Visions of Escape

There is a tide in the affairs of men

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

On such a full sea are we now afloat,

And we must take the current when it serves,

Or lose our ventures.

— Excerpt from Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare

Never before have I wanted so much to rush after, into the waiting arms of Death. I cannot remember a time where I felt more like exploding into a fiery rage, steeling myself into a machine of destruction before I follow the path of my Master. I cannot remember. I cannot think. I'm only dimly aware of my azure blade sliding back into its hilt—I cannot even remember activating it. The pain of the suddenly severed bond throbs steadily outside of this physical world that has allowed the body of my Master to fail.

I sink to my knees, wishing the Zabrak could have kept alive until now, that I might be able to exact some kind of retribution. It's a perverse thought, and I recognise it as such just enough to slip it out of the way.

My eyes refuse to close, but the Queen and her party mercifully block the view that might have dealt a killing blow to my spirit. The body of my Master lies somewhere by the door of the throne room, and I have every and no desire to see it. What use have I for an empty husk of a man? The quintessential substance of Qui-Gon Jinn has departed. He is not the first Jedi to fall to enemy fire, but his seems the first life I have ever lost, just as I felt the Zabrak was the first I'd ever killed. Today seems to be completely occupied by illusions of the initial.

The destroyer droids move quickly, bundling up the group into a tight, manageable package, never less than six guns trained on their captives. The group seems to have grown from when I saw it last; perhaps that's why they made less progress through the halls than I had expected. The additional numbers of soldiers must have come from rescuing efforts as they passed by.

I wonder why the droids haven't spotted me yet; after all, I am conveniently on my knees in the middle of the corridor. The thought brings a sour spike of humour, and I finger my inactive lightsaber, my brain picking up speed once again. The mission still isn't over; though I desperately want to collapse and drain myself of emotion, the hour does not call for it. I must do what I can to ensure the Queen's safety. Without moving my head, I quickly scan the corridor from side to side. Nothing but droid parts scattered across the floor. Perhaps I will be able to move to the side and secure my own safety. That done, I should be able to look after Queen Amidala—

My musings are interrupted by a deadly familiar sound rising behind me. It is the sound of a metal wheel driving up, grinding to a halt and assuming a killing position.

I rise to my feet and chance a look over my shoulder. The droideka is in full array, both guns trained on my every move.

Things are never so simple as they should be. Heaving a sigh, I drop my lightsaber, spreading my hands and moving them away from my body. I will accomplish nothing if I end up with my Master at this point.

I have no idea where the other droidekas appear from. Suddenly a dozen are pouring through the hall, swarming about the Queen's party, an equal number heading for me.

Strange, I think wryly. They seem to think I'd do a better job of fighting back, do they? A staccato breath emerges from my lips, what would have been a short, quiet guffaw. My eyes sting under the threatening pressure of a flood of tears that would wash me away, but somehow I manage to keep it back.

Didn't they destroy the droids' control ship? I wonder. These destroyer droids must be motivated by an ulterior source. I can't put an estimate down of how large a backup force the Federation would have made for emergencies such as this.

She turns around, then, and catches my eye. Her expression is solidly stoic; I can hardly make out her eyes at this distance, but I can feel a spark extinguished within their depths. I wish she would forget about me—it's not as if she hasn't enough to worry about as it is. But she's sorry with all her heart, I know. Sorry because she thinks the loss of my voice was her fault, and sorry for the entire situation that brought about the downfall of my Master.

And then the oily mocking voice arises within me, one that I'd hoped never to hear again.

She thinks your stupidity is her fault. What fun!

I grit my teeth, locating that familiar rage within me.

What do you think she would do if you blamed her? Good Friend is thoughtful in tone, as if tapping his chin while an ugly smile curls his lips.

My chest heaves under mental pressure. I need something to focus on, or my world will swirl out of control.

The droideka behind me. I reach out through the Force with a slightly crimson-tinted view, and adjust a few things with a minute and precise unseen hand.

The back armour plate falls off with a loud, punctuated clang!

Beginning to feel heady with success, I carefully keep a dull expression and grasp the droid again, this time reaching the small reactor core it keeps within itself. The connections to the core snap off one by one, and the destroyer droid powers down with a sudden whirring noise, some joints automatically locking and others going slack.

The other droidekas around me, numbering at about six now that the first has fallen, come to a higher state of alert, a few of them powering up their weapons fully. I know if I try something like that again, I'll be blasted to a charred lump in a matter of seconds. As a Padawan, I am not of value to the Federation's efforts to take Naboo, but I know they think I might provide a handy hostage, should the Jedi increase their attention here. The idea turns my stomach sick, that I should be the reason for a political and military deadlock, the very thing the Jedi try in all earnestness to avoid.

Jedi.

I force a grim smile away from my lips.

Jedi.

My memory snaps back to the first visit of the mission, where my Master and I projected illusions of ourselves escaping down the hall to draw the attacking pair of destroyer droids away from our true position. It was difficult while fleeing in a different direction, but I have confidence in my abilities to project a pair of beings while standing still.

With the Force, I locate several small pieces of scattered battle droid parts, and quietly, carefully feed them out the broken window. The droidekas as well as the humans in the corridor take no notice.

I sink into an open-eyed concentration now, bringing the parts a few meters from the outside of a different window. I picture in my mind a Master-Padawan pair, and coalesce light outside, bending and distorting until I have formed two sufficiently opaque images. They run forward with the droid parts in mid-air, and the moment when a real pair would have crashed through the windows, the droid parts smash through the panes of transparisteel, creating the illusion of two sapients jumping into the hall, lightsabers blazing.

Immediately, four of my six droidekas lock on to their images and begin firing. I've fooled their sensors enough for them to detect a semblance of body heat, but as my pair of Jedi look to be a reptilian species, they don't have to radiate quite as much warmth as a mammalian variety.

The Queen's party has definitely taken notice by now, and stare open-mouthed as the "Jedi" rush through the corridor, two droid parts hidden within each of them, and crash through the windows on the opposite side. Their path will lead them to an area of the palace that I noted to be particularly vulnerable to attack with a certain lack of guards. That just so happened to be the battle droids' business, and now that the control ship is down…

The four droidekas that had taken focus on my creations bundle themselves up into wheels and roll off down the hall at a fair pace. Now I only have two operating destroyer droids to work with.

Their motions seem more agitated, as one is attempting to cover the window and me at the same time. The droidekas surrounding the Queen and company are watching me more carefully, but don't seem to be inclined to move yet.

I swallow, my faith resting on my Master's last spoken words. He knew the Force was with us this day, and I am glad of it; today I will be needing it most.

I draw in again, creating another pair of a different species just out of sight outside the smashed window (one Selonian and one Arcona), and have them hurtle in, crossing the hall in giant leaps, and exiting where the first pair did. At the same time, I give motion to the droideka behind me, making it lift up and waddle to the side under my power.

Satisfied that I am guarded sufficiently, the remaining two droidekas bring in their limbs and roll off after the other four as reinforcements.

The droids around the Queen's party seem more concerned now, giving more attention. I have my puppet droideka retrieve my lightsaber from the floor with a mandible and move up to me, indicating for me to walk down the hall as a captive. Clasping my hands above my head, I rest them on the top of my skull in a surrender position and lead the droideka down the hall. It takes a long time to achieve any distance with the waddling gait of the droid, but I eventually have my puppet push me around a corner into an alcove. I bring both of us out of sight around the corner, then palm the door control as I relax my grip on the droideka. It sags back to its former dead position, and the door hisses open to reveal a room filled with computers and machinery. Swiping my lightsaber from the droid's mandible, I enter, closing the door behind me, and realise only when I lean against the wall that my forehead is coated in a sheen of sweat. I bring up my sleeve, which seems to have been serving this purpose more often than not of late. The semi-coarse fabric feels wonderful, but I cannot risk wasting much more time. I rub it across my forehead a couple of times, then turn my attention to the computers.

Fortunately enough, most of them read Basic instead of the local characters that have mystified me on a few occasions. However, legibility will not serve me much here. These certain computers seem to serve the sole purpose of monitoring the power feed to the various doors at this level of the palace. I cannot think how that would serve me at the moment. The Queen has been captured; I must not waste time playing with door controls.

I fumble at my belt for the comlink, knowing I must hail the Temple. Though I won't be able to speak through it, there is a pre-recorded message asking for urgent assistance set within all the comlinks the Order gives out—all a Jedi has to do is press a three-digit code and the message is broadcasted to the Temple…then I pause, and a curse echoes within my mind. The Federation has been jamming transmissions of all kinds since we left.

But there is one broadcast they have no power to stop. I concentrate my level best, feeding in a large amount of my energy to harness more, and send off a pulse to my Masters requesting urgent assistance.

Now I bend myself to another mental task. My first priority must be getting myself to safety; only from there will I be able to help the Queen and her citizens. I reach just outside the room with my senses, scanning for a likely place to cut through, and hopefully run off unobstructed.

My throat unties itself somewhat as I discover just what I'm looking for. Beyond the far wall is a slope, very steep but manageable, I believe. I gauge the slope by sensing the whereabouts of the plant life upon it. There are also many trees, ideal for cover.

It's more difficult to scan for the presence of droids, as they don't fall under the life form category, but I feel I should be relatively unimpeded once I get clear of the palace grounds.

Mentally crossing my fingers, I activate my lightsaber and apply it to the far wall, slowly making a small hole, then drawing it out again. I peer out the sizzling opening, watching carefully for any sign that the Federation's forces have taken notice. Satisfied with the inactivity, I begin cutting a larger hole, an ellipse standing on end, large enough for me to pass through without touching the superheated edges. Once finished cutting, I deactivate my lightsaber, solidly planting one foot against the piece of wall, kicking it outwards into the brush.

I look before stepping out, and immediately become relieved that I had had the foresight for that. The palace walls are high; the wall I have cut through continues on for another few meters, then terminates at a corner, producing a wall running from it at a right angle. It continues on for perhaps fifty meters, then ends. The windows on both walls begin on my level and continue upwards, but the slope begins much farther down than I'd anticipated.

I watch the section of wall that I had sliced keep falling for approximately three stories before crashing down into the brush, and grimace. It's not jumping I dislike so much as landing, but I have little choice in the matter. Loosening my body, I step over the lip of my cut and fall freely through the air, gathering up the Force beneath me. The impact is about as hard as I'd anticipated, and I let myself half-collapse to absorb the shock. I spring off the piece of wall and move quickly under the cover of the woods covering the slope, wanting to remain undetected by enemy sensors. My lightsaber's presence affords me some comfort, and I keep it loose in my hand as I move down the slope.

Now that I am relatively in the clear, I stop amid the high brush and breathe deeply, sending my senses out to locate the Queen. Her presence stands out a bit from the others', and I easily recognise it. Finding the same remnants of the bond I'd used earlier, I employ what voice I have, sending the message I've wished to give.

[I have escaped, your Highness, and will do whatever I can to free you and your people. More Jedi should be on the way.]

Suddenly my concentration slips, and I'm glad I was able to send the whole message. I sit down hard on the forest floor, my head swimming. I know I've exerted myself over the limit, especially my control of the Force, and I feel burned out as a dying candle that's reached the base of its wick.

Allowing my concentration to relax somewhat, I gulp in the sweet air around me, generated by the hundreds upon thousands of trees and other plants about Theed. The atmosphere has an almost pristine feel to it; I know the Naboo do their level best to keep the condition of their homeworld, and for that, if nothing else, they have my respect. There is much more, of course, that captivates me about this world, but I have little time to dwell on that at the moment.

I pick myself off the ground wearily and begin stumbling down the slope, careful to keep a low speed and profile. Getting past any sensors will be a job in itself, and I know I must move cautiously, though I hardly have the capacity to trudge any faster. My feet begin to feel heavy, as if I am slogging through viscous knee-deep mud. I gasp for air; it seems to have gone as thick as the chimerical bog I'm churning through, layering the inside tissue of my lungs with heavy sweeps, as a mason would do with a trowel. The exhaustion takes the entirety of me, gorging on my strength (and possibly my sanity). I know I must find a place where I can rest until I've regained sufficient control.

My leaden feet drag themselves through the underbrush. I hardly care what I walk through anymore—shrubbery or clear ground, it still feels as if I slog through a thick mire. In its mindlessness, these moments are nearly as horrific as my nightmares to me. One of my greatest fears is losing my mind, fragile and invaluable as it is to me. My brain takes a moment to comprehend I have stopped crashing through undergrowth, and am now sloshing into water. Upon further inspection, I immediately realise I am wading into a wide river that runs deep and fast, its clear waters rolling by with a powerful quietness.

A brief walk down the bank lies a dilapidated old hut, half of it resting upon stilts that support the portion hanging over the river. Made out of wood that has obviously seen better days, the ramshackle dwelling appears deserted, and I approach it with a spark of hope. Somehow I don't much care if the droids find me; whatever happens, first I'll need a good sleep. I'll be no less conspicuous wandering about the woods than taking a repose inside this hut. Satisfied with my fuzzy evaluation of the situation, I make it to the door. It is of an old-fashioned build and I give it a gentle push, cringing at the loud, obnoxious squeak it gives before settling into a stationary position.

The interior smells musty and is dimly lit, the shutters over the few windows closed as tightly as possible. Sunlight streams in through a few cracks, however, making rays through the dust. I sneeze violently only a couple of steps in.

A startled cry rings out from behind the door then, making me jump and wheel around. I hadn't sensed anyone inside, but I push the door half-closed and peer into the dim corner.

It's an old man sitting upon a bed, his back resting on the wall, and he blinks rheumy eyes as I adjust to the darkness. "What business?" he croaks. "What business, huh?"

"Never mind him," a smooth alto voice comes from the opposite corner. I turn to see another, a woman rocking back and forth on her seat, a small baby in her arms. I'm even more astonished that I could have missed sensing and seeing them, but her dark hair and clothes allows her to blend in with the shadows, and my sun-dazzled eyes easily might have passed over her in that case.

"He's crazy and half-blind," she says, looking down upon the baby, which waves a pudgy arm unsteadily. "Not as much as the Jedi, though."

I am slightly offended at this, but even more perturbed that I have no way to answer her. The Force seems elusive within this dwelling, slippery and difficult to grasp. With my exhausted concentration, it's nigh on impossible for me to get a sense of the woman or the old man. So instead, I try to show some interest in that last statement, and sit down on a chair close by her.

"Not only the Jedi Order," she continues, rarely looking up at me, "but the entire Senate. They're all blind. Can't see what's right in front of 'em." She grins, revealing a row of straight, white teeth, except for one missing canine on the top row. "Can't blame 'em for it, though. It's too bad, really." She adjusts the baby, rotating it in her arms, moving the head from one side to the other.

"Sidious plots," wails the old man suddenly. "Bad for business."

The confusing statements of the two only worsen the situation as the room takes on an oppressive feeling, as if the darkness generates the thick heaviness of the air, making it just as difficult to breathe as it was for me in the woods. I get up from the chair and totter toward the door, taking one last look at the woman in the corner.

She smiles again, a sinister expression. "Nice meeting you."

I can make no sense of it, and I move out the door, the sunlight blinding me. It swings shut behind me, and I stumble out into the tall grass.

"Hands up," a voice orders me, and I look up, shading my eyes. A human form stands there, wearing a dark-coloured uniform with a belt and shoulder strap, both bristling with weaponry. His raised arm holds a particularly nasty-looking and illegal blaster, and I recognise the emblazon upon the sleeve, marking him a mercenary of the organisation Nova Force.

The Federation must be getting worried, I think as I spot three others coming closer to me, their weapons also centred upon my body. I raise my hands, and chance one look over my shoulder, back toward the hut.

It's gone. The bank continues on as if it was never there, the grass long and lush, profuse with wildflowers like any other section of bank along this river.

Mystified, I clasp my hands together over my head, returning my attention to the small mercenary force—but the movement of raising my arms brings small green spots to dance before my eyes again, and this time the darkness overtakes me.