Chapter Twenty-Two
Kaleidoscope: Carnelian
"How is it coming, Artoo?"
The little blue and white astromech unit whistled a short string of notes that sounded optimistic, an interface jack still linking him to the refurbished Delta-7's main system. Obi-Wan took a few steps sideways and leaned into the cockpit to study the computer readout. All that was visible was a constant line of numbered code, flashing a brilliant crimson in the dim light.
The Delta-7 was an outmoded short-range fighter – Obi-Wan himself had flown one to Kamino nearly four years ago to investigate the assassination attempt on Senator Amidala's life – and meant to be operated with an astromech counterpart. This particular model had been upgraded with a more recent central intelligence chip, which therefore rendered the need for an attached droid unnecessary. The Jedi Master was merely enlisting Artoo's help in conducting some basic diagnostics on the ship's systems before the mass exodus from Polis Massa.
Padmé's former handmaidens were all present, though Sabé, Moteé and Ellé were still aboard the skiff getting ready. Obi-Wan had greeted them upon his arrival to the hangar bay, but had since paid them no mind, concentrating instead on getting this ship spaceworthy enough for a Jedi.
The screen suddenly flashed a solid red, and then went black. Obi-Wan's head whipped to the side. "What was that?" he asked. Artoo chirped, his electronic eye winking from red to blue, and a high-pitched whine filled the hangar bay as the ship's main power hummed to life. Obi-Wan watched the cockpit's console light up, a small grin curving his mouth, and he patted Artoo on his domed head. "Good job, Artoo. Thank you for all your help." The little droid tweeted at him and unplugged from the interface jack just as the turbolift door slid open and Anakin and Padmé walked forward hand in hand, each carrying an infant.
Spotting his best friend, Anakin bent his head over his wife's and murmured quietly in her ear. She nodded in response and released his hand, heading towards the trio of women waiting near the skiff, while he made a beeline to Obi-Wan. His sharp blue eyes appraised the Delta-7 in a few heartbeats. "Outdated," he commented with assurance, "but it's been kept in excellent condition, and looks like it's been given a hyperspace engine rather than having to rely on an orbital ring." A smirk tilted his mouth as his gaze flickered to Obi-Wan. "I'm surprised you didn't ask for another ship. I thought you hated the Delta-7 model, calling it something along the lines of 'a flying Rodian deathtrap'."
"I was not referring to the model in general," Obi-Wan retorted, crossing his arms over his chest, "just my personal experience with such a craft."
Rather than replying, Anakin's gaze shifted to a point near his former Master's elbow. "I'm sure Artoo checked it out for you. He wouldn't let you leave here in a deathtrap, would you, Artoo?" A trill warble echoed around them, and Anakin nodded to himself in confidence. "I didn't think so. See, Master? You have nothing to worry about." And he grinned widely, eyes twinkling.
Obi-Wan stared at the young man in silence for a full minute, and then shook his head. "You are so odd…" He brushed past Anakin without sparing him a glance, while his friend's low chuckle grated against his tenuous hold on serenity.
The two men followed the curve of the Aiwha's port side, knowing that Padmé's skiff was docked further within the bay. Six figures were standing around the skiff's boarding ramp – and as they neared, a voice that sounded like Padmé's, though her lips were not moving, called out, "Well? How do I look?"
Anakin had to mentally reassure himself that his beloved wife was the smiling, casually dressed woman with a baby resting against her body and not the grim, sad-eyed woman clad in soft elegance, facing Padmé like a living reflection in a mirror between realities.
A brushed metal headpiece the color of beaten bronze encircled the woman's head with seven arms of sculpted curves, holding in place a thick mauve-colored veil. A short cape of the same color covered the woman's upper body from shoulder to mid-torso, and a high-waisted skirt wrapped around her lower body, secured by the left thigh with three bronze rectangles. A filmy, flowing dress of cool ivory completed the ensemble, clothing her body from neck to ankles and was cinched at her wrists by cuffed sleeves.
When they were less than a dozen steps from the others, Obi-Wan noticed that Sabé's radiation-bleached gold and chestnut hair had been chemically dyed to a deeper brown and coaxed into a tamed mass of glossy curls beneath the veil. The distinct almond shape of her dark eyes was disguised by subtle shading around her eyelids, and the slightly angular planes of her cheekbones were made to look fuller by a dusting of rose blush.
Padmé reached out and took Sabé's hand, squeezing it gently. "You look absolutely perfect," she declared with a smile. Then, her expression sobered, and her gaze smoldered with profound gratitude. "I can't tell you how grateful I am for your help."
The decoy's facial features seemed to reshape themselves before everyone's eyes, and then the Sabé from yesterday was standing in front of them, wearing Senator Amidala's clothes like a child playing dress-up. "I know…" she replied softly, squeezing her friend's hand in return. "And I will remind you yet again that I am pleased and proud to help you and your family any way I can." She watched Padmé's eyes shift, looking over her right shoulder, and smirked lopsidedly while glancing behind as well.
Moteé and Ellé were standing on either side of the skiff's boarding ramp like graceful sentinels, garbed in matching gowns of pale lilac with short capes the same hue as Sabé's. "You said it was my decision regarding which two handmaidens to take to Coruscant with me," Sabé remarked quietly, turning back to face Padmé. "They were the most logical choice. Both are recognized as your handmaidens, and are the most familiar with the layout of the capital and your apartment – aside from Dormé," she added as an afterthought. "Moteé is a little nervous, understandably, but the kid has blasted off to interstellar orbit with enthusiasm." A low sigh escaped from her painted lips. "I appreciate Ellé's fervor for the mission – I see a bit of myself five or six years ago in her – but I am concerned that she may let that fervor cloud her thinking."
Padmé could translate Sabé's statement easily enough. Basically, she was saying "I can't be worried about one handmaiden blowing my cover right in the heart of enemy territory."
Padmé glanced across the bay at Ellé for a moment. Even at this distance she could see the young woman's tawny eyes dancing energetically, though her demeanor was coolly composed. Padmé's gaze transferred to her decoy, and she replied with firm conviction, "Ellé is one of the best handmaidens that have ever served me. Her age has been a constant concern for Captain Typho, and even Anakin was reluctant of her involvement at first…but she knows how to keep the proper perspective in a tense situation. She is also amazingly perceptive to someone's emotional state. My advice is to have her with you at all times during Senate proceedings if possible."
Sabé nodded as Anakin's slow footsteps approached from the side. Leia stirred inside the sling cocooning her tiny form with the increasing proximity of her twin, and Padmé abruptly snatched Sabé's other hand, gripping both tightly with her own. She muttered rapidly, each word burning with anxiety, "Please, Sabé – please be careful. Coruscant has become a lair for evil these past few days, and it is affecting everyone on the planet. Do whatever you must to stay focused. Do not hesitate to call upon Bail if you have need."
"I will," she promised, and then turned her head to throw a falsely serious glower at Anakin, who was now within hearing distance of the two women. "Be nice to my ship, Skywalker," she warned, "or you won't be flying again for a very long time."
Anakin grinned broadly, draping an arm lightly around Padmé's waist while the twins cooed to one another in wordless greeting. "The Aiwha will be just exactly the same as you left it, Sabé. Better, even."
"Just don't go changing all of my settings."
He chuckled under his breath – and quieted swiftly as Obi-Wan stepped forward. The Jedi Master's blue-grey eyes seemed darker in the hangar bay's limited lighting, and there was no mistaking the thin lines of worry creasing his brow. His steady gaze did not waver from Sabé as he came near, and Anakin, employing a rare show of tact, gently steered Padmé a few paces to the side to give them some privacy.
Obi-Wan paused less than a foot from Sabé, the picture of Jedi-like passive serenity – but that was only on the outside. Within his heart, the usually glass-calm waters of his feelings were churning beneath the surface, punctuated by a sudden spike of apprehension.
Folding his arms inside the wide sleeves of his robe, Obi-Wan imparted to Sabé quietly, "I have tried many times in the last forty-eight hours to pierce the shadows covering Coruscant with my vision in the Force, but have been unsuccessful." He hesitated for a heartbeat, studying her expression intently. "I fear some threat is lying in wait on the capital, watching for Senator Amidala's arrival. This threat is malicious enough that it cannot be completely hidden by the power of the dark side. And that worries me."
He pulled his arms apart, holding something in his right fist. Opening his fingers in the small distance between them, Sabé looked down at the object resting on his palm with interest, while Obi-Wan's eyes remained on her face. Anakin craned his neck slightly, his eyebrows rising in surprise when he realized what his friend was holding. Padmé tugged on his tunic, mouthing, "What is it?"
Instead of replying, Anakin merely held her stare with a significant gleam in his blue eyes, and tilted his head just slightly in Obi-Wan's direction, indicating that she should pay attention to the conversation.
A tiny, round object no bigger than a button lay in the center of Obi-Wan's slightly cupped hand. It was solid black, with a domed surface that shone faintly in the overhead light. "This is a homing beacon," he explained somberly, "one of many new advances in technology that the Clone Wars inspired. It is nearly undetectable to any scanning devices, and its frequency is emitted on a channel not known to the Empire." Sabé's wide eyes flew to his, her keen mind racing to the conclusion before it was spoken. Nevertheless, he continued in a low voice, "I would like you to keep it on your person at all times. If you are taken into custody, all you need to do is run your fingertip over its surface and it will activate."
"And then you'll come to my rescue?" Sabé joked, tacking on a one-sided smile – though her heart was thundering wildly against her ribcage in response to an unconscious hope that had suddenly awakened with his offer for aid.
His ocean-colored irises glowed with utter sincerity. "It is the least I can do for a friend."
Warmth flooded her chest, rippling outwards to fill her limbs and set her fingertips tingling. It was such a strange sensation – Sabé found that she could not define its origin, or the varying emotions fluttering like trapped birds within her heart.
Her strategically conditioned mind resumed control after less than a handful of seconds, and she asked, her eyebrows drawn together in the center of her forehead, "What will you do if you are captured?"
Obi-Wan smiled – a full expression that curved his lips into a perfect half-circle – and his rigid stance relaxed just noticeably. "I have my own mission to fulfill, and will hardly be alone if I do indeed have to storm the capital and free you from the clutches of a Sith Lord." He said this with the right amount of levity and seriousness to earn one of her glittering smiles, despite his enigmatic statement about having his own mission to fulfill. "Besides," he concluded with a shrug, his tone mild, "I am fairly certain that any clone trooper would not risk trying to take the Negotiator into custody without backup, and prefer to just shoot me on sight."
"Nice to see that you haven't lost your optimism, Master Kenobi," Sabé retorted sarcastically.
Then all manner of playfulness retreated from her features, her eyes shimmering like liquid-brown pools as she murmured, her voice ringing with deep thankfulness, "Thank you."
Obi-Wan inclined his head and tipped his hand towards her, the beacon dropping lightly onto her pale palm. He began to withdraw, preparing to tuck his hand back into his robe, when Sabé's slender hands shot out unexpectedly and grasped it tightly, sandwiching his weathered, callused hand between hers.
The Jedi Master had half a second to brace himself for the tidal wave of nameless emotion that erupted from their point of contact. Like a scalding-hot geyser exploding from a crack in the earth, the feeling seemed to be increasing in intensity and strength, pulling at Obi-Wan's Jedi-trained sense of focus like a ship passing too close to a black hole's gravity well.
It was pulling him towards Sabé.
Awareness dawned in his thoughts, flashing brilliantly like a polished mirror reflecting a ray of sunlight.
He and Sabé shared a connection – a connection that neither of them had planned on or encouraged through their actions, and appeared to be ordained by the will of the Force, for there was no other explanation. What this connection entailed for the future, Obi-Wan had not the slightest inkling.
Perhaps it was nothing more than simple friendship. After all, he was a Jedi, and far too old for someone like Sabé – a woman who, though she was undeniably beautiful, infuriated him almost as much as Anakin.
But her eyes were so dark, swirling with glimmering flecks of starlight…and her fingers felt so soft and warm, wrapped around his hand…
He jerked himself away from the dangerous brink of losing self-control just as Sabé spoke with quiet feeling, "Goodbye, Obi-Wan, my friend. May the Force be with you."
She dropped his hand and spun on heel, heading for the skiff. As she passed by, Sabé laid her palm on Anakin's shoulder, touched each twin lightly on the head, and kissed Padmé on the cheek. In a flurried swish of ivory and mauve, she vanished into the skiff, Moteé and Ellé trailing behind. The engines roared to life and lifted the vessel off of the hangar bay's metallic floor, gliding towards the rectangular doorway.
As the skiff passed the bay's central sensor terminal, a crackling blue-white force field sealed off the farthest half of the bay as depressurization allowed the skiff to drift into open space. Like a sculpted shard of silver, Padmé's Star Skiff floated over the threshold, its pointed nose angling upwards to the stars, and everyone watched as its engines flared with a burst of exploding ion and sped away from Polis Massa.