Chapter Fourteen
The Best Laid Schemes
The wide expanse of sky that blanketed the unique architecture of the city of Theed darkened to a smoky violet as twilight descended, bringing the first few hesitant stars that flickered like tiny candle flames as the topaz gleam of the sun sank into the ebony horizon. The cobblestone streets of Naboo's capital were quiet at this time of night – many families were gathering in their homes, seated around their dinner tables and preparing to eat while discussing the day's activities.
A light sprung forth in a small room inside one such dwelling, and the muted whirr of computer circuitry filled the stillness, drowning out the evening songs of insects. Soft blue light bathed the careworn yet beautiful face of a woman seated before a communications terminal. The thin lines around her dark eyes and mouth are a subtle tribute to her age, but there is not one strand of silver within her thick brown hair, twisted elegantly atop her head. Brow furrowed with worry, she called up the appropriate screen to reach her goal, keying in a passcode when asked. There was a brief second of silence, and then a three-dimensional image appeared, projected into the air between the terminal and her face. It was the head and shoulders of a younger woman, long ringlets pooling around her slim neck and cascading down her back, blinking large, serious eyes even as an affectionate smile curved her full lips.
Jobal Naberrie found herself reluctantly smiling back at the hologram of her youngest child, and the resemblance between the two women was uncanny in that particular moment. Padmé began to speak, and Jobal watched her facial expressions, determined to yet again unearth some clue, or a hidden message, within her daughter's words.
"Mom – it was so good to hear from you and Papa. I feel like I haven't seen either of you in a lifetime. I miss you both so much. How are Sola and Darred? Is Ryoo planning to enter the Relief Program this year? And how does Pooja like her Primary classes? I know you want me to visit soon, and I wish that I could come right this minute – but…there are things that need my attention here."
The holographic representation of Padmé sighed deeply, looking aside for a moment, and Jobal leaned forward, studying the brief wash of melancholy sadness that covered her daughter's face.
"It seems as if this war will never end. I hate being such a pessimist – but I sometimes wish that I had taken your advice three years ago and left my position in the Senate. But then again…"
It was at this point in the recorded message that something occurred to puzzle Jobal. Padmé, apparently lost in thought, started fiddling with a delicate chain around her neck, holding a small object attached to the necklace in her palm.
"The Republic is changing, Mom – and I do not believe that it will be a good change. In my time as Queen, I always thought of Chancellor Palpatine as a good man – a true democrat and empathizing countryman of Naboo. Now, though…I hardly recognize him. I must do what I can to guarantee the preservation of social equality, and fight this war on familiar battleground."
The ghost of a smile flitted across her lips, and quickly died as Padmé murmured with low urgency, her eyes gleaming with an indefinable emotion, "I have some things to tell you, Mom – to tell all of you. It's just too risky over comm channels; I have to speak to you in person. I will try to come home in the next few weeks. I won't be able to contact you beforehand – I may show up at your door in the middle of the night. Please don't worry for me, Mom, I'll explain everything when I arrive, I promise. I love you."
The hologram faded in a dim burst of static, the outline of Padmé's earnest, and almost desperate expression still glowing before Jobal's stare. She leaned back in her chair, battling the intense swell of anxiety that had threatened to overwhelm her since she received the message two weeks ago. She had not heard a word from her daughter in all this time; not after the invasion of the Separatist fleet and the Chancellor's botched abduction, not after the raid on the Jedi Temple, and not after Palpatine's declaration of instating the Empire before the Senate. Jobal felt a burning stab of anger. As Naboo's Senator, Padmé surely had many obligations to fulfill, but in light of everything that had happened, she could have found a spare minute to let her family know that she was safe.
But the choking rush of fear swiftly silenced the anger. Every time that Padmé did not make contact with her family, it was due to the fact that her life was in danger. Her daughter had expressed her distrust of Palpatine, and she had stated fervently that she had something to tell them – something that she deemed greatly important. Every politician made enemies, within and without their circles of influence, and Padmé was no different. And it was common knowledge of Padmé's support of the Jedi Order as a whole; she felt indebted to them for their aid during the blockade crisis thirteen years ago, and Jedi had been assigned to protect her from assassins shortly before this horrible war engulfed the galaxy. From an analytical perspective, the notion that Padmé was cloistered from the rest of the galaxy due to her diplomatic connections in light of the current political climate was an acceptable theory.
It did not explain what Jobal had witnessed as a mother.
Padmé had spoken of changes in the Republic and Chancellor Palpatine with a new edge. It was less the critical assertion of a Senator and more the concerned musing of a woman with a higher calling on her life than her career – with something else to protect than just the democratic proceedings of government.
It was personal.
And the nervous habit she had developed of playing with her necklace – a necklace that Jobal had never seen before. Padmé had so many gowns and decorative attire for Senatorial affairs, as well as the jewels and baubles to accommodate them. She was not a materialistic person, so she rarely became attached to any one possession; she claimed that it kept her viewpoint focused on the people and not the opulence.
A habit like that could only have come about by continual wear, which meant that the necklace had an intimate link to her daughter. And that assumption brought Padmé's message into a whole new light.
Jobal had her suspicions – suspicions that she dare not voice to anyone, even her husband.
Padmé was self-sacrificing and noble by nature, but she also had a great capacity for love…as well as the deep desire for her own family – a desire that she thought she had kept hidden from her mother.
She insisted time and again that her work in the Senate prevented her from forming a lasting relationship, and Jobal agreed that it was true, to a certain degree. Indeed, Jobal could recall only one instance when she saw Padmé open up to a man in her presence.
The Jedi with flashing blue eyes. The one who had accompanied her to Naboo as a bodyguard over three years ago. Anakin, she had introduced him as.
Jobal had since deduced that the Jedi Padawan assigned to protect her daughter was indeed Anakin Skywalker, The Hero With No Fear, and the most recognized Jedi in the known universe thanks to his various exploits during the war. He was a visually striking young man – tall, broad-shouldered and charismatic even in silence, he reassured the populace with his mere presence – and was frequently seen in the company of Chancellor Palpatine. Remembering Padmé's expressed fears about the Chancellor, it was perfectly logical to believe that she was concerned about his relationship with Anakin, whom she had confessed to her sister Sola was a dear friend. Jobal often wished that she was able to accept that.
But the memory of that young Jedi in her home was seared upon her mind. She recalled the energy that seemed to emanate from his wiry, muscular frame. The brilliant grin that lit up a room. The tenseness in his wide shoulders as he sat beside Padmé at their table. And the way his piercing blue gaze appeared drawn to her daughter like a magnet – never straying for more than a few seconds.
Sola had voiced her mother's opinion as well as her own: "It's obvious he has feelings for you."
As much as Padmé feigned indifference and brushed aside Sola's teasing remarks, Jobal had clearly seen the mutual attraction sparking between the two. But Jedi were not permitted to marry, and Padmé was a highly respected public figure. Even if the feelings existed, and Anakin disregarded the Order's mandate – which she considered an impossibility since Jedi were known for their rigid self-discipline – Padmé was a smart, practical woman. A smart, practical woman who had never truly been in love.
Jobal had scarcely allowed herself to think through her assumptions, and she glanced over a shoulder towards the closed door apprehensively, convinced that at any moment her husband Ruwee would barge in and demand an explanation. She took a deep breath and let the thought resurface.
Love was unpredictable. And if her levelheaded, intelligent daughter had suddenly found herself as the object of a handsome young man's undivided attention for whom she harbored unspoken feelings…Jedi or no, the consequences could be disastrous if they chose to act upon those feelings.
The signs were all there – any mother would see them.
The careful way Padmé held herself as she walked into the Senate Rotunda on a Holonet news feed Jobal had watched last week, her body swaying slightly as she readjusted her posture. The increased roundness to her heart-shaped face, and the voluminous clothing that she now seemed to prefer were all barely discernable hints hidden in plain sight. Her Padmé – her brave, beautiful little girl – was expecting.
She inwardly scolded herself that her conclusion was strictly hypothetical and based loosely on simple observation, and guilt caused a wince to crease her forehead that she even considered the possibility Padmé would behave so irresponsibly with any man – not to mention a celebrated Jedi war hero. And yes, that too was a hypothetical assumption, but in Jobal's mind, there was no doubt that if her daughter was indeed with child, the baby's parentage was beyond questioning.
This was the reason why Jobal refused to breathe a word of her thoughts to anyone – for the truth was rarely present in the gossip network encircling the Senate – and if the supposed scandalous relationship of a Jedi Knight and a Galactic Senator was splashed across Holonet feeds throughout the Republic, whether it was true or not…would destroy Padmé's reputation and Jedi Skywalker's very way of life. Jobal could not bear to risk that kind of harsh exposure upon her beloved daughter with one careless remark. Her only wish was that Padmé had come to her and trusted her with whatever circumstances were shaping her life.
And that brought her to the secondary goal for this evening.
Jobal straightened in her seat, brushing her fingertips across the skin under her eyes to check for stray traces of moisture, and pressed a button on the control panel. A tiny green indicator light flared into existence and she stared unblinking at the screen. "Padmé, I know that you told me not to worry, but I am afraid that I can no longer meet your request. It's been two weeks since we've heard from you, and all of us are anxious for your reply. Please, Padmé –" Jobal leaned forward, quietly pleading, "I know you must have a lot on your mind, and that Coruscant has never been a very safe place for you, but please…please let us know that you are all right, regardless of what your security captain thinks." She firmed her mouth into a thin line, trying to conceal the trembling in her lips. "We love you, Padmé – always remember that. Come home soon, dear."
She swiftly touched the screen, ending the recording session, and cupped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasping sob. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she thumbed the transceiver button, and the message went on its way to join its numerous predecessors – all of which had gone unanswered. But she continued to hope. It was all she had left.
The door clicked softly, and a small, hushed voice called, "Grandmama? It's time for dinner."
Jobal sniffed and wiped her eyes, her expression shifting into a warm, bright smile as she turned to face the doorway. "Thank you, Pooja, I'll be right there."
Her eight year-old granddaughter hesitated for a second, and then crept into the room, her round face full of worry. Her father Darred's intelligent green eyes peered up at Jobal curiously, and the soft yellow light of the room glinted gold on her curly hair as she asked, "Did you get a message from Aunt Padmé?"
Jobal worked to keep her expression soft and open, reaching out to take Pooja's small hand in her own, and replied soothingly, "Aunt Padmé is very busy, sweetheart, and it might not be safe for her to talk to us right now. You remember why that is?" Pooja nodded with innocent seriousness; her mother had explained that Aunt Padmé was an important Senator and a lot of bad things were happening, so she could not come because she wanted them to be safe. Pooja did not really understand why anyone would want to hurt her Aunt Padmé, but she wished that she would come home soon so that Grandmama didn't have to be sad anymore.
Her young face brightened suddenly, and she grinned at Jobal. "Aunt Padmé will come visit soon, Grandmama – know why?" Jobal slowly shook her head. Pooja's little chin rose in triumph as she announced, "Because Aunt Padmé has never missed my birthday party!"
Her Grandmama laughed, and drew her in close for a warm hug. "Well then," Jobal murmured, kissing the top of Pooja's head, "I guess we'll see Aunt Padmé in five days, wishing a very happy birthday to nine year-old Pooja Naberrie." The little girl pulled away, looking so self-assured and smug that Jobal had to hold back a giggle, and allowed Pooja to urge her to her feet. She followed her granddaughter into the dining room, where the rest of the Naberrie family was already seated around the large rectangular table.
Ruwee's pale blue eyes found his wife as soon as she entered, and Jobal smiled at him softly, hoping to erase the concern in his loving gaze. Her oldest daughter Sola bustled out of the kitchen, setting a bowl filled with small loaves of bread on the table and calling for her husband to bring in the salad.
Pooja paraded happily to her seat, silently celebrating her success of the "mission" her Grandpapa had given, and flashed Ruwee a cheeky grin. He winked, the gesture unnoticed by Jobal as eleven year-old Ryoo wrapped her slender arms around her Grandmama's waist in an exuberant hug. Jobal gently stroked her oldest grandchild's dark brown hair, even as the movement called forth an image of Padmé as a child, and settled in her chair on the end of the table, opposite Ruwee. Padmé's chair was no longer conspicuously empty – Pooja had enthusiastically volunteered to fill that spot, which placed her beside Sola and at her grandfather's elbow, and she promptly began to talk his ear off around mouthfuls of food.
Jobal could not help but notice that her remaining family members were unusually quiet.
Sola gamely attempted to draw out a conversation with her mother, and Jobal responded as best she could – all the while observing the darting glances her oldest child shared with Darred from across the table.
Ryoo was picking her way through the meal, looking down at her plate, a curtain of brown hair hiding her expression. Jobal knew that the young girl was worried about the classes she was missing; Sola and Darred had withdrawn Ryoo and Pooja from school for a few weeks to avoid unpleasant questions about their missing aunt – and because the adults in their lives were growing concerned about some of the rumors circulating through Theed in regards to "educational reform."
Change had indeed come upon the Republic, exactly as Padmé had predicted – and it was not a good change, no matter how much sugar coating the Emperor's words about "ensuring security and continuing stability" placed on an obviously staged political coup. And those thoughts only served to awaken the marrow-chilling dread for her silent, youngest child. Oh, Padmé, Jobal lamented inwardly, what have you become involved in that you have to disappear – cut yourself off from the people who love you?
She suddenly felt a pair of questioning eyes studying her from across the room, and resolutely picked up her fork, determined to finish her meal even though she was not hungry.
Dessert was a quiet affair – more subdued than dinner, which hardly seemed possible – and the family worked together to clear the table. When Jobal began to roll up her sleeves to start washing the dishes, Sola pressed a steaming cup of caria tea into her hands and shooed her into the sitting room.
Jobal settled onto the plush, cream-colored settee and stared out the window, the lightly floral scent of the tea wafting upwards from the liquid's surface. The silver-blue glow of Naboo's three moons, Ohma D'un, Rori and Tasia, cast triple shadows of tree leaves upon the garden located on the southeast side of their property. She could just make out the dark silhouette of Ruwee, standing beside the low hedges and gazing up at the sky. He told her that he went out there to gather his thoughts of the day, but Jobal knew better. He went out there to worry about Padmé, so no one else – especially his wife – would see.
She sipped at her tea, its herbal remedy dulling the razor-sharp edge of her anxiety, and she looked up when two small shadows fell across her lap. "We're going to go to bed now, Grandmama," Ryoo explained with quiet seriousness, her large brown eyes radiating concern, but her expression was thoughtful.
Jobal smiled at her and set aside her cup. "Come give me a hug, then," she said, opening her arms. Both Ryoo and Pooja crowded into their grandmother's embrace, and she kissed their foreheads, whispering in their ears, "Sleep well, my dear ones. Dream happy dreams." Each girl simultaneously laid a kiss on her cheeks, and she reluctantly let them slip from her arms, watching wistfully as Ryoo took her sister's hand and led her upstairs. Pooja waved over the banister just before she vanished from view, and a deep, soft voice issued from the hallway.
"Girls heading off to bed?"
Jobal nodded, retrieving her cup from the nearest table and stared down at the amber-colored liquid. "They looked tired. And I suppose I didn't realize how late it is."
She felt Ruwee settle his weight on the cushion next to her, his eyes on her face as he remarked, "The air seems cooler tonight; I guess spring hasn't quite arrived yet."
"It will come when it is time. Just like it always does."
A large hand framed her cheek and gently pulled her face sideways, urging her to meet his eyes. When she finally did, Ruwee spoke tenderly, "Just like Padmé, Jobal. You mustn't worry so much for her; you know she wouldn't like it."
Jobal sighed heavily, leaning into his hand. "I know… But it's been so long, Ruwee. And with everything that's been happening in the capital – Padmé may be an adult now, but I'm still her mother. It's my prerogative to worry about her."
Ruwee chuckled low in his throat, and gave her a brief kiss. "Don't I know it," he teased with a small smile, and slowly dropped his hand from her face. Jobal raised her cup to her lips, sipping cautiously at the hot beverage, and watched Sola and Darred exit the kitchen, carrying their own cups of caria tea, as well as one for Ruwee. Sola handed a cup to her father, who wordlessly nodded thanks and waited only until she and Darred sat down on the settee across from them before he asked, "Well?" His tone was low and dark, saturated with apprehension and a need for clarity, and the atmosphere in the room grew instantly tense.
Darred leaned forward, perched on the edge of the settee, his arms resting on his thighs, his cup cradled in his palms. He recounted in a slow, quiet voice, "I was able to get in touch with some friends from University who now work for RSF, though none of them are currently assigned to the Palace. But," his green eyes lit up, "they were able to contact their friends and give me some answers. I had to call in a lot of favors," he admitted ruefully.
Jobal straightened, her spine stiff with anticipation. RSF was Royal Naboo Security Forces – its loyal men and women were trained to protect the Queen, the Royal Court and dignitaries…and Naboo's Senator. They would have some inkling of her daughter's whereabouts – it was simply what they did.
Ruwee nodded at Darred encouragingly, and not without a measure of impatience, and their son-in-law continued. "According to a Palace Security official, Queen Apailana and her advisors received a communiqué from Padmé a few hours after the emergency Senate session five days ago." His expression saddened, and his gaze shifted from Ruwee to Jobal. "No one has seen or heard from her since."
The air left Jobal's lungs in a rush. All she could do was stare at Darred in horrified disbelief, until Ruwee voiced the question that she was unable to ask. "What do you mean 'no one'?" he demanded fiercely. "What about that Captain assigned to protect her – Typho, that's his name. He doesn't know where she is?"
A dozen emotions flitted across Darred's face, before he settled on worry. He turned sideways to glance at his wife, who was rigid and silent beside him. Her blue eyes met his, and Sola gave him a single nod in assent to his unspoken query. He turned back to face his in-laws, who were watching the exchange in a mixture of suspicion and confusion, and inhaled a deep breath of caria-scented air. "Palpatine has issued an arrest warrant for Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi…on the basis that he is the prime suspect in Padmé's disappearance."
"Suspect?" Jobal whispered hoarsely.
Darred's face was full of apology. "It's been broadcasting all over the HoloNet nonstop. I thought you would have seen it by now." He sighed again. "They're saying that Master Kenobi has kidnapped her."
A harsh gasp erupted in the silence, and Darred swiftly caught Jobal's cup from shattering on the floor as it slid from her trembling fingers. Ruwee's eyes were closed in anguish, and he unconsciously wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders, pulling her shivering body to his side. Jobal had her hand over her mouth, her head slowly shaking from side to side in denial, and tears began to seep from the corners of her eyes. Sola immediately got up from her seat and squeezed in on her mother's opposite side, taking her hand tightly in her own.
Jobal just could not understand; she could not make herself understand.
The Jedi were peacekeepers, not the instigators of a rebellion as Palpatine tried to paint them, and the people of Naboo had nothing but the highest respect for the Order as a whole. Jobal herself held a considerable amount of gratitude for the two Jedi that had assisted her daughter during the blockade crisis, and those who had safeguarded her life from an assassin only a few years ago. Obi-Wan Kenobi had aided Padmé both of those times, and Jobal knew from various conversations with her that she counted the Jedi Master as a good friend. So why, why would a friend abduct someone who may prove to be his only ally in a galaxy determined to exterminate his kind? It made no sense.
"You're right," Sola said, and Jobal realized belatedly that she must have spoken her last thought aloud, "None of this makes any sense at all. A reorganization of the entire Republic constitution? The Jedi accused of treason and wiped out during a skirmish at the Temple? That a Jedi Master would even contemplate an act as ludicrous as taking a Galactic Senator hostage…it's utterly beyond me." Jobal glanced sidelong at her oldest daughter and took in the firmed line of her jaw, the spark of righteous anger in her eyes – and saw the woman that could have become a great leader, just like her sister. "I care not what Palpatine has said about the Jedi. I cannot believe that the Order has become a threat to democracy; the foundation of their philosophy coincides with the very principles the Republic was built upon! Padmé was right about that man – all this was just a ploy to overthrow our system of government, placing himself at the head of a new order and securing his own power!"
"Sola, please!" Darred hissed, waving a hand frantically in an effort to make her lower her voice. "It's not safe to state our opinions of the Emperor, especially the not-so-generous ones!"
Ruwee fixed his son-in-law with a stern, steely-blue glare. "The Naboo have always been peace-loving and diplomatic – but neither have we turned away from supporting the crucial role democracy plays in our society."
"And I'm not saying that we should, Dad," Darred backtracked, breathing out his words in a hushed, hurried tone. "All I'm saying is that the Empire is not like anything we have dealt with before. And if Sola is right about him orchestrating the attack on the Jedi Temple…then we have no idea what else he might be capable of."
"I agree with Sola."
The other three members of the Naberrie family reacted with surprise as Jobal spoke up quietly.
The numbing white fog of shock was comforting to the overwhelmed mind for a time, but she knew that she could not linger there. As much as her worry for Padmé constricted her breath like a heavy weight upon her chest, Jobal was a natural-born pacifist; she was needed to mediate through the friction building within the room. "The Jedi have demonstrated nothing but nobility of spirit and selfless sacrifice throughout this war, and countless millennia before that. And though I have never met Master Kenobi, Padmé speaks very highly of him and his protégé, Jedi Skywalker. I cannot believe that a supposed friend would turn on her in this manner – regardless of circumstances."
Her unassuming tone and mildly assuring statements visibly eased the stiffness in Ruwee's broad shoulders, and Sola squeezed her hand gently in response. Darred gazed at her for a heartbeat, his brows drawn together so they created a crevasse on the center of his forehead, and his mouth flattened to a thin line as he struggled to contain his emotions. What bothered Jobal the most was the pity she could see in the soft green of his eyes. Her heart tightened in sadness. The last four years had robbed Darred – indeed, all of them – of their innocence, and their insulation from the troubles of the Republic. That knowledge showcased itself clearly as her son-in-law muttered darkly, "I don't know what to believe anymore."
Silence hung in the air, dense and oppressive as smog, and Jobal reached for her discarded cup, taking a sip of lukewarm tea – if only for something to do. Darred was hunched over, head bowed with his hands clasped between his knees. Ruwee had his arms crossed tight over his chest, his blue stare unfocused. Sola slowly pulled her hand from her mother's grasp and cleared her throat. As she had expected, everyone awakened from their reverie and looked at her with expectant faces. "I've requested an audience with Queen Apailana."
Her husband appeared uninterested by this news while Ruwee and Jobal blinked at each other in shock. Sola saw the question burning in her father's deep-set eyes, and a satirical, calculating smirk lifted one side of her mouth. "Being the only sibling of Naboo's Senator grants privileges that I have not taken advantage of in the past. I requested the meeting under the guise of a discussion on planetary education clauses, but the Queen undoubtedly knows the real reason for my petition." Turning aside, she rummaged through a low pocket on her burgundy dress and held up a sheet of flimsi embossed with the Royal Crest. "I was given this today. The Queen will receive me at the Palace in two days' time." Jobal made a small noise of dismay, and Sola glanced at her apologetically. "That was the very earliest I could get in to see Apailana."
Jobal gave her a small, half-hearted smile and reached out to pat her oldest daughter's cheek. "I understand, dear. Thank you for making the request – it was very bold of you. Padmé would be proud."
Sola's cobalt eyes clouded with emotion, and her chin quivered slightly before she clenched her jaw and nodded once. Her mother gently withdrew her palm from her cheek, and both of them rotated to face Ruwee as he said grimly, "Hopefully, we will hear from Padmé directly and not have to rely on the Queen for news about her – or HoloNet reports," he added with a hint of irony, and Darred looked up. The two men traded weak, lopsided grins, and mother and daughter exhaled quiet sighs of relief.
Out of habit, Jobal caught a glimpse of the antique chronometer sitting atop a high shelf on the wall, and had to do a double take to process the current time being displayed. "I think it's well past time for all of us to be in bed." She rose gracefully to her feet, and the others sporadically followed suit, Sola swiping her cup from her hands and gathering the rest to be carried into the kitchen. Darred bid his in-laws good night and headed towards the stairs, planning to check on the girls as he made his way to the guest room. Ruwee shuffled over to a keypad on the far wall and began prepping the security system, and Sola returned from the kitchen, enfolding her mother in a brief, warm hug.
Jobal clung to her for a moment, wishing futilely that she could wrap her arms around her youngest child as well. They slowly broke apart, and then made their way upstairs, leaving Ruwee to turn off the lights. The security computer beeped softly, indicating that the system was set for overnight watch, and Padmé's father powered down the sitting room lamps. Silver-blue light streamed in through the gauzy curtains on the windows, and he paused to glance outside at the inky black sky. Millions of white pinpoints glittered like specks of diamond, and the city was bathed in a luminous glow – peaceful and oblivious to trouble as it slept. Ruwee let the curtain fall back into place, feeling exhausted, and yet wondering bleakly how he would ever fall asleep with so many worries humming in his brain. The remaining member of the Naberrie family walked up the stairs, guided by the silvery moonlight, the image of the sleeping city floating across his vision as he readied for bed.
Had he kept gazing out of the window, he would have seen a shadowy figure glide from beneath a stone archway right beside the house, and vanish into the night.
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The aural monitor retracted its tiny metallic claws from the weathered stone of the archway, and his thumb slid sideways to power down the device. Unhooking the small earpiece from his lobe, he tucked the equipment into a pocket and silently counted to a hundred. A thick cluster of ivy leaves, gleaming silver in the light, offered him some cover as he peered up at the sitting room window. Confident that no one was watching, he ducked out of the archway and sprinted on soundless feet towards the southeast. He had been this way many times, and was unconcerned of any citizens being awake to observe his actions given the lateness of the hour. He missed Coruscant in that respect. Coruscant never slept – its activities were endless, its heart constantly throbbing to the point of agitation. But he could appreciate the easygoing, albeit naïve disposition of Nubians. As a people, they seemed to have learned to set aside their struggles for a few hours and let the night pass them by in slumber. In an odd, almost perverse way, he envied them.
Commander Cody slowed his pace as he neared his destination, mentally reviewing the conversations he had heard among Senator Amidala's family. He had determined some days ago that none of the Naberries had any idea of the Senator's whereabouts, which hardly surprised him after viewing the datachip that the Emperor had given him. Senator Amidala was keeping a great many secrets from those who shared her blood. He wondered how she had been able to lie for so long, to mask the truth from those who deserved her unwavering allegiance.
Cody might not understand the intimate workings of a nuclear family, but he understood loyalty to blood.
With that in mind, he pondered the child's presumptuous statement about her birthday – and what action to take in response. Pooja Naberrie was only eight standard years old, but she did assert herself quite confidently in regards to a visit from Amidala. Even if nothing came from it, he could not let an opportunity of this magnitude go unexplored. Five days, he reminded himself. It was more than enough time to prepare, and the team of ARC troopers he had assembled were the very best.
Cody reached a small brownstone building approximately five blocks from the Naberrie residence, and rapped twice on the wooden door in quick succession. The door swung open towards the inside, and Deuce nodded once, his body angled slightly behind the frame. "Commander," he greeted, and Cody was pleased to see him reholster his blaster pistol. It was rewarding to know that he did not let his guard down for one second, even on this "sleepy little garden-planet" as his tactical officer, Faust, had dubbed Naboo.
That clone was situated in a far corner of the main room, surrounded by circuit panels and holographic displays of Theed, the Palace, the Naberrie's house, the planet, and the entire Chommell Sector. He looked up briefly as Cody entered and informed, "No updates to report, Commander." Faust leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head in a casual gesture and heaved a bored sigh. Cody raised an eyebrow at his fellow trooper, but did not reprimand him on account of his cavalier behavior for two reasons.
One, all of these ARCs were used to the battlefield, the nonstop action of warfare – it was, for lack of a better term, what they had been born to do. Cody alone knew the true motivation for this mission, and he was strictly prohibited from sharing the information recorded on the datachip with anyone. So he allowed the others to believe that they were here to baby-sit a missing Senator's family in the hope that a lead would crop up and pinpoint her location.
And two, no standard-issue foot soldier clone was capable of conducting himself in the same manner as an ARC trooper – it simply was not written in their genetic code. ARC troopers had been granted a bit more leniency in the docile part of the Kaminoans' cloning techniques; they were more of an individual than a drone – but according to Taun We, the head geneticist, nowhere near as self-reliant as the original host.
Cody had never met the man from whom the entire Great Army of the Republic had sprung – all he knew was that his name was Jango Fett, a Mandalorian bounty hunter who had been killed by a Jedi during the Battle of Geonosis. Rumors had circulated the training facilities that Fett had taken a clone and raised him as a son as part of his payment. Cody wondered where the boy was now, and if he would ever get the chance to meet him.
Irrelevant, Cody's combat education spurned the wayward thought from his mind, and he headed into the next room. It might have been a bedroom at one time, but now it was filled wall-to-wall with a communications array – complete with a relay dish poised just inside the large window frame. Three large computer screens displayed encryption sequences scrolling left to right, and pale blue light illuminated the alert, intent expression on another clone's face as he stared at the central screen.
Relay was a fairly new ARC – created only fourteen months ago and relatively untested in the field. But that was not why Cody had chosen him. Relay had been created with a small batch of clones using an experimental process that injected a concentrated protein into the brain to increase the number of cells. The Kaminoans deduced that the protein would stimulate heightened intelligence and introduce a new, smarter breed of clones into the GAR. Unfortunately, if the protein was administered either too early or too late during the developmental process, the brain would overload, resulting in instant death, or the protein would be absorbed into the cerebrum and cause cognitive damage. By the time the geneticists got it right, Relay and four others were the only ones to survive – out of a group of five thousand embryos.
In Cody's book, that made Relay an invaluable asset.
"Any new developments?" Cody asked, approaching Relay's motionless form.
As he expected, the clone straightened his posture and spun to face him, assuming the respectful stance of a soldier addressing a ranking officer. "Yes, sir. The Alpha Fleet has been diverted to Yaga Minor and –"
"Just the basics, Relay," Cody said with the barest hint of irritability. Relay nodded stiffly, and Cody added quietly, "And at ease."
Relay's shoulders relaxed, and he turned sideways to point at a seemingly random strand of encryption on the screen. "All of our searches are coming up empty, sir. The Vanquish just returned from Ilum and reported that the crystal caves are devoid of life, with no indication of recent activity, and the Justice's Fist finished the sweep of the Mid Rim worlds." He stretched far to the right, waving a hand at the next screen. "Nothing of consequence has come through the documented smuggling comm channels – just the normal interactions regarding spice shipments and other black market goods. And –" He jabbed a finger in the opposite direction, at the left-hand screen, which appeared positively cluttered with strands of code compared to the others, "I'm still working on separating the algorithms for the unknown channels and until I get a fix on the patterns, I really can't translate the individual codes." Relay seemed slightly crestfallen at admitting this, and gave the computer screen an angry glare.
Cody pulled the aural monitor out of his pocket, calmly remarking, "Keep working on it. I have another recording for you to add to the archive." He set the device on the tabletop beside Relay. "And start programming a remote transceiver to interlink with a Nubian personal communications terminal – the smallest one you can find. Have it ready by 0900 tomorrow evening."
He left Relay to his work, exiting out into the hallway, and the smell of warming rations filtered throughout the dwelling. His stomach reacted to the scent of food, but Cody ignored it for the moment, searching the perimeter for Deuce.
The sergeant was in the midst of inventorying their equipment cache, and glanced up when Cody entered, expressionless as he closed the door behind him. "What can I do for you, Commander?" Deuce was growing more at ease in his presence, and Cody did not know whether to address it or not – for he had to admit with some measure of resentment that he was beginning to rely on the sergeant's problem-solving expertise far too much.
Nevertheless, Cody continued with his present course of action by replying, "I have a covert assignment for you to undertake, Sergeant."
Deuce became perfectly still, and he watched his commanding officer with a mixture of curiosity and excitement; the monotony was starting to affect him, as well. "Tomorrow night, you will enter the Naberrie residence, slice into their comm terminal and download all archived messages, and attach a remote transceiver inside the control panel."
"I should think that Relay would be able to handle this kind of assignment, Commander." The comment was delivered with Deuce's usual stoicism, but Cody detected the minute traces of sarcasm.
Cody shook his head. "Relay is more than capable of handling the technical side, but he lacks the stealth required for this assignment. He will show you how to operate the transceiver and make sure that it is set to the proper frequency. Then we will no longer have to eavesdrop to obtain the information we need." He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling strangely confident in his plan. "The transceiver will transmit all incoming messages to our communications array, and Relay should be able to hack into Palace encryption and trace any signals back to their source."
Deuce's brow rose impressively, and once more, Cody was reminded that he had made the right choice in selecting Relay as a member of his team. "Once the source is located," he explained, "we'll hail the nearest Star Destroyer and send it on an intercept course. Then…" A grim smile twisted Cody's scarred face, "…it's only a matter of time."
------------
Personally, Padmé thought that her plan was a stroke of pure genius.
The message had been sent a few hours ago, using Artoo's heavily encrypted transmitter, and both he and Anakin had assured her that it reached its destination. Now, all they had to do was wait.
Patience was definitely not Ani's forte – he had left her and the twins shortly after forcing down a quick meal, informing Padmé that he was headed for the hangar bay to "tinker" with the skiff's starboard engine, which he said was performing below average. Padmé stifled a giggle as she remembered how Artoo had whistled in confusion that he was unaware of any problems, and then Anakin slapped his domed head, to which the astromech droid had responded with an electronic razz. The pair had left with the echoes of rapid tootles and her husband's boisterous laughter traveling down the MedCenter hall, and not ten minutes later Padmé received a most welcome visitor.
Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan had enfolded her in a warm hug that matched the friendly glow in his dark eyes as he congratulated her. Now they were chatting comfortably to while away the time – Bail sitting in the only chair in the room, and Padmé reclining on the bed, a baby tucked in her arms and the other nestled in the crib. He was homeward bound as soon as Captain Antilles declared that the ship was ready for departure, but he had asked to speak with Padmé before he left. She was a trusted colleague in the Senate, a woman of noble character in an increasingly corrupt government, and above all, she was a dear friend. And he had no idea when he might see her again.
Yoda had briefly explained the plan to Bail so that he might contribute when the time came, and he also intimated how vitally important it was that Padmé's twins remained hidden from the Emperor. He was now an exclusive member of a secret that could bring down an Empire – a secret that stemmed from the parentage of two tiny infants.
He could see the bewilderment that Padmé kept almost successfully concealed in the depths of her velvety brown eyes when he merely nodded as she confessed her marriage to Anakin Skywalker, naming him as the father of her babies. He remained amiable and polite, and waited for the question to bubble out of her.
Finally, she remarked in a casual tone that belied her interest, "You do not seem as surprised as I expected."
"Over what?" Bail asked, a glint of humor in his stare.
"That I am married to a Jedi Knight – a famous Jedi Knight, who is forbidden by his credo to have any type of intimate relationship – and am the mother of his children." She looked at him expectantly, eyebrows arched high on her forehead, awaiting an explanation for his nonchalance.
He was quiet for a moment, gazing at her with a dubious expression that made her feel like she was trying to convince him that he had the mental capacity of a Kowakian monkey-lizard, and she shifted uncomfortably. Then he snorted softly and shook his head at her in mock-disappointment, as if she were a child that had been caught with her hand in the sweets jar. "I am a politician, after all, Padmé. I notice and expect subterfuge wherever I go – and am usually quite good at determining the cause." A wide grin lit up his bearded face. "I had my suspicions for a while about you and Anakin Skywalker. I don't think you realize how much the mere mention of his name affects you, though you hide it well. But the nature of your self-stated "friendship" with Anakin became clear to me only a week ago." His grin softened as he glimpsed the puzzlement on Padmé's face, and he continued, "You forget that I was there on the landing platform when Anakin and Kenobi arrived with the Chancellor. I was speaking to Anakin, thanking him for his aid, when he became…distracted. It took only a split second – but I noticed him glance sideways, and he excused himself a minute later."
Padmé felt the blood drain from her cheeks. She recalled their passionate reunion within the shadows of an enormous column in the Senate Complex Main Hall with astonishing clarity. Bail resumed quietly, "I followed the delegation down the hall, listening to his footsteps as they quickened to a run, and the hushed, urgent whispers that followed…and I chanced a glance over my shoulder, driven purely by intense curiosity."
Her eyes slid closed in humiliation. She could just imagine what Bail had seen – Anakin's tall, broad-shouldered frame embracing her slight, slender body, their lips melded together in a feverish kiss…the Jedi and the Senator, engaged in an act that could ignite the gossiping tongues of the galaxy. Fear soured in her stomach as she wondered if others had seen them that day. The entire Complex had been infested with HoloNet reporters, Senators, aides, and numerous other beings. She had warned Anakin to be more careful, but he hadn't listened – and neither had she. She had just been so consumed by her need for him…
A warm, gentle hand touched hers, and Padmé's eyes snapped open. Bail was leaning towards her, his expression full of compassion and understanding. "I saw only because I had suspicions, Padmé, nothing more. I doubt anyone else had the same insight into your private life that I received that day – the Hall was nearly emptied at that point." He squeezed her hand, and his gaze transformed into one that seemed to plead. "I would never use my knowledge of your relationship to Anakin against you, Padmé. My first thought, when I realized that it was you in his arms…was delight. Yes," he said in response to Padmé's jerk of surprise, "I was glad that you had found someone to give your heart – someone with whom you already shared a deep connection. And I told no one of what I had witnessed, or even of my suspicions. Your secret will remain one as long as you wish – at least coming from me." He smiled then, and Padmé found herself smiling in return, the icy stabs of fear melting under the warmth of his heartfelt words.
Laying her other hand on top of his, she spoke earnestly, "I know that you could never in good conscience use my love for Anakin against me. You are a good man, Bail Organa."
His smile widened briefly, and then he slowly withdrew his hand, sitting back in his seat. "Then let us move on to the next order of business." In the blink of an eye, Bail's entire countenance grew serious - exactly as he had appeared five days ago at the emergency Senate session. "I wanted to let you know that things have been set in motion."
Padmé's brow wrinkled in confusion, and she tilted her head slightly. "Things?"
He nodded once, his eyes suddenly burning with intensity. "You remember what we spoke of a few days ago in your apartment? About the preservation of democracy?"
Her lips parted in shock, eyes widening, and the memory of that conversation swept through her mind in a rush. She was instantly transported back to the small salon in her apartment, surrounded by fellow Senators who had proven to be beings of integrity. They spoke of forcing the Chancellor's hand diplomatically and reverting the constitution to its original state – of making a stand and drafting a petition, signed by two thousand Senators who thought that it was past time for Palpatine to lay aside his emergency powers.
Then Bail had said something that made all of them fidget in their places – save for Padmé, who had felt weighted with a sudden onslaught of dread:
"We can't sit around debating any longer – we have decided to do what we can to stop it. Senator Mon Mothma and I are putting together an organization…"
" Say no more, Senator Organa, I understand. At this point, it's better to leave some things unsaid."
She had seen it in Bail's face, and in Mon Mothma's normally placid blue eyes. They were prepared to do far more than sign petitions or conduct clandestine meetings among like-minded Senators. "An organization" meant taking action, and taking action could only have one definition – one that caused a myriad of conflicting emotions to flare inside Padmé's heart.
Rebellion.
A low whine emerged from the infant clutched in her arms, and Leia's tiny brow crinkled as she stared up at her mother, reacting to the feelings emanating from Padmé as only an exceptionally gifted Force Sensitive could. Yet Padmé was oblivious to her daughter's distress for the moment – so consumed was she by her own. She reached out and seized Bail's hand, her knuckles whitening with strain, and begged, "Bail, please, don't do anything foolish."
The corners of his mouth lifted in a self-depreciating smile. "It's a little late for that."
Her anxiety mounted; heart thudding in her ears, Padmé was dimly aware of Leia's fussing and automatically began to rock the newborn gently in an effort to soothe her. It did no good. Speaking in a fierce, rapid murmur, Padmé retorted, "Palpatine is no mere politician; he is a Sith Lord. He has the ability to command the Force, as well as enough military might to overturn every level of civilization in the galaxy. It is a very dangerous gambit to orchestrate a rebellion, even if it is in its infancy. If Palpatine were to discover you…" She barely suppressed a shiver, unable to finish the sentence. Anakin was extremely reluctant to share with her the full capabilities of a Sith Lord – most likely because the memory of acidic golden eyes blazing within his handsome face was not one that she could easily forget. What he did share had been enough to frost the blood in her veins.
It had happened quite suddenly, with no conscious effort on his part or hers; she had only mentioned how beneficial it might be for Bail to know the extent of Palpatine's Force powers – Anakin's expression darkened, and he turned aside – and the images invaded her skull.
Blue-white lightning erupting from aged fingertips, crashing against an amethyst lightsaber blade with stunning ferocity, the brilliance causing her to flinch from the harsh glare.
The gasp that had escaped from her lips made Anakin jump, startled, and he swiftly glanced at her, about to ask what was wrong… He took one look at her pale features, the shock in her brown eyes, and he knew.
He was at her side in an instant; wrapping her in his arms and apologizing repeatedly for something he had no control over. "I never wanted you to see that," he had murmured in her ear – and for once, Padmé could fully appreciate his compulsive need to shield her from what he considered dangerous or harmful.
She pulled her thoughts from the recollection as she felt the small body cradled against her own squirming and twisting, and Leia's groans were becoming steadily louder. But she continued to hold Bail's stare, silently urging him to reconsider this particular course of action, until he looked down at her daughter. His stern, defiant expression melted, and he asked softly, "May I?" He began reaching for Leia.
Padmé blinked, and then nodded, helping him settle Leia's feather-light weight into his arms. The grumbles and groans quieted as soon as the youngest Skywalker glimpsed an unfamiliar face hovering above her, and she studied the Senator with surprising directness for one so new to the universe. Bail smiled widely as he remarked, "She has her mother's eyes." Gazing down into those innocent chestnut orbs, he said in a low, quiet voice, "Breha and I always wanted to have a child of our own. We talked of it for years, and even picked out names…until we found out that it was impossible for us to conceive. I wish we had known sooner – and perhaps had been spared the heartache and the pain of too many miscarriages."
Padmé winced in sympathy; she could scarcely imagine what Alderaan's queen had gone through during such a difficult time, and how hard it must have been for Bail.
"But even though this precious child is not my own," he continued, his tone still low, but burgeoning with intensity, "I would do anything within my power – even give up my very life – to ensure that she and all the children in this galaxy do not grow up under the iron fist of the Empire." He looked up at Padmé, his dark stare boring into her own. "I have placed my hope in the future, Padmé…and your children represent that future – the one that I dream of when I cross political boundaries and place my career, and my life, in danger. I know what is at stake." His eyes fell to the tiny, unblinking newborn nestled in his embrace, and added in a hushed whisper, "I know that all too well."
Tears blurred the edges of Padmé's vision, her heart swelling into a lump in her throat, and she wordlessly accepted Leia back into her arms, watching the face of the most upright, virtuous man she had ever encountered in her entire political career. She could see the rebirth of integrity and fair dealing in his words about the future, and more than anything, she saw a true friend that understood the risks that Palpatine and his Empire presented to her family – to all families everywhere. Bail's very nature compelled him to fight against injustice, and in that respect, he was very much like Anakin. Perhaps that was the reason why Ani was able to converse so openly with Bail, despite his constantly professed dislike of politicians – because on some instinctive level, he realized that the Senator of Alderaan was a kindred spirit.
Padmé blinked away the moisture clouding her eyes and began to suggest, "If there is ever anything I can do…"
Bail held up a hand, palm outward, and gently shook his head. "I could never bring myself to ask. You have done more than enough for our cause, Padmé – and for that, I am deeply grateful. What you need to focus on now is taking care of your children and keeping them safe. There will come a time," he added with a small smile, echoing her words from that terrible day in the Senate Rotunda.
A sharp trill, like a bird's call, interrupted the silence. Bail retrieved a small, tubular communicator from his belt, and Leia's head turned towards the strange noise. "Yes, Captain?"
"Viceroy Organa," Captain Antilles used Bail's formal title out of habit, "The ship is ready for departure. Shall we prepare for launch?"
"Indeed. I shall be down presently." He clipped the device to his belt and looked over at Padmé, only to see that she had set Leia in the crib and was cautiously rising to her feet. Bail was at her side in one long stride, and linked her arm companionably through his, waiting until she felt steady before moving.
Together, they walked towards the door. Seeing the underlying tension on her face, Bail mildly joked, "I don't know if I can ever think of you as a Skywalker…though your knack for trouble seems to fit the name's reputation."
She laughed, and the sound was filled with genuine amusement – it sparkled in the air as she replied, "I admit that I sometimes find myself acting more impetuous than any self-respecting Senator should. Anakin must be a bad influence."
Bail's expression was saturated with warmth. "Good," was all he said, and Padmé felt a blush stain her cheeks. They paused at the threshold to the hallway, and Bail gently guided her arm through his and stood in front of her, holding her hands. "We will meet again, Padmé." He lifted her right hand, kissing her knuckles in a courtly gesture, and bowed. "But until that time, may the Force be with you – and your family." He gave her fingers one last squeeze, and then he turned and strode down the hall towards the turbolift doors.
Padmé watched the doors slide closed behind him, and whispered soundlessly, "May the Force be with you, too, my friend."