A prophecy . . . that misread could have been.
Master Yoda

Prologue

Hyperspace
Two weeks before Revenge of the Sith…

"It can't be."

Ki Adi Mundi looked up from the datapad and glanced at his partner, Master Shaak Ti, who was hovering over the dead freighter pilot and radiating ripples of shock through the Force. "What is it?" he asked.

One of Shaak Ti's crimson hands rested on the alien's temple, the other gripped what appeared to be an identification datachip. "It's as we suspected. This entire raid was far too easy; no ordinary pilot could have kept us alive for so long."

Master Mundi raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I agree that Captain Boku was an extraordinary pilot. But, then, we are also extraordinary passengers."

Shaak Ti shook her head, her montrals waving gently. "We're not that extraordinary. Even Jedi die; hundreds have died already in this war." Her eyes fell to the datachip again, and narrowed. "We were cornered, Ki. The battalion outnumbered us twenty to one. Of the fifteen Jedi squadrons, we are the only survivors, all thanks to this pilot." She sighed. "It isn't natural."

"Maybe his parents failed to turn him in to the temple when he was young," Ki replied simply. "It's happened before. I still don't see what's so unnatural."

"Ki, look harder. Look at his bone structure, his eyes—does he not remind you of someone you know?"

Ki frowned. "Yes, we went over this when we first stepped in his ship; this man looks quite a bit like Skywalker. But there are still significant differences between the two—"

"Are there?" Shaak Ti finally handed over the datapad to the other Jedi. "I just did a quick scan of his blood cells. Look at the karyotypes data analysis, and then the midichlorian count." She tapped the controls, and an elaborate chart was illuminated.

Over ten thousand midichlorians.

"Skywalker's count surpasses twenty thousand," Master Mundi commented.

"There have been mutations before," was the reply. Shaak Ti sighed and deftly pressed a few more buttons, pulling up coded data from the Temple network. "Now look at Skywalker's figures."

Master Mundi's eyes widened. The genetic code was almost identical. "What does this mean?"

Shaak Ti shook her head. "Of course, there's no way we can be sure; Skywalker's past has always been hazy. But…it all seems to correspond so closely. Remember what Boku had said about his wife and son? How they were captured by pirates and sold as slaves in the Tatooine system?" She closed her eyes. "I feel the truth in the Force. Ki, I do believe that Skywalker had a father. And, if that's true, then—"

"—he is not the Chosen One," Ki finished.

Corum d'Nym never suspected that a simple hotwiring adventure could bring him to view such a sight, and he could only watch in amazement as bomb after bomb descended upon the roof of the old, rundown miners' quarters. As the main computers shut down one by one, destroyed by the magnetic bombs outside, Corum did nothing but watch as each Guard Droid collapsed into growing junk piles. He almost pitied them.

Almost. But in the end, he was their prisoner, locked away in the Kessel spice mines and forgotten for a crime he had been forced to commit. And now, finally, as the lock mechanisms failed Corum had a chance to escape.

He wrinkled his oversized snout and tightened the grip of his left hand, which clutched the flask of pink fluid he had created that would surely change his life forever.

The Snivvian's pudgy paws made soft, padded noises against the stone floor as he made his way around the barren halls, through a path that he had long since memorized. He knew that as soon as they realized the gates were open, every prisoner would come rushing out, fighting fiercely for ships. The last thing Corum wanted was to deal with such a crowd; he was a mere Snivvian, small and weak, and would do no good against some of the far more muscular species.

Corum pushed the door lightly. He knew that his human friend, Miak, was a light sleeper, and, if his luck ran well, she would be the only one awakened. Slowly, he tiptoed inside, leaving only a crack open for the lights to seep through.

"Miak," he whispered, standing on his toes. "You awake?"

Sure enough, Miak turned easily and stared at him with wide-awake brown orbs. "Sneaking out, again?"

Corum gave her a lopsided smile. Strictly speaking, he was a slave, and was not permitted to wander at night. But, after the slave revolt had driven off the Big Pin lackeys and slave masters, such rules had long been impossible to uphold.

The pirates that had run this spice vein years ago had kept the slaves strictly segregated by age; whereas the older, stronger, more hardened slaves slept deeper into the caves, the younger, less capable workers were kept on the surface in a relatively unguarded facility. It was the older, stronger groups that had done the bloody work in driving out the oppressors, and then fleeing the planet themselves. Now, long after the vein had been abandoned, the Facility for the young remained on preprogrammed lockdown with only a small team of rusty droid-guards to keep order.

The result was clear: the inmates were no longer slaves. They were eternal prisoners, long-forgotten.

Corum looked around to make sure the others were still asleep. Then, leaning over, he whispered as quietly as he could, "The main computer's been destroyed. The gates have opened."

Miak's eyes went wide, and she moved a hand to cover her mouth. "You mean…"

"You gotta come quick," he whispered.

Miak nodded. Slowly, she eased her way down the bunk, and tiptoed out of the room. Suddenly, the walls stopped shaking. Miak paled. "They're coming in."

Corum nodded. "We'd better hurry." He started to head toward the hangar, but Miak wasn't moving. "Miak, come on! What're you dazed about?"

Miak was staring blankly into space, remaining alarmingly. "You know, Corum, if they get in, they'll kill everyone."

"That's why we run."

"Everyone, Corum. Humans, Snivvians, Rodians, Selonians…"

"Point?

Miak turned to face him. "We could warn them."

Corum's eyes widened. "Are you nuts? Miak, these inmates are crazy! Remember how you broke your ankle, fighting for a spot in the food lines?" it wasn't even good food, either, Corum thought, remembering the consistent stale shipments of ration bars that kept coming even after the pirates had left. He paused and studied Miak's expression. Surely, she wouldn't be so foolish as to let them beat her. Then again, she hardly knew much of competition; her species weren't going extinct like his.

"How do you think they'll fight in the race for freedom?" he reminded her. "If we warn then, they'll trample us."

Miak sighed, her shoulders slumped. "I know it's stupid. It's just a thought. I mean, it's…something they would do."

"Well, considering we're about to step into their world, we might as well start playing games their way," Corum retorted.

Miak didn't answer.

"Miak," he pleaded, tightening his grip on her arm.

Finally, she agreed. As Corum jogged down the silent corridors, into the hangar, and into the dusty pilot seat of an old supply ship, Miak followed.

The doors opened. Corum pushed down the thrusters, and, as the ship accelerated away, far from the prison that had held him down his whole life, far from the hundred beings that he was sacrificing to the demon battle, he relished in the light.

Contingency Theory

Queen Apailana of Naboo lay on the large bed, her eyes closed, her tiny body pale and shivering. Padmé Amidala gazed at the figure, her eyes narrowed with worry. She sighed and stood up, ready to leave. Padmé paused for a moment, then bowed respectfully to her unconscious ruler before leaving the grand chamber quietly. Her three handmaidens joined her, silently following her back to her senatorial office.

"It's been three weeks already," she said, once the doors were closed and the cams covered. Padmé collapsed on a divan, exhausted. Her eyes wandered past the window, and she observed the mining guilds picketing below. Again. "Three weeks of Naboo under the rule of a dictator. And the doctors are still at a loss for any treatment."

"The Regional Governor himself is hardly a dictator," Motée, one of Padmé's new handmaidens, chided softly. "He's the Chancellor's best solution to a growing problem of mayhem."

"It does seem that way, doesn't it?" Padmé shook her head and winced at a slight ringing in her ears. "Yet, with every motion he makes, every order he sets, a bit of democracy seems to pass away." She sighed, rubbing her temple, trying to soothe her headache. "No Naboo sovereign has ever before attempted to raise taxes without the two-thirds majority consenting vote of the people. Now, all the Regional Governor has to do is take out a contract signed by the Chancellor himself, and we all have no choice but to obey."

"The credits are needed to fund the war," Ellé, the youngest handmaiden, reminded her mistress. "Maybe it's for the best. Maybe a little less democracy is what this Republic needs to—" The Senator's expression suddenly went very cold, and Ellé seemed to realize that she had gone too far. "I meant no disrespect, M'lady," she said timidly.

The Senator didn't answer, rubbing her temple harder and sorrowfully considering her handmaiden's words. Before the war, no Naboo citizen had dared to speak that way. The mere notion of compromising democracy was unheard of. She sighed. Back then, the people still had the luxury to reap the political benefits of peace.

It made her angry to think how far they've left it.

"She was only trying to be patriotic, Senator," Motée said, interrupting Padmé's thoughts, and Padmé winced as her voice sent more waves of pain through her skull. The pregnancy was taking its toll on her health. "Sometimes, M'Lady, you sound so much like a Separatist that—"

Now that was going too far. Padmé's eyes flashed at the offending woman. "A Separatist?" she growled. "Am I a Separatist to protect the values of my people? Is it not the duty of the Senator to represent her people to the Senate, instead of the opposite?" She closed her eyes, pinching her forehead in pain and frustration. "I doubt that…that…" Padmé collapsed against the back of the divan, her headache debilitating her temper.

A hand gently tugged her arm, and Padmé found herself gazing into a pair of gentle, worried eyes. Without a word, her old friend reminded her just how powerful her acerbic words could be. "I'm not snapping," Padmé said softly. "I'm just …" She paused as another wave of dizziness overcame her, and rubbed her temple furiously.

"M'Lady?" Dormé's eyes were ever-worrying. "Do you need a glass of water?"

Padmé shook her head. "Thank you, no," she replied. She slowly stood, holding onto her armrest for support. "Motée, Ellé, see to it that the preparations for our return to Coruscant have been made. Afterwards, you both are excused for the day. Dormé, please stay."

Motée sighed and glanced at her younger counterpart. The two women bowed and left.

Padmé continued to stare out the window, watching the picketers. "I feel quite beside myself these days," she confided to her friend.

"Perhaps you need a vacation," her friend suggested, with only the slightest bit of levity.

Padmé half-heartedly laughed. "A vacation? Now? When the entire galaxy is in shambles?" She rested back onto her divan, exhaling with a bit of pain. "She seemed so much stronger, so much more capable when she was running for queen. No one even suspected that she was the candidate chosen by the Regional Governor himself." She sighed. "Now, we understand the treachery. She's just a child, and, by the looks of it, she'll never live past childhood. Naboo needs someone stronger to hold it together. Otherwise, we really will fall to anarchy." She smiled grimly. "We call ourselves a democracy, but our people still cannot rule without a ruler."

"Even children need parents," Dormé commented. "As long as the parents see to the children's best needs."

"But the Naboo are not children," Padmé argued. "The Naboo are experienced adults who think for themselves. They are the rulers of a democracy."

"A republic is hardly a democracy," Dormé countered. "A democracy is ruled completely by the people, with no interference from chancellors, governors, or –if you'll forgive me, M'lady—senators. That could never exist in a republic of this size."

Padme sighed, and nodded in agreement. And that, she thought, is the crutch that will ruin us all.

Yoda set down two bowls of hot stew onto the circular table. He grunted, and, using his gimer stick, gently sat down beside Master Shaak Ti. Only when he was settled did he sigh, close his eyes, and seriously consider his friend's words.

"Sure of this, are you?"

Master Shaak Ti swallowed a spoonful of stew soberly. "The Dark Side clouds any view of the truth. All I have are suspicions."

Yoda nodded. This new piece of knowledge certainly did shed light on young Skywalker's cloudy future. "A great deal, this changes, if it is true. Misinterpreted, we have, a great many things." He exhaled loudly. "Of virgin birth, the Chosen One is to be. If father, young Skywalker has, then of the prophecy, he is not."

"Then who is?" Master Ti wondered aloud. "What other Jedi would have the power to do what Skywalker can?"

"Power?" Yoda said. "Why power, need he? Kill, need he? Fight, need he?" Yoda picked up his gimer stick and, using his finger as a fulcrum, lifted it into the air steadily. "Balance. The Prophecy speaks only of balance." Yoda swallowed a gulp of stew.

"How many Jedi, there are, Master Ti?" he asked.

Shaak Ti seemed a bit taken aback by this comment. She set down her spoon and thought carefully as to whether this was a trick question. "Thousands," she answered finally.

Yoda nodded. "And Sith? How many have they?"

"Two."

"Balance, is this?"

Shaak Ti didn't answer. Master Yoda nodded. "Balance, this is not. Light we are, but too light."

"But Master Yoda," Shaak Ti protested, "surely, light is something to be desired."

"Too much of anything, unhealthy, it is." Yoda sighed. "Spoiled, we have become! Know we of pain, anger, suffering?"

"They are of the Dark Side. Of course we steer away from them."

"Yet easy, is it, for us?" Yoda shook his head. "Protected, we are, from the depths of Darkness. But beware, we must, for among us are those who, unprotected, they are."

"Skywalker."

Master Yoda nodded. "What the Chosen One may do to attain balance, we know not." He sighed. "But for now, trust in the Force, we will. Now, eat, we shall." He could feel a million questions still burning in Master Ti's mind, but he ignored them staunchly.

His food was getting cold.