CHAPTER VI

Homecoming and Close Encounters

The official homecoming of the Senator of Naboo to the Palace at Theed was always a chaotic affair. Even this evening, when the Senator's arrival was kept on a low profile for security reasons, there was already a small crowd of heralds assembled at the Royal Hangar. Dormé fended them off like so many unwanted flies. Keeping a tight contingent of security detail around the Senator, the handmaiden led Amidala to her relatively private apartment.

Usually the apartment, located in the residential west wing of the Palace, would have been a beehive of activity: servants scurrying through and fro, depositing the Senator's luggage and arranging and re-arranging furniture, even more heralds demanding to be attended to at once, decisions needing to be made immediately. This time however, the efficient Dormé had sent word ahead and it was a serene apartment that welcomed them. The handmaiden still had to shoo off one particularly insistent envoy, one of her Majesty's handmaidens, as a matter of fact.

"The Queen insists on an appointment this evening, my lady," Dormé said ruefully to her mistress, afterwards.

She was unpacking the most essential of the Senator's personal effects and placing them the wardrobe and fresher. The rest of the unpacking would be done by servants the next day - unpacking Senator Amidala's luggage was no one man's job. The Senator in question was sitting half-dressed at the edge of the bed, studying the info-data pad that had been waiting for her on the ornate bedside stool. Beside her, Artoo was downloading a copy of the info-pad into his database.

Padmé gave a tired sigh. "Of course. When is it?"

"Not until a few hours. I managed to achieve that much."

Padmé smiled. "Thank you, Dormé. When you are finished, could you make a call to my home?"

"Of course."

Dormé gave her mistress surreptitious glances as she worked. Padmé looked a great deal better than she had a few hours ago in the Yacht, when she had suddenly collapsed into a dead faint in the middle of a speech she was dictating to a droid. Half an hour later, the in-ship EM-DEE droid had not been able to revive her. Dormé had almost broken the Senator's own mandate and fetched for Master Kenobi - she was aware that the Jedi were supposed to have healing powers - when Padmé suddenly came to, crying and shaking profoundly.

It was the second time her mistress had broken down in as many days. Dormé only prayed that whatever decision Padmé had made to cause her this much anguish was worth it.

By the time Dormé had placed the last scented bath oil in the marble hand sink by the dressing mirror, Artoo was dormant, recharging in his corner and Padmé was lying stretched on the bed, staring at the ceiling with a pensive expression on her face. When Dormé offered her the COM link, she gazed at it blankly.

"Your father," Dormé prompted.

Padmé's face brightened up a bit and she took the COM.

"Father, how are you? … Just a few minutes ago, it was a good trip. …"

Discretely, Dormé left her mistress to her privacy.

After she had spoken to her parents, Padmé spoke briefly with her sister.

"Did you return with Anakin Skywalker?" Sola asked without preamble.

The COM link slipped from Padmé's nerveless fingers. She picked it up at once.

"Padmé?" Sola was saying.

"No, I did not."

"Now, isn't that a pity? Tell me, o virgin sister mine, during those secluded, isolated days you spent with him in the lovely Lake Retreat, did he manage to make it into your bed?"

"You are completely tactless, Sola," Padmé said in a furious whisper, holding one hand to her chest. Her heart had started pounding.

As usual, the rebuke just rolled off her incorrigible sister's back like water over a Gungan's.

"Well, did he?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but he did not."

"Not for want of trying, I'm sure. How many of your clothes did he get off before your sensible little head started shouting, 'No'?"

"Do you actually have anything to say to me that is even a smidgen appropriate or relevant?" Padmé snapped. Her face had flushed first hot then cold at her sister's callous words.

Sola laughed again. "Are you blushing, little one? You are such a dear to tease."

"I was arrested in Separatist territory and sentenced to death. I was mauled by a beast and I will bear the scars on my back for the rest of my life. I was in the middle of a battle that is just the beginning of an unprecedented galactic-wide conflict. And all you can think to ask is my imagined love life with a Jedi?"

"Imagined? Interesting. And which of us, pray tell, is doing the imagining?"

"Give Ryoo and Pooja my love," Padmé ordered through clenched teeth and terminated the link.

The last cloth was removed and the pale skin beneath exposed to the controlled atmosphere. Obi-Wan stretched out his arm gingerly and flexed it.

"Is it functional, sir?" The EM-DEE droid asked in its low mechanized voice.

"It will serve," Obi-Wan replied wryly. "Tell the Senator I appreciate this courtesy."

The droid wheeled away. Obi-Wan rolled back his sleeve over the injury.

Captain Typho gave him a commiserating glance. "You did not have that on Coruscant, last time we met."

"Geonosis," Obi-Wan said simply.

The captain nodded as if his suspicions were confirmed and the reverential look he usually accorded the Jedi Master magnified.

The two men had worked closely together of late: first on Coruscant a few weeks ago and more recently when Obi-Wan escorted the Senator home. After a few hours on the luxurious Senatorial Yacht, a new one that had been sent in replacement of the one that was destroyed by the assassin, Obi-Wan had had serious cause to wonder how necessary his presence, or any Jedi's presence for that matter, was. The Senator had a full security complement already, effectively supervised by the Captain, who was flatteringly adhering to the instructions the Jedi had given them on Coruscant. Typho literally ran a tight ship and between that and Senator Amidala's virtual seclusion from everyone but her handmaiden, it would have been easy for Obi-Wan to be left feeling superfluous. However the Captain took pains to prevent this. He requested Obi-Wan's input frequently and kept him up to date on the goings-on of their short journey - both in matters concerning security and in what amounted to no more than gossip about the various envoys and dignitaries in the vessel. In exchange, the Jedi gave Typho a censored report on the little he knew about Amidala's actions from the moment she left Coruscant with his Padawan to her return, and more specifically, how she had ended up in the middle of the Battle of Geonosis. Although Obi-Wan thought otherwise, Captain Typho insisted that whatever decisions had led the pair to Geonosis had been made by Senator Amidala.

The two men were discussing the new security modifications Typho intended to implement in the Senator's suite when Dormé entered their small alcove.

"There you are," she said. "Senator Amidala is about to leave for her appointment with the Queen." Obi-Wan, as part of the Senator's personal security detail would be accompanying her.

Obi-Wan and Captain Typho followed the handmaiden into the spacious living room that adjoined the Senator's private bedchambers. They waited there while Dormé went inside. With a dispassionate eye, the Jedi noted the fine lines of marbled architecture and colorful tapestries and furniture that decorated the apartment, and indeed the whole of Naboo. The planet was indisputably a beautiful one, rich in art and nature, but it was also a planet that he had and would always associate with a very dark point in his life. It was the chief reason why he had always resisted Anakin's pleas to visit Naboo during the years past.

Well, Anakin had got his wish all the same.

Obi-Wan fought back another one of the occasional spasms of panic that had started attacking him a few hours earlier on board the Yacht. At that moment, standing beside Typho in the control room, he had almost been bowled over with pain that had stabbed through him along the bond he had with Anakin. The tremors had echoed and echoed through his body until he had to close himself off from his Force link with his Padawan.

Obi-Wan had no doubt that that was the moment that Anakin had realized his re-assignment. That this realization must have made, must still be making, his Padawan unhappy, was a massive understatement.

At that moment, the doors to the inner chambers slid open and Dormé then the Senator herself stepped out. Obi-Wan studied Amidala critically. She was only a little less pale than she was when he had finally seen her this evening as they embarked from the Yacht. He wondered with detached compassion if she had quite recovered from the bout of fever that her conscience had inflicted on her the day before. He was feeling some rather un-detached irritation at her and he was not inclined to use the Force to check for himself. She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman who could probably have any man her heart desired. He could not understand why she had chosen his Padawan to fixate on. Jedi or not, Obi-Wan had not quite forgiven her for that.

"Senator," he said and bowed deeply.

"Master Kenobi," she said formally. She gave a small nod to Dormé and followed her handmaiden out of the room, her robes swishing importantly on the floor.

Obi-Wan fell into step with Typho and followed behind the Senator's ever-present astromech droid.

After a restless sleep filled with dreams that she chose not to remember, Padmé woke up the next day feeling like Hell. Still, the thought of procrastinating her duties did not occur to her. Not only because cancelled appointments and turned-away emissaries multiplied with every hour spent from them - but simply because, now that she had made the most painful decision she could about her life, it was only by throwing herself into her work that she would ever find solace.

Dormé dressed her in magnificent lavender and gold robes that had never failed in the past to make her feel cheerful (they failed that morning) and replaced the detachable back with a thin, translucent fabric of the softest silk. The wounds on her back could not yet bear anything harsher. Despondently, Padmé looked over her shoulder at the mirror as her handmaiden snapped on the numerous buttons on her full skirts, and she remembered a beautiful pink, gold and sea-colored dress that she had won only a few weeks ago. Her back had been flawless then; it was not a mirror that declared this as much as the look in the eyes of the man she had dressed up for.

She fisted her hands convulsively. She had to stop thinking of Him.

A few hours later, at her Constituency Office on Naboo, Padmé attended to the one welcome appointment she had that day: the formal leave-taking of Master Kenobi. Any unhappiness Padmé might have felt at ending an old friendship on such a strained note was more than compensated for by the relief of being free of his silently disapproving presence.

"Captain Typho will escort you to your scheduled transport. I hope you enjoyed your return to Naboo," she said when he formally presented himself at her stateroom.

"It was brief but pleasant," he replied courteously, "but like you, I will be glad when I return to my own home."

His pointed words needed no interpretation. From the vicinity of her knees came an almost querulous-sounding beep from Artoo.

"I thought the whole galaxy was the home of the Jedi," she murmured with a touch of asperity.

"Of course, my lady, but even a Jedi sees his home as the place where his duty is required first."

"And the Capital gets priority on the Jedi over lesser worlds, you mean?"

Obi-Wan gave her a rueful smile. "Perhaps, my lady, this should be a conversation for another time."

There won't be another time, she could almost see his eyes say. She inclined her head in the formal manner. "Thank you Master Kenobi for all your help in recent times." Yes, even the ones I do not feel grateful for now.

, she could almost see his eyes say. She inclined her head in the formal manner. "Thank you Master Kenobi for all your help in recent times."

The Jedi Master bowed low, turned on his heel and walked out of her office with long strides. He was probably as grateful to leave as she was to see him go. Captain Typho gave her a smart salute and followed. Artoo's lights flashed vindictively after them.

Padmé returned to the business of her office and the rest of her life.

The spaceport on Theed was teeming with activity. Passengers, officers, droids, and even merchants, bustled busily and noisily up and down the length of the docking bays. Following the brisk steps of his guide, the Jedi Master picked his way carefully between the pockets of excited Gungan students back from an off-world excursion, a large and emotional gathering of an extended family seeing off their kin, and a raucous and energetic bargaining between an old Naboo woman and several cloth vendors. In the background was the steady and almost rhythmic roar of an engine warming up for departure and the high pitched whines of repulsors as they brought in a ship to landing. It was a riot of sound, color, and emotions. For an empath, the cacophony of sentient emotions - always heightened by partings and reunions - was exhausting. Obi-Wan's shields were clamped firmly as he followed Captain Typho through the maze of walkways, turbolifts and platforms of the bay.

They passed a trio of gossiping guards placing bets on the day's races. Captain Typho paused long enough to catch the eye of one. The men immediately fell into an untidy salute, standing stiff and guilty-looking. Typho favored them with a disgusted grunt and walked on. Obi-Wan could feel the guards behind him dispersing into their assigned posts like disturbed ants to their holes.

"Lax," muttered Typho under his breath.

Obi-Wan nodded sympathetically.

Encouraged, the Captain went on: "Most of them are over-the-hill and long overdue for retirement. The crime rate in this spaceport is appalling. Pick-pockets, purse-snatchers… they find easy pickings here between the harried passengers and the useless excuse of our spaceport security."

"Yet the spaceports on Naboo are rated very highly in galactic polls as some of the safest in the Republic," murmured Obi-Wan.

Typho puffed with pride. Then he deflated with a shudder. "If that's the case, then the gods help us all."

Obi-Wan grinned. The Captain smiled a little. They continued down a darkening corridor, and then they were coming out to a glass-walled, elaborate waiting room, as dissimilar to the crowded platforms outside as could be. The room was quiet and calm with soft chairs where passengers waited leisurely while they watched holo-vids and read tomes of parchment. On enquiry of the uniformed officer behind a desk at the entrance, the two men were informed that Obi-Wan's vehicle was due to arrive at the departure platform in a few minutes. Allowing half an hour for boarding, the ship would depart from Naboo at 0900 standard hours.

Typho led Obi-Wan to a seat in a corner and clasped hands firmly with the Jedi Master.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Master Jedi," he said gravely. "I am grateful for the help and protection that you have given Senator Amidala."

The Captain's warm appreciation was touching but unwarranted. Obi-Wan returned the firm handshake, then folded his hands over his front and bowed gravely. "We serve."

"Whenever you are on Naboo, Master Kenobi, give me a call."

"I will do that. Thank you."

Typho gave one smart salute, and then walked away.

The white clouds that suffused the viewscreen flew apart like curtains in the wind, and the lush blue and green of Naboo loomed ahead of the shuttle.

The jeweled world beckoned to him like a siren, its song like a balm to his spirit, like Padmé's hand on his. And like those same hands on his shoulder, the first glimpse of his beloved's planet was enough to push off the mantle of anxiety and unease that had wrapped itself firmly around Anakin during his long solo flight from Coruscant to Naboo. For the first time in recent weeks, he felt free and unburdened. He steered the craft towards the lower hemisphere of the planet where the mountain villages were located. He skimmed low over the domed roof-tops of the mountain homes, daringly plunging down the steep side of the cliff to playfully dip over the waters of the valley lake, spraying foam over the sides of the shuttle, before he zoomed back into the atmosphere.

He twisted the controls and set the shuttle back on course to the equatorial zone where Theed was located. Soon, its marble walls and gracious plazas were twinkling beacons in his viewscreen. He looked at the controls just in time to see the radio COM signal flashing. He switched it on.

"Shuttle A-4-J, you are 5 minutes behind schedule for landing." It was the same modulated voice that had authorized Anakin's entry into Naboo.

"Sorry about that. I'm on my way now," Anakin said genially. It would take more than a grouchy flight control officer to put him out of his good mood.

"Drop to an altitude of 50 meters then change over to Automatic Pilot. Our flight computer will guide your shuttle into its landing bay."

That jostled Anakin's good mood a bit.

"Just send me the co-ordinates and I'll land the shuttle myself."

"Request not granted. It would be a violation of routine landing procedure for all diplomatic shuttles on Naboo."

Anakin switched off the radio. He punched furiously through the navi-computer until he retrieved the co-ordinates the ground control's computer had transmitted. Then he bent the nose of the ship into a smooth dive.

The radio indicator light was flashing furiously. Anakin ignored it. The double-leveled spaceport of Theed zoomed larger and larger in his viewscreen. The bull's-eye square flashed when it locked onto the co-ordinates of the landing bay. Allowing the shuttle one last flourishing swoop over the bay, Anakin killed the turbo-engines, switched on the landing repulsors and slid the shuttle into its port like a hand into a glove.

The officer behind the desk was talking furiously into the COM head-set. Then he obviously ended the conversation because the next moment, his voice was heard loudly over the in-house speakers.

"All passengers for Cruiser C103 please make your way to the boarding gate."

Obi-Wan got to his feet at once and joined the sea of passengers that were leisurely making their way to the automatic walkway that run along the length of the waiting room. Of course, these were V. I.P. and First-class passengers and they ran no risk of being abandoned if they had not boarded the cruiser at the designated time. Obi-Wan opened his shields marginally and sank into the Force for patience. At the outer edges of his Force consciousness, treading along a woken bond, a familiar and near presence hovered undetected.

Although the landing officer in charge and his two security complements obviously were displeased with Anakin's maneuvers, they took one look at his Jedi robes, when he reported at the checking office, and became subdued. Apparently, spaceport personnel realized that routine landing procedures might not necessarily apply to Jedi.

"We did not know the shuttle was being manned by a Jedi," the officer told Anakin petulantly. "In our records, that craft was registered under Representative Minuks of the Eastern County."

"Pardon the inconvenience," Anakin said smoothly. "He lent me this craft to carry out a personal mission for him."

It was fairly close to the truth. He did not specify who 'he' was and he was carrying out a personal mission - for himself.

"You were given clear instructions to switch to Automatic Pilot," the officer said unhappily. "The in-house computer would have competently coordinated your landing. That is routine procedure for all diplomatic shuttles, implemented for your safety as well as ours."

Anakin calmly prepared himself to deliver another placating speech and then… he felt it: A familiar presence in the Force, hovering in the inner edges of his consciousness, along a bond that he had assumed was dormant.

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably in the plush minxo-leather seat of the cruiser. Despite the occasional need to utilize it during missions, the intimacy of luxurious beds and chairs was something that he would probably never be completely at ease with.

It was fifteen minutes to Departure time and gaudily attired children of a family that sat two seats in front of Obi-Wan were cheerfully running amuck along the length of the aisle. Their outnumbered parents had apparently given up on them and the stewardess droids were occupied with restraining them.

One of the young boys reminded him of Anakin as a child. Obi-Wan's sense automatically drifted to his Padawan's and he used a conscious act of will to yank it back. For the past fifteen minutes, he had been increasingly fighting the temptation to touch his mind with Anakin's along their bond. The Jedi Master knew full well he would be powerless to deal with his Padawan's almost certain whirlpool emotions until they were face to face on Coruscant. Touching on them now would only serve to make both him and Anakin agitated by the time they met each other again.

Ten minutes left to Departure time. He watched an elegantly dressed couple settle into the aisle across from him. The distinguished pepper-haired man nodded solemnly at the Jedi Knight and Obi-Wan replied with a half-bow. Over the man's shoulder, the dark-haired young woman, slanted the Knight a suggestive glance from beneath her long lashes. Repulsed, Obi-Wan looked away.

Immediately, Anakin clamped down his shieldings firmly, mentally berating himself for not having done so the moment he had entered Naboo's orbit. If Obi-Wan were to find him now …

The officer fidgeted with his console.

Anakin's attention snapped back to him. "My apologies for any inconvenience I may have caused you. Aside from your grievances, do we have business to discuss or would you prefer to keep wasting my time?"

The officer blinked rapidly. Rudeness from a Jedi obviously was something that he had not been trained to expect.

"Uh… no… Not at all."

Anakin bowed curtly and strode off. He was familiar with the Theed spaceport from his last visit to Naboo via refugee ship, and he made his way through the walkways and corridors fairly easily and fairly quickly. His mind was moving as rapidly as his body.

Obi-Wan was here, in the spaceport, and most likely about to board a vehicle that would take him off planet. The timing could not have been better if Anakin had planned it himself. Or narrower. Because while he was within a hair's breath of getting Obi-Wan off his back permanently, or for a duration long enough to see Padmé without the benefit of his Master's influence, Anakin was also within a hair's breath of being dragged back, kicking and screaming to Coruscant and more irrevocably banned from ever seeing Padmé again.

For some reason, though their bond was active - activated apparently by Obi-Wan while Anakin was unconscious in the Healer's ward - and though Anakin had sensed his Master's presence, Obi-Wan had not sensed his Padawan yet. Still with their present proximity to each other, if Obi-Wan were to decide to probe for him, shields or no shields, he would find Anakin and know he was here.

Anakin reached the last walkway before the main entrance hallway of the spaceport and started jogging.

Five minutes to Departure time. The boisterous family seemed to have settled down. The steward droids wheeled along the aisles, checking that the passengers were secure and well instructed in the procedures for take off. Obi-Wan's Jedi perceptivity sensed the muffled roaring of warming engines.

Thinking of engines made him think of Anakin and almost compulsively, the Jedi's shields lifted slightly to touch…

"Are you familiar with the take-off instructions, sir?" A modulated vocoder inquired over his head, breaking his concentration.

Obi-Wan looked up into the metal face of a steward droid and nodded. All the same, the droid rattled off the instructions for a good two minutes before wheeling to the couple across the aisle.

The woman reminded Obi-Wan of Senator Amidala. He was immediately ashamed of the thought. That was unworthy of her and of him. Despite her recent infraction, in the end, Amidala had proved herself an honorable woman.

The Captain's voice came over the speakers informing the passengers that they were about to take off. Five seconds later, Obi-Wan felt the familiar sensation of vertigo as the repulsors kicked in and the vessel started sliding away from the dock. The children up ahead started chattering excitedly and removed their seatbelts to crowd against the port view by their seat, cheerfully violating the instructions they had just been painstakingly told by the steward droid.

The vessel launched itself into the air. Through the port window by his side, Obi-Wan watched the green and blue of Naboo fall below. He was glad. This undeniably beautiful planet was one of the least favorite places in the galaxy for him. If he had only one prayer to ask of the Force, it would be that he would never have cause to return to it again.

The Jedi Master closed his eyes and sunk into the Force and himself. Shields up, he started searching for his centre. He would need it to face his Padawan when he arrived on Coruscant

Anakin watched the ship disappear through the clouds, taking his Master away with it. Obi-Wan was off Naboo. Anakin sent a brief prayer of thanks to the Force and started making his way through Theed.

Later on that day, the Padawan stood in front of the plaza leading to the Palace and tried to re-capture the euphoria and confidence he had felt while flying over Naboo. It was impossible. Even the thought of his Master's departure no longer gave him pleasure. The anxiety Anakin had felt during the journey in space was seeping back into him in small gushes. The words of the letter he had all but memorized echoed in his head:

"We can't do this Anakin, and we both know it."

"It just is not possible."

"The most logical choice is to end it now."

As he made his now faltering way to the Palace, Anakin tried to ignore the persistent voice in his head that reminded him that some of the words in that letter were words Padmé had already told him herself.

Words she had said long before Obi-Wan had ever had a chance to speak with her.

The Senator returned to the Palace that evening pleasantly exhausted. She had had several meetings with representatives from five of the eight districts, including the Prince of Theed himself, and the head of the union of spice workers. The latter demanded a formal retraction of the now unfounded accusations that the union was responsible for the assassination attempts on the Senator's life. Amidala had countered that: as there had been no actual accusations, merely speculation - as nothing had been declared officially but only through the disreputable underground media - and as the suspicions had originated from the Jedi Order and not from the Senator's office: then their demands were groundless. After they left, disgruntled, she instructed her personal assistance to make a formal statement regarding the matter to the media. She owed the union no obligation to do this and that was the point she had wanted to make clear to them. That she had planned to do it anyway, long before their meeting with her, was not their concern.

After weeks of relative calm, Padmé had a slight headache from the marathon conferences and she welcomed it. Her mind was already numb with work and that evening, she made it even more so while she sat at her private office desk in her apartment and worked through the pile of data-binders that, for as long as she could remember, never seemed to diminish no matter how many she went through. Assisting her were Artoo - better than any console, he faithfully uploaded information at her request - and Dormé - whose face looked increasingly disgruntled as hours into the night, the Senator showed no signs of stopping soon.

"We should start organizing for some new handmaidens," Dormé declared at a point in time.

"Huh?"

"New handmaidens, my lady," Dormé said rather sharply. "For your office."

Some of Padmé's peaceful numbness faded. She gave her handmaiden an unhappy look. "So soon?"

Dormé shared the look. "We can't postpone it forever."

Padmé sighed and turned back to her work.

"It's quite late, my lady," Dormé said gently. "You should retire."

Padmé sighed again. "I will in a moment, Dormé. You can go ahead and put things in place for the night. You go, too, Artoo."

Dormé went at once. Artoo followed more reluctantly, beeping dissatisfactory. Padmé scrolled steadily down the datapad she was reading, jotted some notes in her typepad, and then closed the two. She arranged the desk carefully so that she would know where she stopped the next day, then got up and stretched. She left her desk and paced along the walls of the room.

Like everywhere else in her home, the private office was beautiful and tastefully decorated. Padmé had had it painted yellow when she resumed office as Senator, to feel as comfortable in it as she had at her own study desk back at home. She spent more time in this office than she did her sleeping chambers and it was for good reason that she made a lot of effort to make it feel like home. There were holos of her family placed strategically on the walls between art figurines and one-dimensional paintings. She looked at Sola's for a long time and finally decided against calling her sister that evening. Padmé had not quite forgiven her sister's insensitivity the day before, even though Sola probably had no idea just how painful to Padmé, her teasing had been. Also, right now, Padmé preferred a tactless, playful Sola to a compassionate, protective one.

There was a small ornate mirror by the window overlooking the courtyard. Padmé glanced at and quickly away from her still-pale, unhappy face and looked down at the beautiful gardens below, then further towards the distant mountains that stood against the skyline

How she loved Naboo, she thought suddenly. Her beautiful home. No sacrifice was too much for it.

She turned away from the window, her eyes glancing again at the mirror.

And she froze completely.

Standing behind her reflection, his dark figure silhouetted against the sun-colored walls, was Anakin Skywalker.