Chapter Fifteen
Friends, Enemies, Brothers
He had not wanted to leave them…but if he had to stare at the same four walls for another second, he was certain that he would go mad.
Anakin Skywalker was a man of action – and this sitting around and waiting routine was definitely grating against his nerves. It set his teeth on edge, and made him jumpy – practically crackling with energy that had to be siphoned out of his system. He had paced the limited confines of their room, trying to wear himself down while his brain went into hyperdrive, thousands of half-finished thoughts streaming through his head. Initially, he had felt Padmé's affectionate amusement caressing the ever-lessening space between their consciousnesses, and he could almost hear her whisper the endearment that awakened both embarrassment and approval within his heart: My vine tiger…
Soon, though, his restlessness began to bleed through the thin veils separating his emotions from hers, and her dark eyes tracked his progress apprehensively, her shoulders tensing with each passing moment.
Then the twins started whimpering and fidgeting in their wrapped blankets – and he knew that he had to get out of there, if only to spare his family from the aftereffects of his impatience.
He rounded up Artoo, told Padmé that he was going to work on the skiff's starboard engine – Artoo had virtually blown that cover story – and trekked down to the hangar bay. After rummaging through the storage locker in the crew quarters, Anakin wasted no time. He stripped off the thin, white hospital garments and threw on charcoal grey coveralls stained with grease smears and splashes of engine coolant.
As soon as the familiar smells hit his nostrils, he was overcome with a wave of nostalgia, and could almost see himself as an overeager nine year-old boy building a Pod Racer from scratch.
Then he pushed the feeling aside with a wry half-smile. As much as he might miss the simpler existence he'd had as a child on Tatooine, he had no desire to relive the past. He still longed to see his mother, talk with her, one last time – but even that wish was not enough to keep him locked within his memories. In Anakin's opinion, his future seemed a whole lot brighter than it had ever been before.
And he fully intended to keep it that way.
"Artoo," he called, for the little droid was waiting dutifully in the hallway, "Switch on the ship's main console and run a diagnostic on the starboard engine. I think the injector pod is misfiring – and see if you can figure out where that ticking noise is coming from."
He strode past the blue astromech and headed for Padmé's suite, wisely considering the possibility that he may need to cover his new arm with a protective glove, when Artoo's burbled query caused him to halt in mid-step. Anakin looked over his shoulder at Artoo incredulously. "What do you mean, 'what ticking noise'?" Artoo whistled in response, his electronic eye flashing between blue and red. "I know what I heard, Artoo – there was a ticking noise in the starboard engine when I brought the ship in for a landing. Now would you please run the diagnostic?" The little droid whistled again, managing to sound skeptical through a series of chirps and tweets.
Anakin's jaw dropped in disbelief. "No, I did not imagine it!" He raked a hand through his unruly blond hair as Artoo beeped a reply that conveyed the vocal equivalent of the phrase, "Yeah, right."
He sighed in exasperation. "Artoo…" Glaring at the small astromech that had become one of his most valued friends, Anakin silently pointed a finger in the direction of the cockpit.
Twittering all the while about unnecessary actions, Artoo wheeled down the corridor in the direction his master indicated, and in a few minutes, Anakin heard the low thrum of the skiff's main power as it roared to life. The young man flicked on the lights in the suite and began pawing through various drawers and compartments, trying to locate a spare gauntlet – when the skiff suddenly trembled around him and Artoo let out a piercing screech. Shaking his head, Anakin shoved his fingers into a previously used glove – this particular one had received a burnt slash from wrist to forearm from a stray blaster bolt – and swiftly exited the suite, remarking loudly down the corridor, "I told you so."
Artoo's electronic raspberry echoed from the cockpit, and Anakin snickered to himself, picking up the toolbox from the floor and ambling down the boarding ramp. Making his way to the starboard side, he situated his tall frame underneath the engine housing and pried open the access panel, eying the components critically. Clucking his tongue, he lay on his back and shimmied under the skiff to get a closer look. His face scant inches from the engine's circuitry, Anakin fumbled in the toolbox for a hydrospanner and thrust it into the tangled mass of wires, twisting several aside to get a glimpse of the injector pod.
"Aha!" he exclaimed triumphantly. He shouted in the direction of the ramp, knowing that his voice would carry in the empty hangar bay, "I was right, Artoo – the injector pod's sensors are fried – that's why it's been misfiring. I must have pushed it too hard when we left Coruscant," he added sheepishly.
Anakin fiddled with a few more connectors, jerking his flesh hand back with a hiss when a wayward spark landed on his index finger. "I – can't –" He grunted, using his gloved hand to hold a clump of wiring while his left wrist spun deftly to tighten a bolt into place, and exhaled in frustration. "I can't see which sensor needs to be recalibrated. Artoo, fire up the starboard engine and increase the power slowly. I should be able to tell, then."
The astromech droid's reply traveled to Anakin's ears as a muted chirrup, and he snorted derisively. "By seeing which one is all scorched and blackened like a piece of charred bantha hide, that's how. Now fire it up." There was a second of silence, and then the machinery above him rumbled, the coolant fan whirring with a low-pitched hum. Anakin watched the indicator lights inside the panel with narrowed eyes, and the injector pod started to shake just noticeably. "Increase the power!" he yelled over the drone.
The worried string of beeps and chirps that followed did not improve his mood.
"I know what I'm doing, Artoo – now increase the power!"
A shimmer of heat emanated from the panel as the engine's hum grew in intensity, and the injector pod's shaking morphed into an agitated vibration. And he saw it – the central sensor on the pod was turning blacker by the second, and its clamps were loosening from the unit. Anakin's grin of success lifted his mouth for a heartbeat before he realized that the clamps were loosening very rapidly as the injector pod continued to vibrate uncontrollably. His blue eyes widened in horror. "Uh-oh," he breathed.
The central sensor snapped off, spraying a thick stream of black-brown lubricant into Anakin's face. He squeezed his eyes shut and closed his mouth, and the liquid settled copiously on his skin. The engine cut as soon as the main computer detected the malfunction, and he dimly heard Artoo's servomotors as the droid rolled down the ramp, whistling anxiously if he was all right.
His nose full of the pungent aroma of engine lubricant, Anakin swiped at his face with his sleeve and growled, "Would you hand me a rag, Artoo?" Shoving himself out from under the skiff, he squinted in the bright light of the hangar bay and saw Artoo's cylindrical form through gummed-up eyelashes. The little droid exploded with a chorus of gleeful chirrups. Anakin glared. "It's not funny, Artoo." He clambered to his feet, prepared to search for a rag himself, and he caught sight of his reflection on the skiff's mirror-like shell.
His features were splattered with dark spots of lubricant, with the majority of the liquid coating the right side of his face so that it looked like he had a black eye, and strands of his normally radiation-bleached blond tresses were clumped together in brown tangles and standing up in all directions on his forehead.
A boisterous guffaw erupted from his chest, and soon he was joining Artoo in peals of laughter, holding his sides as he fought for breath between each chuckle. "Well," Anakin choked out, "At least we know which sensor to replace."
A stained scrap of fabric drifted across his vision, and he took the rag from Artoo's extended appendage, scrubbing at his face. "There," he blinked a few times, certain that his vision was clear, and then tossed the rag aside. "Just remind me to shower on the ship before I head back to our room. Padmé will throw a fit if I show up looking like a spaceport mechanic." He scratched at his scalp, combing back the lubricant-soaked curls and commented, "We have spare part canisters in storage, right?" Artoo beeped a short response. "Good. Can you get me an injector pod central sensor – oh, and did you find the source of that ticking noise?" Anakin's head tilted to the side as he listened to Artoo's chirruped sounds. "An unusual reading in the output dampers? Hmm…maybe there's a short in the power coupling… You know – just get me a replacement injector pod; we can't risk the other two sensors quitting on us when Padmé and the twins are on board. Once that's done, we'll check on the coupling."
Artoo rotated and wheeled into the skiff to collect the needed parts while Anakin settled onto the hangar's duracrete floor, feeling mildly enthusiastic. Despite what had happened with the injector pod, he was glad that the ship required a number of repairs. He was desperate for distractions – and he wanted to make absolutely certain that the skiff was the safest possible transportation for his angel and the little stars.
He resumed his position underneath the access panel and began to unscrew the ruined injector pod from its restraints, dribbling the last traces of lubricant as he worked. He was blissfully unaware of everything except the complex machinery hovering above him, and he threw himself wholeheartedly into the task, the heavy weight of the last few days lifting momentarily from his chest. He took a deep, slow breath, enjoying the sensation.
A soft footfall resonated in the quiet. Anakin froze, the weight crushing into his lungs with sharp, sudden intensity. He recognized those footsteps – he did not know if he was ready to face him again. He did not know if he would ever be ready.
A calm, urbane voice confirmed his fears an instant later. "I thought I might find you here."
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Make peace with him, you should, Obi-Wan, Yoda had said. Help you, it will.
He honestly wished to follow the old Master's advice…he just did not know how. Anakin was a completely different man, now. Obi-Wan had been used to his friend's abrupt mood swings and changing expressions – his thoughts and emotions shapeshifting in the blink of an eye, so unpredictably that Obi-Wan often had a hard time figuring out what he was really thinking – but all of that had changed. Anakin was now shifting between the apprentice and comrade from the battlefield, to the golden-eyed creature from the veranda, to the heartbroken boy who had knelt before Yoda in the conference room, to the loving husband and father that held his wife and children with such apparent devotion.
Obi-Wan found it virtually impossible to reconcile so many facets of the young man's personality.
He did know that if he wanted to fill the role that the Force had decreed for him, he had to at least attempt a resolution with this enigma that, like a Changeling, constantly morphed from the Anakin he thought he knew to a man that had never before existed.
He floated on the verge of indecision, the minutes ticking by, as he stood on the observation platform above the hangar bay, watching Anakin and Artoo repair the skiff. Obi-Wan heard Anakin's noisy cackles even through the transparisteel sheets framing the platform and smiled in spite of himself. Then the young man hunkered down beneath the ship, Artoo disappearing within, and Obi-Wan let his feet carry him towards the turbolift before he lost his determination.
The door slid open with a soundless hiss of air, and the otherwise vacant hangar bay rang with metallic clangs and clinks as Anakin tinkered with the starboard engine. Obi-Wan drifted forward slowly, cautiously; his footsteps were scarcely audible even to his own ears, and paused a few feet from a long pair of legs stretched out on the floor. All other noise ceased – and the Jedi Master could almost feel the tension that tightened the muscles in the only visible part of Anakin's body. Obi-Wan drew in a short, quiet breath, willing his own body to relax, and remarked mildly, "I thought I might find you here."
There was the briefest pause. "I noticed some problems with the starboard engine," Anakin's muffled voice floated out from underneath the ship. "I figured this was a good time to get those taken care of." The clinking sounds resumed, while Obi-Wan pondered his old friend's words. The comments were purely characteristic of Anakin – but he detected a faint undercurrent of repressed emotion hidden behind the words. If he could only reach out with the Force and… Obi-Wan broke away from that train of thought. He would just have to do this the hard way. For both of their sakes.
He decided to try and keep the conversation on neutral ground for as long as possible. "What sort of problems have you found?" Obi-Wan asked in a placid, slightly curious tone, studying the dark spatters on the floor.
Anakin shoved away from the skiff with a sharp sigh and sat upright, staring at Obi-Wan with ice-hard blue eyes. "Look, Obi-Wan –" He said the name so caustically, as if it meant nothing to him. "I know what you're trying to do, and I appreciate the effort – but I want you to know that it's not going to change anything between us." In one swift, unexpected movement he was on his feet, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. "You don't trust me. Maybe you never did. And I know that you have a very good reason not to trust me now, and I can live with that. A lot of things have changed for me in the past few days, and I can take the bad with the good – because the good is more than I ever dreamed possible."
His eyes pierced Obi-Wan's answering gaze like a blade, and when he spoke again, his voice was a low, dangerous growl. "You were my best friend, Obi-Wan, and I need your help with keeping my family away from Sidious, but I swear –" Anakin took one threatening step closer. "If you ever speak to my wife that way again…Force or no Force…I will make sure that you regret it." He moved backwards just slightly, releasing a slow, deep breath, and the blazing fury faded from his glare – but his hard expression remained. "Do we understand each other?"
This is going to be more difficult than I thought, Obi-Wan mused inwardly, taking in Anakin's taut, angry stance and his unforgiving, uncompromising statements. Now he perceived the emotion that tinted every inflection of the young man's impassioned speech. Obi-Wan had no doubt that he meant every word – but that was not all there was to it. Anakin knew that their relationship had been severely damaged by his recent choices…but Obi-Wan would be a fool to deny that he did not play a role in its destruction, as well. Yet, rather than seek to make amends, Anakin was planning to break all bonds of friendship with his old Master – and it was not an issue of trust, as he had claimed.
It was the fear of disappointment.
If the bond between them was irreparable, and Anakin had allowed himself to hope that things could go back to the way they were…it would be far worse than simply cutting off the relationship.
Obi-Wan refused to let Anakin give up so easily – he could hardly call himself a teacher if he did not push his student to reach beyond the pain and the fear toward greater heights.
He straightened his spine and met the younger man's glacial stare unflinchingly. "No."
Anakin blinked, confusion washing across his rigid features. "No?"
"No, we do not understand each other. I have never understood you, Anakin, and I suppose that I never will. But I will not let you take the easy way out this time. You have done that far too often, and it has weakened you."
He waited for the statement to sink in – and when it did, Anakin's lips curled back over his teeth in a vicious snarl. "Who do you think –"
Obi-Wan gestured, pulling his fingers into a loose fist, and the furious words were abruptly cut off as the Force silenced Anakin's vocal chords. His hands flew to his throat, shock covering his face – which instantly turned into rage. A fist rose to slam into Obi-Wan's serene expression. Calmly prepared, the Jedi Master gestured again. Anakin found himself yanked backwards by an invisible hand, his feet knocked out from under him, and he slid across the glossy floor until his back was pressed against an oblong freight container. He wriggled around vainly, struggling to break free of the unseen restraints, and Obi-Wan strolled over to him like he had all the time in the world – an annoyingly composed manner that drove Anakin crazy. He knew that he couldn't fight back – not without the Force – so Anakin grew limp in the grasp of Obi-Wan's mental command and glowered up at the Jedi Master from the dark shadows under his lowered brow.
As he neared, Anakin realized that his old Master's face was not as composed as his body language. Obi-Wan was coldly furious; his jaw was clenched tight, and the blue-grey color of his eyes was swirling with turbulence, like a storm at sea. He looked down at his one-time apprentice in silence for an indeterminate amount of time. Then he said quietly, "I apologize for having to rely on such theatrics – but I have some things to say to you, and you will listen to me."
The two men stared each other down as the minutes passed, and then Obi-Wan lowered himself onto the floor, folding his legs in a meditation pose and resting his arms on his bent knees. The older man sighed, and it was the long-suffering sigh of a father or an older brother when confronted with the impetuous behavior of a son or sibling. "As always, you rushed to a conclusion that had no standing in the conversation, without bothering to consider its numerous possibilities." Anakin opened his mouth to retort, but no sound came out. He snapped it closed angrily, his teeth clicking together. Obi-Wan continued as if nothing had happened. "When I said that your choices have weakened you, I meant that it has weakened your spirit, Anakin – your indomitable will to succeed and overcome any and all obstacles in your way. The quick and easy path has no enduring benefits, no matter what the outcome. How many times have I told you? 'The end never justifies the means', remember? The hardest struggles in life most often reap the most valuable rewards." He leaned forward, the anger in his gaze softening. "You think that this is difficult for you alone? You think that I can sit here, looking at you, and not see flashes of the Temple's security recording? Or the man who promised to kill me?"
Anakin looked aside, the defiant lift of his chin falling in shame. Obi-Wan waited until he glanced back at him before continuing. "And I feel that I must contradict you on a few key points. The first being this: I have always trusted you. Always. Even when you had proven yourself untrustworthy by consummating a relationship with the woman you love, and then lying to my face to conceal your feelings – I still trusted you with my life and the lives of every trooper under my command. But you are right – I have a very good reason not to trust you now. Yet I do." Anakin blinked a few times, taken aback. The Jedi Master nodded once, his tone full of earnestness and his features alight with emotions that Anakin did not allow himself to define. It would only hurt him in the end. "If I did not trust you, do you think that I would tolerate your presence on the same planet as Padmé and your children? If I considered you a threat to the future generation of Jedi – you, a newly christened Sith Lord – would they still be waiting for you five floors up from where we sit? No. And therein lies your answer."
Obi-Wan paused here, inhaling deep, cleansing breaths and re-centering his mind. The prolonged use of the Force was beginning to take its toll on his healing psyche, but he had to hold it for a few moments longer. He felt a brief surge of gratitude for the wisdom that had encouraged him to speak to Padmé first about what had transpired in the conference room. His words might not have any affect on Anakin, but his wife was an altogether different story.
Anakin was studying him with guarded, ambiguous cerulean orbs, and Obi-Wan said, "My next rebuttal is in response to your warning about your wife." As he had expected, the young man immediately stiffened, unconsciously straining against the Force-grip. "I spoke to Padmé yesterday. And do you know what she did? She forgave me. Despite the hurtful words that I will regret for the rest of my life, she forgave me." He shook his head, marveling yet again at the beautiful nature of Padmé Amidala. "She said to me, 'I cannot regret the decision that has given my life meaning'. Do you know what she was referring to? Her marriage to you. You, Anakin. How can I not honor and protect the happiness of such a woman?"
Anakin swallowed hard, the back of his throat burning, and he looked at his old friend with blurred vision. Nothing he had done in his entire existence had ever made him worthy of Padmé's love – and yet she gave it to him freely, and accepted his desperate adoration with gentle grace.
And her great heart, a heart that was capable of encompassing the universe, had compelled her to forgive Obi-Wan. He should have expected nothing less from an angel.
Hope was beginning to take root in the barren soil of his heart; its tender green shoots springing forth and twining around the shattered remains of what had once been. Obi-Wan could see it, like a subtle glow in the depths of Anakin's indigo irises, and he sought to fan the flame. "So, here is where we stand: I trust you, I care about you, and I will do all I can to ensure the safety and well-being of your family." His next words ached within his chest, begging to be released, and the glow of hope in Anakin's gaze brightened as Obi-Wan murmured, "And I forgive you, Anakin. It does not erase the scars that have yet to heal, or undo the damage that has been done…but it is a place to start."
A solitary teardrop escaped the corner of one brilliant blue eye, and Obi-Wan cleared his throat awkwardly to hide the lump he felt there. "I also must tell you that I was mistaken, about you and Padmé. You may have gone about it all wrong…but the two of you belong together. What you have has made you stronger, and I would not trade that for all the world." He waved a hand, and the pressure caging Anakin fell away, though his posture did not change. Hesitantly, Obi-Wan laid his palm on Anakin's shoulder, and felt immense relief when he did not shrug away. "I have always thought of you as a brother, though I constantly denied it because of the Code –" He smiled wryly as Anakin rolled his eyes, "– and I ask for your forgiveness, and for the privilege of safeguarding the children of the Chosen One."
He dropped his hand from Anakin's shoulder, and held it out in the universal gesture of reconciliation.
Anakin glanced at his outstretched hand, then at his expression, and he seemed to be measuring Obi-Wan with his eyes, searching for something. Holding his former mentor's gaze, he pulled off the glove covering his right hand and clasped Obi-Wan's forearm.
"Oomph!"
The Jedi Master suddenly found himself locked in a fierce bear hug, and Anakin declared fervently, "You don't even have to ask, Master."
"Need – to – breathe –"
Anakin broke away, looking sheepish while Obi-Wan straightened his clothes with dignified disapproval. "Sorry," he mumbled, fighting a grin.
Obi-Wan looked at him sternly. "What have I told you about rash displays of emotion?"
Anakin chuckled once, incredulously. "You're the one who used the Force to shut me up!"
"That was a necessary precaution."
"Well, mine was a diplomatic solution." Anakin shrugged, and then laced his fingers behind his head, the picture of casual nonchalance. "If I hadn't hugged you, we'd probably be wrestling on the floor."
They glared at one another – Anakin was unapologetic, and Obi-Wan maintained a severe scowl – for all of two seconds. Then they were laughing in concert, these brothers who had been torn apart by betrayal and stitched back together by fate – and were now on the path to becoming more powerful together than they had ever been alone.
Still chuckling under his breath, Anakin pushed himself to his feet. "I'd better get back to work – there's not much time left, and I want to be with Padmé when they arrive."
Obi-Wan followed suit, and remarked, "Would you like some assistance?"
Anakin stared at him in amazement. "You?"
"I'll have you know that I am quite a good mechanic, when the occasion calls for it," Obi-Wan sniffed, slightly offended by his friend's disbelief.
"I just never thought you would do something like repair a ship's engine."
"You would be surprised what you can do when you put your mind to it. Besides," Obi-Wan retrieved the hydrospanner from the floor and twirled it in his hand, "I happen to know the best mechanic in the galaxy, and I picked up a few tricks."
Anakin smiled at him warmly. "Thanks, Master."
An eyebrow rose sardonically over one twinkling blue-grey eye. "I meant Artoo, of course."
Anakin groaned loudly, and the light-hearted banter continued as they made their way back to the skiff, the hangar bay echoing with their merriment.
High above, on the observation platform, a short, shadowy figure watched the two brothers for another moment, and then nodded with satisfaction. He vanished from view as he entered the turbolift for the upper levels, the soft tapping of his cane disguised by the noises drifting from below.
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Threepio finished unpacking the satchel of belongings that had been stashed under the hospital bed and looked over at his mistress. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Milady?"
Padmé looked up from her newborn son's contented face as he ate and gave the loyal droid a soft smile. "Thank you, Threepio. I need your assistance with one more thing." Luke was nearly done, so Padmé reoriented his tiny body and gently rubbed his back. A quiet burp soon followed, and she nuzzled her cheek against Luke's downy head. "Excuse you," she joked affectionately, and then laid her son in the crib beside his sister, rearranging their blankets and touching their noses with a fingertip.
Taking a deep breath, Padmé gripped both armrests on each side of her chair and slowly pushed herself upright, cringing at the pain in her abdomen. Once she was certain that she had regained her balance, she shuffled over to the bed, examining the garments laid out with pursed lips. Padmé had no intention of greeting their guests wearing a well-used hospital gown – but she noted with a twinge of dismay that her choices were somewhat limited.
A pair of doe-brown pants, a fitted, cocoa-colored jacket with cream piping on the sleeves and high neck – stylized to look almost military, the navy dress she had worn a few days ago, and she had thankfully grabbed her discarded dressing gown – which was sophisticated enough for her purposes at the moment and would be far easier to don than anything else. She picked up the fluffy, embroidered robe and held it out to Threepio. "Could you hold this for me, please?"
The golden protocol droid accepted the garment, inquiring nervously, "Milady, are you entirely certain that you should be changing clothing on your own while recovering from labor?"
Padmé paused from twisting her arms out of the hospital gown to grin widely at Threepio. "But I'm not on my own, Threepio – you're helping me."
She yanked the white fabric over her head as Threepio mumbled, "I don't think this qualifies as 'helping', Miss Padmé." She laughed, slipping on the satin and lace underdress, and sighed at the feel of the silky fabric on her skin. Threepio held the robe open for her, and it settled around her lithe shoulders effortlessly, wrapping her aching body in warmth and comfort. Padmé fastened the clasp above her breastbone and adjusted the sleeves, walking over to the small mirror in the refresher. "Better," she declared upon glimpsing her reflection. Her hair was still a riotous mass of chestnut ringlets, but she was running out of energy fast. Combing her fingers through the curls, she pulled her hair to one side and let it drape over her right shoulder. The sparkling chain of the japor pendant glittered beneath the collar of her robe, so she pulled it out from its hiding place – no longer a secret – and let the carved ornament have precedence on her outfit. She smiled brightly at the woman in the mirror, recognizing her for the first time in nearly a week. "Much better."
Feeling a bit lightheaded from standing so long, Padmé returned to her chair and sat down, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. Familiar scuffling footsteps neared, and the smell of baked bread assailed her nostrils. Her stomach growled involuntarily as Threepio asked, "Would you care for some refreshment, Milady? The tray arrived while you were resting, so I kept it on a warmer for you." Her eyes opened to an impressive array of food for a MedCenter. A small loaf of dark bread caught her immediate attention, and she promptly tore off a piece, popping it in her mouth. There was also a bowl of yellow broth overflowing with assortments of bright-colored vegetables and a cup of some steaming liquid.
Padmé lifted the cup, experimentally raising it to her lips for a taste – when she deciphered the scent. She looked up at Threepio in utter surprise. "Caria tea?" The plant from which the tea was brewed was native only to Naboo, and she found it highly doubtful that the Polis Massa MedCenter had some of its sweet green leaves in storage.
Though his facial expressions were unable to change, Threepio managed to sound pleased as he replied, "Yes, well…I do know that caria tea is your favorite beverage of late, Miss Padmé. I located some in the galley on the skiff and thought you might enjoy it with your meal."
Padmé felt a rush of affection for the prim, proper droid that was her near-constant companion. "Thank you, Threepio," she said with profound sincerity, "That was very thoughtful." Threepio bustled about the room, tidying here and there, and Padmé savored each sip of tea while chewing bits of bread and swallowing tiny mouthfuls of soup. Every so often she glanced at the two little miracles occupying the crib beside her, as if assuring herself that they had not disappeared. It then occurred to her that there had been only one tray of food, when the med droid usually brought two – one for her and one for Anakin.
"Has Anakin been here at all, Threepio?"
"Why, no, Milady – I have not seen Master Anakin for some time."
Padmé nodded thoughtfully. Ani had eaten before he had left on his quest to repair the ship, but his appetite was as ferocious as a wild nexu, and he had not eaten nearly enough for lunch to soothe the savage beast. "What time is it?" she asked.
Threepio paused for a brief second. "It is just after 0500 Galactic Standard Time, Milady."
Her eyebrows rose in mild surprise. She had not realized that several hours had passed since Anakin had headed to the hangar bay with Artoo. "I guess the skiff really did need repairing…" she mused quietly, swirling the honey-colored tea in her cup.
The door chimed, and Threepio shuffled towards it, remarking in his typical fashion, "Perhaps that is Master Anakin, now." Padmé rolled her eyes, deciding not to comment. If that were Anakin, he would not use the door chime. He had had his fill of that shortly after they were married, and frankly, she was sick of the pretense – pretending that Anakin was merely a friend and not her husband.
It was not Anakin. "Milady," Administrator Tuun bowed over the threshold, and Threepio moved aside so that he could enter. "Your guests have arrived in-system and will be landing within the hour. Would you care to greet them in the hangar bay, or wait in the conference room?"
Padmé's brown eyes lit up, but then she bit her lower lip, glancing worriedly at the sleeping twins. "MW-001 and MD-02 will take very good care of your younglings, Milady," Tuun assured her.
"Could you bring them to the conference room, please?" Tuun nodded in agreement to her request, and Padmé prepared to stand, gritting her teeth. In the blink of an eye, the Administrator was there, holding her elbow and guiding her towards the hoverchair. She settled into it comfortably, secretly wishing for the day when she would not have to use the stupid thing anymore, and looked at Tuun.
He responded to the question in her eyes. "Anakin will be waiting for us at the turbolift in the north wing; we are sending your friends to dock in a separate hangar. Master Yoda seemed to think that the utmost confidentiality would be a prudent course of action." Padmé inclined her head, but thought that Yoda's fears were unfounded.
MW-001 and MD-02 floated into the room, ready to perform their duties, while Padmé kissed Luke and Leia good-bye. Threepio volunteered to remain behind, and shortly afterwards Administrator Tuun was walking with her down the hall. Padmé resisted the strong urge to look back – she did not want to turn into an overprotective mother – and the twins would be perfectly safe with Threepio and the other med droids.
The northern turbolift was situated at a three-way intersection of corridors that were populated by a few med droids and the rare Polis Massan. As they approached, Padmé heard rapid footfalls from the hallway to her left and glanced sideways, a wide smile on her face.
Anakin's damp hair shone bronze in the fluorescent lights, his dark Jedi tunic and pants fitting snugly to his muscular frame. He skidded to a halt in front of Padmé, placing a hand on each side of her hoverchair and leaning over her with smoldering blue eyes. "Hi," he said softly. Padmé tilted her chin upwards, and he gave her a brief, sweet kiss. Straightening, he nodded a greeting at the Administrator, but his attention was immediately diverted back to his wife.
She was looking around his arm, lips parting in astonishment.
He followed her stare with a chuckle. "Obi-Wan volunteered to give me a hand with repairs."
Obi-Wan stood just beyond the form of his old apprentice, a dryly humorous expression on his bearded face. "I had no idea that it would be so…involved. Anakin is quite dominating when it comes to machinery." He folded his arms across his chest. "I may not be so quick to lend a hand next time."
"Oh, come on, Master – you had fun. Admit it."
Padmé listened to their easy banter like it was the most beautiful music she had ever heard. Her heart swelled inside her ribcage, and she felt trickles of moisture on her cheeks. She sniffed quietly, but he heard her. His large, calloused hands cradled her face with extreme tenderness, and his thumbs brushed away the tears. "Are you all right?" he whispered. Padmé nodded, not trusting herself to speak just yet, and her gaze darted between Anakin and Obi-Wan.
The Jedi Master's soft eyes were brimming with gratitude, a gentle smile curving his mouth, and Padmé let out a breathless laugh. "I'm fine, Ani. I'm just…happy." She wiped at her eyes, composing herself, and then smiled radiantly. "We'd better get a move on," she suggested, and the four of them filed into the turbolift.
------------
The ride down to the delivery hangar bay was brief; the turbolift doors slid open to reveal a long, narrow hallway lined with panes of gleaming silver chromium. Administrator Tuun departed first, and the three friends followed – Padmé studying the walls curiously and Obi-Wan immersed his consciousness in the Force while Anakin asked the Administrator a barrage of questions about their surroundings. The hall curved slightly to the left, and one whole wall was replaced with a single, large sheet of transparisteel, overlooking the hangar. Padmé's hoverchair came to a stop, and she stared at the view in awe. The cavernous hangar bay housed several smaller transports, a Corellian escort frigate, and row upon row of freight containers that appeared to vanish into the darkness on the far side of the bay. A sizeable space was left empty in the center of the hangar for the new arrivals, so there was a clear view of the shimmering violet force field that sealed off the bay from the airless vacuum of space.
"Not what you were expecting from a small Outer Rim colony – is it, Senator?" Tuun asked wryly, with no hint of rudeness or sarcasm.
Padmé slowly shook her head back and forth. "Your facilities are truly amazing, Administrator."
A loud, sonorous klaxon rang throughout the corridor, and Padmé jumped, startled. Administrator Tuun motioned with one long-fingered hand. "There is a ship arriving into the bay. The hangar control room is just down the hall – if you will follow me…" Obi-Wan was on his heels immediately, while Anakin kept pace with Padmé, reaching for her hand as they followed a few feet behind.
She could feel his ice-hot blue eyes on her face as he questioned, "Are you sure that you want to do this? What if they say no? What if they couldn't find her?"
Padmé looked up at him serenely, with no trace of apprehension in her warm brown gaze. "I can't dwell on the what ifs, Ani. All I can do is ask them and pray that they will understand." A smile graced her full, pink lips. "But I will be glad to see them all again, regardless."
Anakin looked at her for a moment, and then nodded. Tugging lightly on her hand, the pair halted beside Obi-Wan as he faced the control room's computer terminals, waiting for the docking procedures to be completed. A deep metallic thrum echoed in the crowded space, and the Polis Massan controller depressed a sequence of buttons in quick succession.
Tuun glanced sideways, his inky black orbs fixed on Padmé. "You may go down now, if you wish." He indicated a grey door in the far corner, but both Anakin and Obi-Wan waited for Padmé to precede them, as she was now in charge of their situation.
She slipped her fingers from Anakin's grasp and moved towards the Administrator, offering him her hands. He clasped them warmly, and she spoke in the regal, dignified manner of a former Queen. "I can never thank you enough for all you have done for us. You are a true friend, Maneeli Tuun. Thank you."
Tuun bowed low over her hands, resting his forehead briefly against them. When he straightened, he said, "It is the least I can do for a woman of your stature, Milady – and for the Jedi." At this, he released her hands and bowed to both Anakin and Obi-Wan. "You may use this facility for as long as you have need, and I wish you every success as you meet with your guests."
The Administrator departed to resume his usual duties, and Padmé directed the hoverchair to the door. It opened to a smaller turbolift, and the three of them managed to squeeze in together and head down to the bay's ground floor. She led the way into the massive hangar, filled with the echoes of cooling hyperdrive engines and hissing repulsors as they were shut down. Anakin and Obi-Wan flanked each side of her hoverchair like bodyguards – a position they had filled not so long ago – and suddenly her husband let out a low gasp. "What is that?" he breathed, blue eyes wide with wonder.
Two ships now occupied the central part of the hangar, and both gleamed with a newness that was both beautiful and intimidating. Obi-Wan identified the vessel closest to them as a JM-5K – a model that had been out of commission for some time now, at least in more conventional circles. But judging from the mounted turbolaser turret, missile launcher, and a variety of obvious modifications – this was no ordinary JM-5K. But the other ship had him baffled as well.
Its hull was a brushed metal that gleamed faintly blue in the bay's lights, and the upper body was plated with chrome with an unfamiliar symbol etched over the cockpit bubble. The elongated wings on each side of the ovular cockpit gave the ship the appearance of a bird in flight – a bird that was armed to the teeth with twin dorsal guns, turrets on each wing tip, and the sleek lines of a vessel that was capable of moving at extremely high speeds when needed. Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed in concentration. The symbol was vaguely familiar, yet he could not place it within his memory. Anakin took a half-step closer, his palms practically itching for the controls of such a striking piece of machinery.
"What is it?" he asked again, his stare never settling on one place for too long as he tried to absorb every detail. "Obi-Wan?"
The Jedi Master shook his head. "I've never seen one before. It is quite impressive."
"That, gentlemen, is a Hapan Stingray."
Anakin's head whipped around in shock, and Obi-Wan just looked at Padmé blankly. There was a peculiar gleam in her dark eyes as her attention drifted from the ship to her husband's open-mouthed expression. "Hapan?" he stammered, "As in the Hapes Consortium?"
Padmé nodded. Obi-Wan's features cleared with understanding – and then darkened as he recalled certain facts about the Hapan monarchy. "You have ties to the Consortium?" he asked in a low voice.
Padmé discerned the implications in his question and replied coolly, "Ta'a Chume and I were…loosely affiliated during my time as Queen. It was merely the civil associations of two monarchs.
I was only fourteen at the time, seeking to improve my diplomatic relations with the Republic's neighboring systems – and it was a very odd experience. I had the distinct impression that the Queen Mother considered me to be beneath her interest, as I was an elected ruler and she was royal by blood. But she had seemed grudgingly impressed by me, and it was most likely because women primarily control the Consortium.
I visited the Fountain Palace a handful of times, but she never accepted my invitation to stay on Naboo." Her mouth twisted in a humorless smirk. "I think it may have had something to do with the fact that my thoughts on the Jedi Order were vastly different from hers. She had been quite scandalized to learn that the Jedi had aided me in reclaiming my planet from the Trade Federation." Her smirk widened gleefully. "I wonder how she would react if she knew that I was married to one."
"But…why would she give you a vessel?" Anakin was struggling to keep up, processing this new information about the mystery of Padmé Amidala.
"I honestly have no idea," Padmé shrugged one shoulder. "I have not actively spoken to Ta'a Chume since I became Naboo's Senator. The gesture is totally uncharacteristic of her." She ticked off her suggestions on her fingers. "It's either a show of goodwill, the product of an ulterior motive, or it was stolen." She and Obi-Wan exchanged a wary glance. The Emperor had already recruited every sentient citizen of the Empire to aid in her recovery; they did not need the added threat of the Hapans.
A quick gust of air fizzled around the lower section of the Stingray, and a short boarding ramp lowered towards the hangar bay's glossy floor. Padmé began to struggle to her feet, muttering, "Help me, Ani."
He responded immediately – wrapping one arm snugly around her waist and taking her hand with the other. "Are you sure you should be standing up?" he worried.
She tossed him a confident grin and squeezed his hand. "I won't overdo it. I just don't want them to worry about me – at least not yet."
Anakin still looked at her doubtfully, his piercing blue eyes glowing within the shadows cast upon his handsome face. His fingers curled lightly around her waist, and the warm, solid strength of his arm on her lower back was a welcome sensation. Yet she kept her smile in place and stated, "You can let me go, Ani. I'm fine – really." He loosened his hold with great reluctance, but kept her small hand tucked firmly in his, offering a crooked half-smile.
With an audible thump, the ramp was fully extended, and a slender figure appeared – quick, light footsteps echoed as a woman with long brown hair pulled haphazardly into a low bun flew across the distance between them, a joyful smile illuminating her expression as she flung her arms open wide. "Padmé!" She fairly tackled the other woman, pulling her into a fierce embrace, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. "Oh, Padmé! I can't believe – I'm so – " she seemed incapable of finishing a coherent sentence.
Padmé felt salt water spring into her own eyes as she held her friend close, and murmured soothingly, "I've missed you, Dormé."
Her former handmaiden pulled back slightly, holding her by the shoulders. Dormé's gentle brown eyes studied Padmé with the same perceptiveness that she remembered well. "You seem different. Almost…happier, somehow – more settled."
"I will explain everything soon, Dormé, but I want to address everyone at once. It's a long story." Two figures departing the ship caught Padmé's attention over Dormé's shoulder, and her expression lit up. The approaching pair of women had dark hair and eyes, just like Dormé – but that was where the similarities ended. One was built like a dancer, lithe and graceful, but her expression was hooded and bland as she neared the group. The other was olive-skinned and exotically beautiful – a patient smile curved her full mouth, and the spark of intelligence glittered in her deep brown eyes.
She reached Padmé first, and Dormé moved aside so that she could hug the Senator. "Rabé," Padmé greeted, "I'm so glad you came. Thank you."
Rabé's reserved smile widened slightly. "I would not miss this for the world, Milady," she announced, her tone filling the words with the melodic inflection characteristic of those who lived in Naboo's southern hemisphere. She shot a dark look at her companion as she stood silently at her elbow, watching Padmé expressionlessly.
Ever the diplomat, Padmé ignored the chill in the atmosphere and reached for the other woman's hands. She took them limply, the flat mask covering her face cracking just visibly. "Yané," Padmé said with genuine affection, "I know that to be here is a great sacrifice for you. Know that I am deeply grateful that you have come – it means more to me than I can say." She held her gaze for some time, until Yané's lifeless chocolate orbs glistened with emotion, and her lower lip began to tremble.
She allowed Padmé to enfold her in her arms, clinging to her with the dependency of a younger sister while Padmé rubbed her back tenderly. When they broke apart, the mask was back in place, and Yané was coolly in control – but her voice reverberated with sincerity as she replied, "It would be much harder for me to ignore your need than for me to ignore my own." She bowed slightly and stepped away respectfully. Anakin's keen stare did not miss the guarded, speculative glare that Rabé gave Yané, and determined in his mind to ask his wife about their conversation later.
Padmé looked at each of them, a soft smile bowing her lips, and she asked a question to no one in particular, "How did you manage to acquire a Hapan Stingray?"
Dormé spoke up. "I was on assignment in the Consortium when I received your message. I was not due for departure for three more days, and I needed a ship. I approached the Lady Elanna – the woman with whom I was meeting – and asked her if there was any available transport that could get me into Republic space in a hurry." She swept an open hand towards the blue-and-chrome ship. "She gave me the Stingray."
Padmé blinked at her old friend, surprised that the normally unpretentious Dormé had taken such drastic steps in the middle of an assignment to answer her summons. "What did you tell her?" she asked.
"That a very urgent matter had arisen and my presence was required immediately."
Padmé crossed her arms over her chest. "She had to have asked for more information than that," she remarked skeptically.
"Oh, she did…" Dormé's expression lit up with an angelic smile, "And I told her that it was highly classified. Then she gave me the ship and sent me on my way."
Padmé made a small noise of assent in the back of her throat. Of course, any Hapan noble would assume that anything highly classified meant danger to the crown. Deception and subterfuge was the lifeblood of the Hapan Royal Court. Obviously, Lady Elanna did not have a competent grasp on Naboo's internal affairs.
"I knew that Rabé was on assignment also, so I collected her from – from where she was working," Dormé amended hastily at the fierce glower Rabé shot in her direction. Padmé kept her features politely interested, though her dark eyes blazed with curiosity. She knew that her handmaidens, after serving with her for years, had taken on side jobs for Naboo's dignitaries and from outside contractors. For some unknown reason, Rabé did not want anyone to know where she had been on her last assignment.
Dormé continued, "Together, we headed for Naboo to pick up Yané – but she wasn't there." Instead of continuing, Dormé's eyes flashed to Yané, wordlessly questioning. The taller woman nodded once. "We found out from her family that she was staying with friends on Telos, so we altered our course."
Yané inserted quietly, "Once on board, I attempted to contact Moteé, knowing that it would be a challenge to get her and Ellé out of Coruscant – given the present climate – " Her gaze flickered unwillingly to the pair of Jedi standing to the side. "But we received an all clear from her not ten minutes from my first transmission. Someone had already extracted them from the capital, and they were en-route to the rendezvous point."
Seeing the query lurking inside Padmé's stare, Dormé then supplied, "In your initial message, you had asked me to try and locate her, but I was unsure if I would be successful."
"Were you?" Padmé was avid with excitement, eyebrows arched high on her forehead.
The trio of women all laughed in unison at some hidden amusement. "I didn't have to do anything," Dormé chuckled, "She contacted me – after she had picked up Moteé and Ellé from Coruscant. She said that she had gotten a coded transmission over a private frequency that you and she had chosen during your time as Queen." The sudden hiss of depressurized air interrupted Dormé's explanation, and she glanced over her shoulder with a smile. "I'll let her tell you the rest."
She, Rabé, and Yané unfolded from the loose semicircle they had formed around Padmé to fan out on either side of the former Queen, waiting for the JM-5K's occupants to disembark.
Anakin recognized the first face that appeared at the bottom of the landing ramp. Ellé had served as Padmé's handmaiden along with Moteé for the duration of their marriage, and he had found her to be completely trustworthy, even though she was considerably younger than her counterpart. At nineteen standard years old, Anakin had at first been reluctant to share their most dangerous and treasured secret with a handmaiden that was barely an adult. Of course, Padmé – a teasing gleam in her velvety brown eyes – had reminded him that he had not been much older when they had married…and he had afterwards learned to keep his mouth shut.
But his concerns proved unnecessary; Ellé was very skilled in the areas of protocol and the physical classifications required for the bodyguard of a Galactic Senator, and her youthful kindness to Padmé had finally convinced him that his precious wife was safe under her care.
Ellé's attractive, heart-shaped face was consumed by a brilliant grin as she fairly sprinted towards Padmé. She skidded to a halt just in time, breathless and eager, and executed a brief curtsey. "Milady," she greeted respectfully, "I'm so glad that you are safe."
A low chuckle sounded from Padmé's throat, and she lightly grasped Ellé's shoulders, pulling the young woman into an embrace. "You can dispense with protocol for once, Ellé. I was so worried about you and Moteé." She pulled back slightly, looking into her friend's eyes. They were lighter than any of the others' – a tawny gold shade that seemed to glow and reflect her emotions. Ellé shrugged minutely, her gaze sliding sideways to the people congregating around Padmé…and then she froze.
Padmé watched the color drain from her cheeks and her ocher eyes widen in shock, and she turned to see what had disturbed her. Anakin stared back at Ellé, a confused frown crinkling his forehead. The slow tide of understanding swelled within Padmé's mind. "No, he is not dead, Ellé," she announced softly. Anakin's expression cleared as he heard her words, and Ellé's incredulous stare swung back to Padmé. "No one else knows – and we intend to keep it that way for as long as possible. Can I count on you?" She met the young woman's eyes unwaveringly, falling momentarily into the carefully maintained persona of Senator Amidala. Ellé instantly detected the note of authority in Padmé's tone and adjusted her expression, nodding once.
She withdrew from Padmé, and everyone looked on with speculation as she walked towards Anakin.
She stood in silence for a moment, studying him with an inscrutable gaze. And then, to his intense surprise, Ellé threw her arms around him in a swift, awkward hug. "I'm glad that you're not dead, Master Skywalker." She backed away at once, glancing worriedly at Padmé, afraid that she had breached a personal boundary – but Padmé merely offered her a warm smile. Her tense posture relaxed, and she spun when footsteps echoed from the boarding ramp. "Moteé, look! He's not dead!"
Moteé descended the ramp at a more leisurely pace than her colleague – but there was no mistaking the profound relief on her elegant features as she approached the group clustered in the hangar. Instead of reaching for a hug, Padmé took Moteé's hands in hers and held them tightly, noticing with a twinge of apprehension that she was still garbed in the purple gown she had worn to the Senate days ago. "How bad has it been?" Padmé asked in a low voice.
"Nothing unmanageable." Moteé was as cool and solemn as always – but Padmé caught a flicker of pain, hidden deep within her friend's large brown eyes. "An Imperial commander…escorted Ellé and I to the Central Intelligence Office while you were speaking to Captain Typho, and we were held there for several hours before questioning began. We followed security procedure throughout the interrogation, and after the blackout we were released to return to Five Hundred Republica – under the direct order to remain planetside, of course." Her gaze shifted to Anakin. "Emperor Palpatine made the official announcement that Anakin Skywalker had been killed while fighting against Jedi insurgents – his brethren that had fallen away from their true mission to serve the Republic –" Anakin's right hand bunched convulsively into a fist at these words, "– and we began to worry."
"We didn't know what to do," Ellé spoke up, the skin between her eyebrows puckered with unease. "The apartment was nearly destroyed, and there was no evidence of where you had gone. And then we heard the report of your abduction."
Moteé's eyes closed in anguish. "We thought we had failed you," she whispered. Padmé squeezed her hands comfortingly. The handmaiden's eyes opened, and she continued in a lighter tone, "When we received your message, I thought it might be a trick. But Ellé," she tossed a glare that was half-exasperated, half-amused at the younger woman, "was certain that it was you, asking for our help."
"But we had no way to get to you – and Moteé confirmed that we were being watched by clone troopers." Ellé's shoulders slumped with remembered dismay. "It seemed hopeless."
"And then she came." The hint of a smile played along the edges of Moteé's serious mouth. "Practically out of nowhere – and she knew the code phrase to prove that she was a legitimate ally."
"I always knew how to make an entrance."
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Eight pairs of eyes darted towards the speaker. A slender woman stood at the base of the ramp, hands on her hips – perched just above the handles of twin blaster pistols slung low on her belt.Garnet-colored pants that clung to the shape of her legs were tucked into knee-high black boots, and a short-sleeved ebony spacer's jacket hung open over an ivory synthskin shirt. The sleeves ended just below the elbow, but Anakin glimpsed the dark ink of some type of tattoo on her forearm. A tail of braided brown hair, lightened to a deep honey color by radiation, trailed from the nape of her neck to her waist, but her face was unmistakably familiar.
It was the face of his wife.
The woman strolled towards them, one eyebrow raised mockingly at their speechless behavior. Spreading her arms in an inviting gesture, she remarked with a smirk, "Well? Don't I get a hello?"
Padmé was positively elated. With a smile that threatened to split her cheeks, she broke away from the others to stand before the newcomer. "Sabé."
The two women reached for one another simultaneously – embracing like sisters that had not been together for a very long time. Padmé was crying softly, and tears soundlessly escaped from beneath Sabé's closed eyelids as she held her friend close. They remained that way for some time, until Padmé sniffled and pulled away slightly. She said tremulously, "I've missed you so much."
Sabé's expression softened. "Me, too. I've been so bored."
Padmé laughed, wiping the traces of moisture from her eyes, and teased, "I find it hard to believe that you of all people would be bored – especially considering all the grand schemes you had up your sleeve when you were finished being my decoy."
"And I carried out every one of them," Sabé retorted, "But it's been hard to top the amount of trouble and adventure that impersonating you had." She rubbed her hands together gleefully. "I'm looking forward to a new challenge."
Padmé shook her head indulgently. Sabé had always acted so cavalier towards the danger surrounding a Queen's Royal Decoy – but she had been so good at her job that even Padmé had ceased to worry that her dear friend could be killed in her stead.
"So what have you been up to?" Padmé asked, eying Sabé's outfit – and armaments – with intrigue.
Sabé's almond-shaped brown eyes sparkled as she replied slyly, "Oh, this and that." She flipped her braided tresses over a shoulder. "My latest venture led me to Kuat, which was fortunate for me and your girls here," she nodded in the general direction of Moteé and Ellé. "I happened to be wandering through the Drive Yards, and I found her." Sabé turned dramatically towards the JM-5K, her voice ringing with pride as she said, "Isn't she beautiful?" It was clearly a rhetorical question, as she immediately went on. "I call her the Aiwha. It suits her, and it reminds me of home – all that time we spent swimming behind the waterfalls in the summer." She grinned at Padmé, but the expression faded as she read the wary puzzlement in her old friend's gaze.
"Sabé…" Padmé began slowly, cautiously, "The Kuat Drive Yards manufacture cruisers and large transports for military use. JM-5Ks would not be available there for consumer use."
"Well – yes, that's true." Sabé looked aside, avoiding Padmé's eyes as she tucked a strand of loose hair behind an ear. "I didn't exactly find the ship along the 'beaten path', as it were. But you have to understand – she was just sitting there, and I knew that she would just turn to rust from all the fumes coming from the factories. It seemed like such a waste." Padmé's only response was to cross her arms and raise an eyebrow. "I needed a ship!" Sabé went on the defensive, gesticulating wildly with her hands as she attempted to explain herself. "I had just gotten your message, and I knew that this ship had what I needed to get where I was going in a hurry – plus I was fairly certain that it would have several illegal modifications, and that was a definite bonus since I had no idea what kind of trouble you were in, so…" She trailed off, hands falling uselessly to her sides. Padmé continued to stare at her expectantly. Finally, Sabé sighed in defeat. "All right, fine. I stole it from the Impound Dock," she muttered.
Padmé felt her jaw drop in disbelief. The Kuat Drive Yards was one of the most protected areas in the galaxy; there was a saying among spice smugglers that once your ship was impounded at Kuat – it was like plotting a course straight into a black hole. "How?" she choked out.
The contrite pout on Sabé's face vanished, and she looked pleased that she was not being reprimanded for obtaining stolen property. "The Aiwha is equipped with an EMP shroud – a prototype from Mechis III that the ship's previous owner had installed. It emits an electromagnetic pulse that ripples constantly across the ship's hull, blocking radar and sensors from almost a parsec away. All I had to do was hide in Kuat's shadow until a carrier cruiser left orbit – piggybacked on their ionic wake, and –" She snapped her fingers, beaming with victory.
Anakin was grudgingly impressed. His own skills as a pilot were far above the norm, but he would never have considered stealing a ship from the Kuat Drive Yards – even with the Force as his ally. Sabé was either incredibly gifted, extremely lucky, or absurdly reckless.
Judging by the zealous light in her dark eyes as she recalled her tale, Anakin would bet credits on the latter.
Looking over at his wife, whose disbelief was now tempered with traces of amusement and fondness, he wondered if Padmé's friendship with Sabé had helped prepare her for life with him. He had always felt that he had cornered the market on recklessness – but now he wasn't so sure. Padmé was hardly surprised by any of the stunts he pulled, and he had just assumed that it was because she understood him. He didn't doubt that. He just wondered if the reason that Padmé was no longer surprised by his behavior stemmed from her memories of the mirror image that was anything but predictable.
Sabé stared at Padmé, her eyebrows slanted upwards, and her brown eyes pleading as she said, "Do you forgive me?" She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.
Padmé sighed, uncrossing her arms and shifting carefully out of her rigid stance. "Yes," she said, rolling her eyes. The muscles in her legs and lower abdomen were screaming in protest, and she was beginning to feel dizzy. She took Sabé's hand, tugging her towards the others. Her fingers twitched against the other woman's hand, and Sabé examined her face critically.
"Are you all right?"
Padmé shrugged. "I'm a little tired. I think I might have been standing for too long."
Sabé pondered this for one second, and then she took Padmé's arm and draped it over her shoulders, looping her free arm around her waist and supporting most of Padmé's weight. They trudged forward, and Sabé assisted her as she sat in the previously vacated hoverchair. "Thank you," she murmured gratefully. From the corner of her eye, she saw Anakin straining towards her, blue eyes rounded by fear and held in place by Obi-Wan's hand on his broad shoulder.
The former handmaidens had all congregated around her, surrounding her seated position protectively, their faces wearing almost identical expressions of concern. Padmé decided that perhaps now was the time for a more official welcoming. "Thank you all for coming. I trust that most of you know each other – but I am afraid that I have neglected to make introductions." She raised a hand, motioning towards Obi-Wan. The anxious circle around her widened to include him as he stepped forward. "This is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Despite what you may have heard on the HoloNet, he is not my abductor. You may remember him as the Jedi Padawan with Master Qui-Gon Jinn that aided us during the blockade crisis." Obi-Wan bowed formally to the group.
Ellé, ever vocal and compassionate, spoke up sadly, "You have my deepest sympathies, Master Kenobi, for the loss of your brethren in the Jedi Temple."
Obi-Wan turned towards her, the pain in his eyes clearly visible even as he smiled gently. "Thank you, Ellé."
Anakin was practically exploding with impatience. Though he had not been called, he stepped forward, standing beside Obi-Wan. Recognition flashed in every handmaiden's eyes. Padmé's tone reflected her smile as she announced, "I expect he needs no introduction."
Sabé tilted her head to the side, appraising him. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"
"I do not understand," Rabé interjected, watching the two Jedi with narrowed eyes. "Why do you have wanted criminals as an escort, Milady?"
Anakin opened his mouth, a biting retort on his tongue – but Padmé interrupted smoothly, "They are not criminals. They are my friends. Surely you do not believe the Emperor's lies, Rabé."
"Of course not." Rabé seemed indignant at the inference. "The man's words are like feathers – no weight and full of fluff. I am only trying to see the logic in this action. Are they your bodyguards?"
Padmé's eyes flickered to Anakin. "Something like that," she remarked evasively. "I will explain everything to all of you, once we are in more suitable quarters." She started to steer the hoverchair towards the exit of the hangar bay, when Sabé grabbed an armrest.
"You're hiding something. Something that scares you." She read her friend's facial expression in a heartbeat. "You think you can't trust us?" she asked, incredulous.
"I do!" Padmé insisted, her gaze darting to each familiar face, "I trust every one of you!"
"Then tell us the real reason why there are two Jedi in this hangar, in an asteroid colony, in the middle of nowhere, with you." Sabé demanded.
Padmé lifted frightened, pleading eyes to Obi-Wan, and then Anakin. The older man inclined his head, and Anakin wove his way through the group of women to his wife. Holding her gaze with his own, he silently mouthed, "No more secrets."
She exhaled heavily, and reached for Anakin's left hand, interlacing their fingers. He stood beside her, tall and motionless, as she addressed her friends as a whole – holding their entwined hands against her chest, over her heart. "Anakin Skywalker is my husband. We've been secretly married for nearly four years. We came here so that I could give birth to our twins. And now we need your help to keep them safe." Padmé drew in a long breath, as though the truth had somehow freed her spirit from its self-imposed chains. "That's it," she concluded simply.
Six exquisitely beautiful faces watched them, each one displaying completely different emotions.
Dormé was aglow with satisfaction. Rabé was utterly dumbfounded. Yané's jaw was tight, and she looked away from Anakin's curious stare. Moteé and Ellé, already privy to their relationship, were studying the others surreptitiously. And Sabé – she looked from Padmé to Anakin and back again, and shook her head. "Huh. Didn't see that one coming."
The shout of laughter erupting from the petite brunette sitting in the hoverchair made everyone jump with surprise. But Padmé's hysterical giggles were infectious; soon, the hangar bay was alive with the sounds of glee. Even Yané cracked a smile. Obi-Wan hid his chuckles behind a hand. Anakin bent down, warming her ear as he breathed, "You were right, Padmé. This is going to work." He kissed her flushed cheek, moistened by the tears streaming from the corners of her eyes.
But they were not simply tears of mirth. They were tears of hope.
This will work.