.
I'm missing something. I used to know what this was. I want to ask, but something tells me that's dangerous.
The apprentice Healer knows something. I can see it in
her sorrowful gaze, her grim determination, her sympathy towards me. She
hides it all from other Jedi. Even as I wonder what she knows, I remember
her name.
Barriss Offee.
It's starting to come back, now. Meaningless bits and
pieces… Images, really. Feelings.
Why does that thought sound strange to me?
I've learned why I shouldn't move things.
The Jedi called Ben—somehow, I know that's not his name—has
me learning Jedi maxims. I guess I did something wrong.
If someone abuses the Force bad enough, they often don't
live for a second chance. I must've misbehaved.
Maybe I'm a Sith. Or a maverick. At the sidelines I
notice Jedi principles being increasingly enforced, here.
Could they have brainwashed me?
In our lessons, Ben keeps referencing an 'Anakin'. I'm
supposed to know him, I guess.
I'm afraid to ask.
A friend of Ben's came by, today.
Siri, her name was. She didn't like me.
I know I'm not supposed to use the Force, but I needed
to know why she hated me so. Quietly, I listened to her thoughts.
Why does she call me a whore?
I'm pregnant.
I'm a blasted fool. Of course I'm pregnant. What else
could it be?
Barriss told me.
She came in silently, carefully shutting the door. After
making sure no one was listening, she pulled something from her cloak. 'Here,'
she whispered, showing me a small needle. 'Give me your arm.' When I refused
in confusion, she sighed. 'The twins?'
I know what I am now. It's not a Sith, a rogue Jedi,
or even a Padawan Learner. I think I'm too old for that last one, anyway.
I'm a Jedi's lover.
Anakin.
The name has meaning to me now. It's blurry, but I understand
he was my friend… more than a friend. With memory returning, I pretend it's
returned. I lie.
Ben can't tell the difference. He thinks I'm telling
the truth. I know. I hear him think it.
Barriss knows I'm lying.
She doesn't tell the others.
I have a protocol droid.
He's designated See-Threepio. He wasn't always mine.
Ten-year-old Anakin had made him for his mother, cobbling
him together from scrap.
When she died, his stepbrother gave Threepio back to Anakin. As a twenty-year-old Jedi Padawan, he wasn't allowed to own anything. He gave the droid to me.
Details are filling in. Some. I don't remember what
happened to Anakin's mother, but the thought of it gives me chills. I guess
that means it's scary.
Anakin always wanted Threepio to have gold plating. I
got it for him. It's not as though I have much else to do.
Ben thinks I bought Threepio from a junk dealer.
I have an astromech droid, too. I got him when I was Queen.
…I think.
I hope.
My children's father is Darth Vader.
I remember now, too, what he did to me. My nights are
frightening, expecting him to come for me, fearing for the little ones I
now feel kicking within me.
They are Force-sensitive.
I don't know how I know that. I just do.
I struggle not to link to them. I can't be their mother. Anakin would know.
They can't be siblings, either.
My dreams make sense to me, now.
They're visions.
The tall man in black armor that I know? It's Anakin.
I think back to the dream with the space station destroying
Alderaan. I know who the woman was, too. It will be Leia.
I will ask Bail Organa to care for her. It's the only
way. Luke will go to Beru; she always wanted a child of her own. I've seen
it all, the circumstances that let them refind each other. It will happen. I can feel it.
I feel guilty, sending them there even when I know the
deaths it will lead to. Part of me wants to switch; give Beru her girl and
Bail his son. That was the original plan, anyway.
It would be disastrous.
Luke's too strong in the Force. Palpatine would find
him.
Leia's not as strong. Force-sensitive enough to be a
Jedi, but just weak enough that she won't be noticed if she doesn't use
the Force. She's like me, in that respect.
According to the midi-chlorian test, I'm stronger in the
Force than everyone but Anakin. Why can't they sense me?
I sleep fitfully when I sleep at all; my insomnia is starting
to show. Barriss sees that I remember. With everything that's happened
to me, she asks how I'm sane.
Unwittingly, she strikes close to my growing secret.
I'm not.
Help.
It's simple enough. A four-letter word, invoking compassion
in those who have it.
Compassion. Ha.
The Jedi Council called me before them, today. About
my twins.
I looked around, remembering the Jedi Masters who belonged
in those empty places. Depa Billaba, lost in despair; slotted for trial,
if she ever recovers enough to face it. Adi Gallia, murdered by Darth Taranus. Plo Sha, vanished; dead, I don't doubt, by Darth Vader's hand.
They questioned me, using my lies to determine who was
to blame for Skywalker's fall from the Jedi Code.
I argued that Code. They're Human. Do Jedi never feel? If they must constantly suppress it, how do they cope with pain? Using
Anakin, Taranus, and even poor Depa as examples, I made my point clearly: they cannot.
I grew angry. I controlled it, smoothly transforming
the heat into ice, as I always do. Cool heads are highly needed in politics,
despite their often low value. Competence is little thought of in politics,
I've found.
Yoda looked at me, large brown eyes intense. He leaned
heavily on his cane, far more so than twelve years ago, when I'd first met
him; he turned from his pacing, facing me, scrutinizing me in a way I'd never
before experienced. I felt his sturdy presence, testing my mind. I pushed
back.
Surprise jolted his eyes wide, and I knew: I was Force-sensitive.
The thought stunned me. I had realized I was exceptional—queen
of my world at fourteen, how could I not be?—but Force-sensitive?
I could've been a Jedi. With Anakin.
I could've supported him in the Code; helped him by example;
gone on adventures with him as my colleague, rather than bodyguard; spent
my life, here, in the Jedi Temple, breaking vows of celibacy, with my husband
just rooms away…
Could've faced the Council as my judges.
My feeling of relief was short-lived. It soon became
clear that these were my judges. Claiming a Jedi lover was no minor thing
for an Order sworn to celibacy. I watched, interrupting and arguing and
bringing all my diplomatic skills to fore, as they debated the verdict. It didn't help.
Guilty.
Yoda was oddly silent throughout my trial.
"We cannot allow this to happen, again," Mace Windu spoke. "Senator Amidala, you place us in a dilemma."
I met his piercing, shatterpoint-seeing gaze unflinchingly. "All I ask," I said, "is that you help me hide these twins."
Mace looked slowly, deliberately, around the Jedi Council. "We cannot."
Yoda, my friend Yoda, hrumphed… but said
nothing.
"You may carry the twins to term." Mace's voice was frighteningly
determined. I felt Leia shiver in my womb. "Innocent lives will not be
held responsible, though they, too, are a danger. You, however, present
a knowing threat. Senator Amidala, once the twins are safely delivered,
we must ask that this threat be terminated."
So Jedi Master Mace Windu said to my face.
I asked the Jedi, a group supposedly governed by compassion,
for help.
They asked me to suicide.