A/N: Highly recommended music to have on standby: The Force Theme, especially as it's played in the second half of "Leia's New/Light Side of the Force" from ROTJ (available on YouTube). And May the Fourth be with you...
Chapter 40. Embers
my dear, I have nothing to say
my heart burns
like the evening sky
― Sanober Khan
Asteroid boulders use distance to appear docile. A faraway observer cannot see the destruction they wreak in concert inside their revolving halo around a planet— breaking themselves and each other apart.
I'd been standing in front of this view for some time, dressed and ready. Waiting. More than every so often, my gaze would leave the ring, bypass Geonosis rotating underneath it, and strain to see the gray, industrial build of the hospital ship on our right. Due to the angle of the fleet resting in a near-linear formation, I could never see more than a glimpse of my neighbors.
The opulent bay window of my stateroom was huge— floor to ceiling in its length, and seven meters long at its width. But despite the illustrious view it gave me of stars, asteroids, and a planet, I would have settled for a port hole fixated on the medship.
My Senatorial status, however, placed me in the most deluxe quarters the fleet could offer. This state"room" comprised of a long entry hallway leading to an open-floor dining and gathering area enhanced by high ceilings. Through another door was my gilded bedroom and refresher. A couch which could comfortably sit at least ten stretched behind me in the hosting space, oriented towards the view delivered by the vast window. Through yet another door was a fresher for guests of the resident guest. All flooring was a polished, obviously expensive stone tile of some kind, but almost wastefully— ornate rugs covered much of it. The Supreme Chancellor himself would've been impressed by my accommodations. It seemed whoever commissioned this cabin thought ahead for the presence of princely bureaucrats, most of whom like— and expect— to be pampered.
Clones. Ships. Artillery. Plush robes. A stateroom that could humble most monarchs.
I bit the inside of my cheek as I tried not to linger over all the unanswered questions I still wrestled with… such as whether or not the Republic's taxpayers were or would be the ones I had to thank for my gracious lodgings.
Looking over my shoulder, I again took in the monochromatic gathering area behind me. Anyone watching would've seen a single eyebrow rise and my lips turn down.
It could use a few plants. Something green.
I thought of my favoritism in décor imbued in the soft, creamy yellow of my bedroom on Theed, my reception couches on Coruscant, and even the accent design on the carpet beneath them.
This place could use some yellow as well.
I'd been discharged from the hospital that morning, as expected. I had hoped, though, that I would be given one of the basic cabins on board the medship. But then I was told my Nubian yacht had been found and flown to a neighboring cruiser. My luggage had been carried to this stateroom for me, and faster than any goodbye to Ani could be arranged, I was hustled on to a depositing shuttle.
The highest-ranking officer on the cruiser greeted me in the landing bay himself, and with a surprising notion. As new as the ships in the fleet were, they each had alphanumerical designations but none a name. Since I was the highest-ranking government official currently riding with the fleet, he'd offered me the honor of coming up with one for our particular ship.
I appreciated his benign gesture. I do believe he only meant to extend a flattering token of respect to my position. But the irony of a person from a pacifist planet— and vocal opponent against the very creation of a military force— being the first one to personalize a Republic warship with a name wasn't lost on me.
With all the truth that had come to light in the previous days in my personal and professional worlds, there was only one name I could come up with.
The Credence.
They'd left the unpacking of my suitcases to me, thankfully. I was uncomfortable with the idea of soldiers going through my intimate clothing. I'd stored my apparel in drawers and onto hangers quickly, dressed as conservatively as I could, and went to work being a Senator for the next twelve hours.
The Credence was the cruiser Jurue had also been housed on, along with other select dignitaries who'd begun to arrive. It felt like the fleet officers wanted to cluster all these non-military guests on one ship as much as possible, which worked fine for our concerted efforts to learn and exchange information. As a lobbyist, Jurue held no official rank, but he immediately made himself useful. He had actually arrived just a short while before a merchant ship hurriedly sent from Naboo by Queen Jamillia. Geonosis is less than a parsec from Tatooine, which in and of itself is not immensely far from my home planet. This was the reason why ten years ago, when our hyperdrive failed, Qui-Gon Jinn was able to set us on a path to Tatooine without the flight wasting weeks of time. It was also how Anakin was able to pick out the sun of Naboo's system from the nighttime sky at the Lars homestead— though still far, it sits closer in the constellations there than most other stars.
Once my lovely counterparts in Theed realized it was their own Senator Amidala who'd lived through the battle— the battle which sent shock waves throughout the galaxy in its announcement by the Chancellor's office— Naboo had been the first planet to send food and supplies to the fleet. Being the major marine exporter we are, and with apparently my fondness for the dish being even more well-known than I'd thought, my presence was essentially why cafeterias on all the ships in Geonosis's orbit were now stockpiled with fish.
Anakin must be thrilled.
But Jurue Batar's vessel and a merchant ship from Naboo weren't the only arrivals. The Credence began to fill its auxiliary rooms rather swiftly. Once cleared for approach, and not all were— very many were turned away— riled diplomats had joined the scene to gather information first-hand. A great many of them seemed to need to see this Grand Army of the Republic for themselves in order to completely believe its shocking existence. War had captured the attention of apparently yet understandably every star system. However, as the only Galactic Senator on site, once I was out of the hospital, I became something of a de facto info emissary for my colleagues back on Coruscant. In addition to the people actually in the room with me, there wasn't a single briefing I sat in where there weren't at least two or ten holographic figures involved as well.
In just one day, I'd already clocked numerous hours around conference tables, often with Jurue at my side to help press for further diplomatic and humanitarian resources. He and I fell into our familiar professional partnership easily. Jurue spoke with sharp intelligence, aptly recalling a swath of statistics and facts that even impressed my memory banks. While he obviously possessed authentic passion for the cause, he never let it run away from him— his steadiness and charisma at the table often rescued us listeners from unraveling into stressful and heated exchanges.
I tried to dismiss the way I'd sometimes catch his gaze lingering on me, and the caring manner with which he wanted to make sure I was taking time to eat and rest. "Rest" time was mostly a compromise of me finding a quiet corner to read over the scant official text of the emergency powers bestowed to Palpatine— a decree wherein the details had been left startlingly vague. Jurue also took it upon himself to remind me when I'd been sitting too long with my still-mending back up against a chair. Although not at the same level as the hospital ship, there was still a medical bay aboard The Credence, and I was scheduled to appear there every few hours for a bandage check or change. Jurue minded my appointment times even better than I did. He was like Dormé, my mother, and the attentive slivers of Anakin all rolled into one.
All this busyness might give the impression there was no time to think of my Jedi love. Quite, quite the contrary. I thought about him all the time, to the point of maddening distraction. Even when it was inconvenient. Even when it was nonsensical. I couldn't see a man with sideburns without immediately thinking of Anakin's handsome and neat pair. When an analyst from the Londori sector arrived, I wondered what Anakin might think of his thick, forty-plus necklaces. When I saw a clone trooper hit his helmet on a closing doorway, I immediately stored the memory to laugh about it with him. I wanted to know what he thought of the fish. Had he become a convert by necessity? Was he protesting for any other option? It was too easy and amusing to envision Anakin rallying other patients to go on a food strike with him.
I was conjuring conversations between us in my head like I was speaking to Anakin there, unable to resist imaging what he would say to this or that. But my mind would drift the worst whenever a representative from wherever would start to drawl on and on. Inevitably, I couldn't keep myself from jumping between three different regions of mental diversion.
The safest, though most sobering, was worrying over Anakin's current state— physical and emotional. The loss of his dominant arm was concerning enough, but he was still only days out from his tortured mother dying in his arms. And I knew he was still grappling with what he'd done at the Tusken camp. For this combined anxiety alone, it's amazing I was able to concentrate on anything in front of me at all.
In a completely different vein of thought, the next, more risky thread was when I'd remember the many humorous quips he'd made, and I'd suddenly have to hide smiles behind my hand as memories amused me all over again in my ears alone. Giggles had no place during discussions of galactic civil war.
By far, though, the most dangerous path was when I'd dwell on heated moments from the refugee freighter, or— much more perilously— stirring visuals from our time at Varykino. Anakin in his swim trunks at the bottom of the atrium stairs. My bare legs wrapped around Anakin's dripping form as he carried me from the water onto our island beach. Anakin watching me from desire-glazed eyes as we'd stood in the rain, where we'd experienced a bigger electricity between the two of us than the storm trying to compete above our heads.
Like clockwork, flashes of unsettling warmth would undulate against me in onslaughts. My pulse would quicken and my thigh muscles tense. Too many times, Jurue questioned if my wounds were bothering me by the way I'd be subtly squirming in my chair. I'd try to send his concerns away with a brisk head shake, then attempt to cope by staring at my hands and staying still until the fire receded. And yet, I'd return to these erotic memories— and was unable to refrain from imagining new ones— again and again and again.
My love was growing obsessive. It was as if the rational, heightened anxiety that existed around his medical recovery somehow, irrationally, fueled other and much less appropriate sorts of pining. Now that war was no longer theoretical but actual, there was a joint effort to bring any systems that had hesitated to pick a side to come over to the Republic's. This was one of the reasons why information-collecting on the army and its capabilities was so critical— a few of the representatives who showed up wanted to see who had emerged on top at the Battle of Geonosis, and by how much. The loud broadcasting of their ideologies aside, they quietly hoped to pick the regime that was eventually going to win. Every hour mattered when thousands of systems were making calls on whether to ally with the Republic or the Confederacy.
But the Senator sitting at the center of it all was consumed with thoughts about a forbidden Jedi.
I did do my best to operate as dutifully as I could, and then some. From the privacy of the holographic link available in my cabin, I'd comm'd Dormé and Captain Typho, seeing and speaking with them for the first time since Cordé's funeral— and from whom I received an earful. Their true first contact from me in days had been an abrupt and unexpected medical report showing I'd been scanned for brain damage, with no other context given. They'd done the math along with the then-news breaking announcement of the battle and realized I'd been part of the fight on Geonosis, but I had accidentally caused a very nerve-wracking interval until they put the pieces together.
Dormé, in her adept way that was both exceedingly polite but painfully obvious, made her feelings known. Though on some level I'm sure she understood why it happened this way, she was livid that my first call had been to Jar Jar.
I also convened comms with Bail Organa and Mon Mothma. After talking with Bail, who was also present in the Chancellor's office when the idea was initially suggested, Jar Jar's actions didn't seem as rash. All the same, when I'd spoken with Representative Binks the night before, I made it clear that I was resuming my post— even from the distance of an Outer Rim planet halfway across the galaxy— and to kindly cease all further landmark motions in the Senate without conferring with me first.
Mercifully, the day wound down eventually. Briefings and conference calls came to a close. It was the beginning of night at 500 Republica, and so for all purposes of synchronization, the onset of night on The Credence. My body felt the hours of the long day, but I remained ready by the window.
Waiting.
My eyes darted towards the barely visible blip of the gray hospital ship again. The last update I'd been able to learn before departing its decks was that Anakin would be in surgery within the same hour of my leaving. By now, the metal base would've already been attached to end of his right forearm. It was the first step in the process for a prosthetic, which itself would be attached to the base tomorrow if his surgery had gone well today. This morning's careful operation and the post-op recovery were going to leave him indisposed for some time after.
I tried to remind myself of this as I stood by my window. Even if I hadn't been discharged, it was very unlikely I would've been allowed to visit him while he recuperated.
My gaze drifted to the reddish-orange sphere in front of me, and I sighed somberly. Even after missing Anakin so viscerally, the circumstances of our pending reunion made it difficult to get excited.
Difficult. But not impossible.
Working with a wardrobe yet again limited in its options, I was newly showered and clothed in the blue, cinched dress I'd worn to my family's house. The backless design was chosen for the reality that I still wore bandages over my scratches. Unlike how they uncomfortably had with the gown I'd worn today, the medical patches wouldn't chaff against fabric in this dress. But the front was bare from my navel to under my breasts— an inappropriate cut given the coming event. I'd wrapped a wide, silver scarf flat around my middle, tying it securely into two knots just above and below my bandages. I'd then hidden most of my body in the same printed cloak I'd donned when Anakin and I arrived on Tatooine to find his mother.
There was one last-minute detail I'd ceremoniously added.
I hadn't worn much by way of jewelry on either Naboo or Tatooine. On the former, I was too busy with ribbons or the dramatic effect of corsets to bother. On the latter planet, dressing without my usual regalia's fanfare had been a conscious goal. For this, ever since leaving Coruscant, I'd never peered into the jewelry bag stashed in one of my suitcases.
But this morning, while unpacking, I impulsively looked into the small, jingling satchel. What I unexpectedly found there produced the pressure of tears. Tears of shock, of gratitude, and of a mollified but lasting grief barely two weeks young.
Dormé hadn't just stowed salacious gowns for me. For reasons I could only guess, she'd packed the light blue circlet I'd once bought for Cordé. It was the same headpiece I'd worn my last morning on Coruscant, when I'd gotten ready to face a day fighting the Military Creation Act and wanted to wear it in her honor but was instead sent packing.
Like a solemn badge of remembrance, I'd taken the time to style my hair into an elegant braid, and then I donned the circlet the same way I'd watched Dormé do so in the mirror. Securely placing the center, downward triangle on my forehead took patience, but eventually I had it and the attached silver links draped evenly. Then I'd pulled up the hood of my cloak, taken my position by the window, and waited. Exhausted by the day, but ready to step out of the room the moment they came to collect me.
My eyes trailed over the planet for a last moment. How wryly poetic that a planet which was go down in history as the genesis location of this war was named Geonosis.
I turned at the high-pitched beeping suddenly coming from my entry door. Someone was announcing their presence on the other side.
It was time.
The hem of my cloak trailed around me as I followed the officer. After he and I exchanged polite greetings at my door, we'd walked wordlessly while he led me through the sleek hallways of The Credence.
Despite the late hour, we passed fellow diplomatic occupants of the cruiser as we traveled. The ones standing in huddles hushed their conversations to silently stare. Some stopped walking altogether on their own routes to watch me glide by under my heavy hood. I imagine all knew where I was going. They hadn't been invited like I had, as I'd heard some of them mention under their breath during the day.
Invited. As if it were a party.
There was little activity going on in the expansive hangar, but one notable shuttle idled in position beyond the entrance to the bay; its gray ramp extended down to the black, reflective floor in expectant welcome. My navigating officer stopped and delivered a courteous bow. I thanked him for his guidance and proceeded forward alone.
The report of my heels meeting the ground traveled beyond my cloak and throughout the massive chamber. Visible exhaust from the ship shot forth in two long, vertical rushes on either side of the ramp, creating gray plumes which met and danced with their own reflections on the glossy deck.
I knew I wasn't the first stop for this medium-sized shuttle. It was already supposed to have passengers aboard, but I didn't know who they would be, nor how many riders to expect. I held my breath as I ascended the incline, already trying to preemptively sequester elation if the best-case scenario was about to unfold.
As I entered the seating berth, a low hum of conversation ceased. To my surprise, a dozen eyes suddenly turned my way. Master Yoda's, Master Windu's, Master Mundi's, and several others I did and did not recognize. All Jedi. And there— on the far side of the passenger gallery— Master Kenobi and his apprentice. No hover chair, no medical capsule. Two men sitting in regular seats.
But not for long. No one spoke, but the entire assemblage of robed Jedi rose to a stand at my appearance. I know the obligatory show of respectful decorum was for my position as Senator, but I felt uneasiness all the same. This evening wasn't about me, and I disliked monopolizing even a moment of the attention… especially with Master Windu's revelations still echoing in my conscious. I nodded hello to members of the Council and took the nearest seat as regally yet quickly as I could, after which the other riders sat themselves down once more.
The second it had registered that Anakin was here, face pointed directly at me, I'd coolly looked away from him without even making eye contact first. Him being present was both the best and, given our crowded and particular company, worst-case scenario. It was as if my emotions had walked into an ambush.
The flight to the planet's surface was short by measure of time, but torturous by way of effort. It had been more than two full days since Dooku's hangar. At this point, I hadn't seen Anakin since leaving the tank room almost a day ago, and I had only seconds then of his woken presence before Jurue arrived. Feeling the lingering eyes of multiple Jedi on me, I fought the insistent urge to look at the tan face in my right periphery of vision. His and Obi-Wan's row was pointed directly at side of the gallery, something I hadn't done well to consider when rushing into a seat of my own.
At first, I consoled myself with the gift of simply being in his presence as the ship began to move across the hangar floor. By the time we soared through the ship's barrier field, a few Jedi resumed soft conversations, but most remained silent. The mood of the shuttle was, without question, solemn. I hoped its quiet occupants were distracted enough by their own thoughts and feelings not to notice when I finally stole returning looks at Anakin. He wasn't staring at me like a drugged up, love-sick school boy. But he was obviously trying to read my expression more than he seemed to care about minding his own intense one.
In what felt like a much more dangerous replay of our flight to the command center, I constantly felt him trying to catch my eye. The rare and brief times when I acquiesced, his burrowed eyebrows would pull back slightly, and a seeking question would form in his features. I never dared to hold eye contact with him long enough to supply an answer.
If his face could be read so easily, by necessity, mine had to be a complete mystery. And not just to make up for his deadlock gaze, but because I was sure it was known by now amongst all aboard that I'd gone into Dooku's hangar to retrieve Anakin's arm. A Senator thanking her assigned bodyguard at the end of his service is customary. So, too, would be offering condolences for any inconvenience or injury he'd suffered during the course of it. Solo volunteering to find and carry his severed limb is not customary.
From my few and quick glances at him, I did clearly gather that Anakin was back in his standard Jedi uniform. I couldn't imagine his surgery to have a base integrated with the nerves at the end of his forearm had gone poorly this morning, else he likely wouldn't have been cleared for this trip. Whatever the exact state of his arm, his wearing of a robe over his tunics made it impossible to tell by stretched sight alone. His left side was nearest to me, and all I could make out from my quick reconnaissance efforts was that the fabric of the right arm's sleeve draped loosely on his other side.
I wondered what he made of my own wardrobe assortment. My hood rested high enough on my hair line; if he recognized it, he would know I was wearing the head circlet I wore the afternoon he and I both proclaimed he was all grown up. Then, of course, I was wearing the famous or infamous— likely depending on if you were Anakin or my father— dress I wore to my family's house. It would've only peeked through the split of my cloak when I'd walked in, but I trusted enough in his favorable reaction to it back in Theed to wager that if he saw it, he recognized the fabric. And then I'd finished the ensemble with the cloak I knew he'd remember from our visit with Watoo and meeting of the Lars.
It was as if I'd donned a callback to every planet we'd spent time on prior to Geonosis, each one a home to a milestone moment in our journey together.
Consciously, I'd only had pragmatic reasons for choosing each piece at the time. The only emotionally driven choice had been Cordé's circlet, something Anakin had no knowledge as to the history of, therefore he couldn't possibly know the symbolism behind why I'd worn it for this specific occasion. The dress was for the comfort of the bandages offered by its open back, and the cloak was for warmth and masking the knots keeping the scarf on. However, as I wondered what— if any— message Anakin might see in these choices… I couldn't help but ponder if I'd unknowingly selected them for unconscious motivations as well.
But then I saw the view on the ground from the windows closest to me, and I stopped trying to either avoid or steal looks at Anakin or wonder what he thought of my clothes.
The shuttle's riders grew eerily quiet when we touched down. It was like a dozen beings as one had suddenly ceased breathing. I heard the mechanized sound of the ramp extending, and then we were all rising from our seats. We departed the ship orderly, nearest to the ramp first, farthest last.
It may have been "night" on the ship, but it was early dusk at our landing site. The lowering sun made the reddish-sky appear scarlet, and the towering spires from the hive-like mountains in the distance appeared even more foreboding than they had in daylight. The air was thin once again, causing my lungs to subtly reach for extra breath with every inhale. I was surrounded by Jedi, but the second my body realized where I'd brought it back to, a primal system beyond my capability to shut off instinctively went on alert. My eyes scrutinized the spires cast black in shadow against the setting sun with a prickle of trepidation.
Starship engineers literally have artificial gravity down to a science. It is vital to space activity aboard all manner of vessels. As excellent as the technology is, and no matter how very long it has had to be perfected, some travelers still often say they can feel a difference between the gravity constructed by a ship and the kind born of a true planet— whether it be solid, gaseous, or a hybrid of both. There's not really a conscious difference one can point to, but I've always felt like something in my bones intuitively knew when my feet were being influenced by a natural or concocted force.
Stepping back on to the gravity of Geonosis refreshed memories of my first arrival's hour— the desperate fall from the shortening runway, the rapid and ultimately failed struggle with the warrior who sent me into the vat. Each of these were instances when my body hadn't adjusted to the planet's weight difference in time to compensate.
But as I followed our group over the graveled tissue of the terrain, my thoughts immediately shifted to that last hour. We were joining other Jedi already standing in a semi-circle on a hill overlooking the scene. I swallowed down a rush of mourning. Hearing a number is one thing— seeing them side-by-side in a massive lot is quite another.
One hundred and eighty-two funeral pyres stretched out in a morbid field in front of us. This immobile collective were the fallen Jedi, who'd spent their last hour of life in an arena some indeterminable distance from here.
Their final ceremony had been delayed due to the complete lack of material on Geonosis with which to build their alters. Before any entreaties for food or other supplies had gone out, flammable wood was the very first solemn request to the nearest Republic-friendly planets with forests. It had taken two days for the wood to be loaded, transported, unloaded, and built into proper stacks for almost two hundred bodies. Given the size of the task's orchestration, it was extraordinary it had come together so quickly. But given the dignity inherit in its goal, who could truly be surprised?
The pyres were in rows long and wide. Two protruded from the others at the very front, nearest to the bottom of our hill. I'd overheard the Jedi next to me on the shuttle talking to her Padawan about this prominently placed duo. The one on the left was Coleman Trebor, the sole member of the Council to die in the rescue attempt. The obviously much younger humanoid resting on the altar next to his was the youngest Padawan slain.
I'd learned, when I was Queen, one of the primary reasons why the Jedi burn their dead. The explanation is a uniquely haunting one no other order, culture, or religion can claim. It is said that the bones of departed Jedi still carry their Force signature, which can in turn be felt by living Force-sensitives nearby. Only by reducing them to ashes will their final trace be removed.
It was impossible to fathom what emotions the living company around me felt as they looked at this massive of medley of their brethren.
This ceremony was another cause as to why the Jedi and I had remained on or near Geonosis. A duty had to be honored, one as necessary as the investigations which had begun to conclude on the planet. There was one reason, and one reason only, why the Jedi had extended an invitation for me to be here. For once, it had nothing to do with my elevated position in government. I, too, had fought side-by-side with these fallen warriors. I'd almost joined them in death on that arena sand, and would have, if not for Master Yoda's fortunate arrival. I had earned the right to honor them, to thank them, and to bid them a final farewell.
And if there was any manner of truth to Master Windu and Mundi's words that the fight was only brought to the arena because I inadvertently made it so, I never could've lived with myself if I'd stayed on The Credence and slept through this.
Thirty Jedi stood at the top of our hill in our semi-circle— the Council members in the middle, others branching outwards from them, and me at the end of the curve on the right. A sudden wind whipped all brown robes and my light blue one around our legs. Almost as quickly, it disappeared, and the air around us went completely still.
The ceremony began without any announcement given.
Five Jedi broke rank and moved forward first. I realized, by their youth and unmistakable braids, that they were all Padawans. There was a large bundle of short logs at the base of our hill, and once lit at the end, the wood pieces were transformed into torches. These five— ranging in age from an obvious teenager to one who reminded me of an Obi-Wan of ten years ago— walked out into the wide lot with their respective torches. There was no clear symmetry to the act. They sought out specific pyres almost as if drawn to them, which, dear Gods, perhaps they were. My breath hitched as I realized the design— they were going to their own fallen Masters.
I looked down the semi-circle to my left, and I found Anakin in the too-short line of those who were both survivor and witness. Our eyes met, albeit briefly. He was standing close to Obi-Wan.
Given the investigative aim of the Jedi on the planet, and the fact that Obi-Wan and Anakin had not been the only injured Jedi who'd needed time to heal on the hospital ship, the physical undertaking of unloading the wood, arranging the pyres, caring for and moving the bodies had fallen on the clones. This was quite a significant responsibility to pick up so quickly after a major battle. But there was not a single helmet present to be seen, apart from the pilots respectfully waiting back in our two shuttles on the other side of the hill. I turned to the Jedi nearest to me. Keeping my voice only as audible as I dared, I inquired, "Where are the troopers?"
He was tall, and he bent down somewhat to likewise quietly answer my question. "They're on the perimeter, guarding the area. We've located entrances into the catacombs three klicks from here south and southeast." At my wide-eyed expression, he added, "There are entrances everywhere, unfortunately. This was the safest open area to…" His heavy eyes lifted to scan the pyres in front of us. After a moment, they met mine again. "There are too many Geonosians for the Jedi to defend against. The troopers are making sure their warriors don't take advantage of the ceremony to attack."
An explosive battle, building the funeral pyres, then straight into sacred watch. My respect for the clones continued to grow.
Five pyres were actively burning now. As the Padawans began their return to our hill, three older Jedi left the semi-circle to descend the slope. With their own torches, they ventured out into the field of the fallen to initiate the fire for three specific altars— undoubtedly, the ones hosting their Padawans.
My eyes surveyed the scene, now pondering how many Padawan and Master pairs were out there, with neither partner able to carry a torch for the other. Then a chill surged up my spine. If events had ended differently, this would have been the moment when Obi-Wan Kenobi walked out as the fourth bereaved Master.
Then, the less than thirty surviving Jedi— save one— walked forward. They wordlessly picked up and ignited more torches. Anakin hoisted his high in his left hand. I followed the sight of his dark blond ponytail for as long as I could make him out. They all then walked down the wide rows, reverentially lighting pyres as they went. The two in front in a place of prominence, however, remained untouched.
My heart broke a few minutes later, when I came to understand why.
Before that, billows of black smoke from one hundred and eighty burning pyres rose directly up into the darkening sky, defying the wind. One only had to look at the small, green figure who'd stayed behind to understand how. Although only a fraction of sedate concentration appeared on his face, Master Yoda was using his abilities to steer the smoke away from the eyes and throats of all those who still needed them clear.
Slowly but steadily, the empty-handed Jedi returned to our hill. Only then did Master Yoda take a few shuffled steps forward, reliant on his cane with every movement. Now the signature look of concentration passed to Master Windu, who rose a single hand hip-high as he overtook the responsibility passed to him, albeit modified. Now, the ample smoke moved freely in any direction the wind took it, except towards our hill.
Gradually, but with determination etched into the green lines of his face, Master Yoda made his way to the bottom of the hill. From there, he picked up a single log like the others had. With a simple wave of his three-pronged fingers, its end burst into flame. He touched it first to the pyre belonging to his former colleague on the Council. Next, he hobbled to the one cradling the body of the youngest fallen Padawan.
As if the ceremony hadn't already been emotional enough to observe, this is when my heart truly began to tear. I remembered Anakin, sometime during the flight on the Jendirian Valley, casually sharing that Master Yoda took special involvement in the training of Younglings. It had become a traditional upbringing for Jedi for the past several hundred years, but one Anakin had skipped when he went straight to Padawanship.
Now, I couldn't help but wonder how many of these immobile forms were recent students of his. To see a nine-hundred-year-old being light the funeral pyres of two who'd not yet seen a fraction of that time— one of whom had never even made it to Knighthood— was a sight I shall never forget.
His final service for his former students complete, the tired figure made his way back up to our assembly. The sun was well below the horizon line now, but bright flames of orange and red grew and begin to lick the night sky. Their topmost embers eerily reminded me of the lanterns I'd seen rise at funerals on Naboo. Anakin and I had watched as our lantern for Cordé flew over the balustrade between our Varykino rooms. We'd followed its path until it became indistinguishable from the stars. I lifted my gaze high and witnessed these hot embers appear to do the same.
Only this time, when my eyes took in the natural ceiling above us, unnaturally large dots hovered in the expanse. Too big to be stars, too small to be moons.
Republic assault cruisers, watching our farewell from their military formation in orbit like a collection of tiny, industrial eyes.
There were no grieving parents here like there had been at Edum Bloom. The families who'd originally brought these Jedi— Padawans and Masters alike— into existence didn't know their son, daughter, sibling, etc. was even a participant in their own funeral right now. I wondered, though, if they suspected. I couldn't help but imagine that if I had ever handed a child of my own over to the Jedi, I would spend the rest of my life searching the HoloNet for updates on them. Photographs. Articles about their missions and triumphs. When the news of Geonosis broke, and Republic citizens learned of the greatest loss of life the Jedi Order had suffered in centuries, how many forgotten parents rushed to see if names had been released? Parents gray-haired and younger, who would never be sent an official courtesy notice, nor would ever receive a condolence letter from the Chancellor's office thanking them on behalf of their child's service to the galaxy. How many of them didn't look, because they'd made themselves let go a long time ago? How many couldn't bring themselves to look?
I scanned the grave faces around me. There no words spoken like the poetic kind shared at Cordé's burial. No short but heartfelt speeches like those at the service for Shmi Skywalker. No eulogies. No outpouring of grief. Just silent and potent esteem.
I remember thinking, as I stood there watching the pyres burn, that the galaxy had experienced a tipping point. I knew whatever was coming, it would be long-lasting, difficult, and hard. But there was still a feeling at the time that it had been a recent switch into this new, dark era.
But the funeral procession for the Republic had already happened. It occurred ten years prior, on a sunny and beautiful day.
Many of the Jedi who stood at the top of those steps with me were standing again with me now on a graveled hill, far from a decorated plaza. The rise of something which would erase what we thought we were about to fight to protect had already celebrated its first success a decade ago. And I, of all people, hosted its jubilant festivities. The same drums the Gungans use for victory marches are used for funeral walks. It's only a matter of playing a different tempo. Flowers which are shredded and thrown as confetti can be left intact to use as wreaths of mourning. What meaning these tools of presentation have is given by the emotion and awareness of those in attendance. Only one of us who stood at that parade knew all the many layers of its ceremony. As we stood on that Geonosian hill— pensive and solemn over the assumption this was a beginning— he was lightyears away, already solidifying his successes on Coruscant.
My vision was so concentrated on the fiery sight in front of me, I didn't realize Anakin had moved to my right side until we were practically shoulder-to-shoulder.
I looked up at him in alarm— shocked, elated, and terrified by his sudden proximity. He was gazing at me devotedly. Half his facial planes were covered in shadow, whilst orange light bruised red bounced off the other half from the eliciting fire, summoning memories.
{My heart is beating, hoping that that kiss will not become a scar.}
My heart was already pounding, but it nearly burst out of my chest when he leaned down to say something into my ear. His lips stayed just beyond the rim of my cloak as he said, without any hint of anything the least bit untoward, "Thank you, Senator Amidala, for coming this evening."
I was immensely grateful, given nearby ears, that he was speaking to me in such an uncharacteristically professional tone. That lasted for all of one second. Then I realized the true intent of his maneuver when I felt his warm hand slip into mine.
It felt amazing to touch him— the first physical contact we'd had since Dooku's hangar— but this was far to reckless!
I immediately shook his hand off and away, almost like it had been a spasm. Anakin hovered for a moment before he straightened his back. He didn't say another word. I swallowed tensely, but wasn't sure what else I could have done, or could do now to rectify the situation. He couldn't have picked a worse audience to reach for me in front of.
After a few suspenseful seconds, he left my side and presumably returned to Obi-Wan's. My eyes didn't leave the pyres for the rest of the vigil. One million Republic credits couldn't have swayed me to look at Anakin's resumed position in the curved line. I was much too afraid of what my face would message for others to see as well. Reproach, yes. But also, apology. Longing. Love.
After taking his hand in the hut, and again on the Lars mattress, maybe I should've known better— held on just a second longer. Would it have been so disastrous for me to have squeezed his palm just once before letting go? The long sleeves of our combined cloaks had hidden his brazen act while it lasted, but Anakin was too tall and my hand too low to sell innocence beyond his leaning in to briefly tell me something. What had been next in his grand plan? Could I have trusted that he in fact did know to let go before other eyes caught on? When it comes to Anakin and his penchant for "Do first, think later", that trust was a big ask on such a public stage.
I should've known I'd made another consequential mistake when he, in an abrupt turn, didn't once look at me on the returning flight. This time, our shuttle stopped at the hospital ship first, but when Anakin rose and followed his Master to disembark, his stony gaze remained straight ahead as he walked past my seat.
It's wretchedly late. But I've been checking the chronoclock, and I know it's finally morning in Theed. My window for consideration can close at last.
The information had been entered and waiting for over an hour. As if not another second could be wasted, I leaned forward in my chair and pressed the button to place a holocall to my sister's house.
So many seconds went by before she answered my comm, I worried I'd still acted too soon. Then she materialized in blue form, visible from the shoulders up. Thankfully, from years of knowing her, I immediately knew I hadn't woken her. There wasn't enough grogginess in her eyes.
But there was concern.
"What's wrong?"
Caught off guard, I blinked dumbly at her for a moment. "Do you begin all your comms this way?"
Sola fixed me with a look only a big sister can. "No one comms this early unless there's news. And you don't look the least bit happy, so I'm assuming it's the other kind of news." I shrugged slightly, acknowledging the rationale in this. Besides, she was right about my motives. I opened my mouth to begin, but she added before I could, "Wait, are you wearing the exact same dress you were wearing the last time I saw you?"
I glanced down at the cinched, blue dress. I hadn't bothered to change out of it yet. My sister couldn't see, but red soil thickly coated its bottom hem. I resisted the temptation to roll my tired eyes. "Yes."
"Did the Finance Minister finally cut down your wardrobe allowance?"
I scanned the ceiling in a curve so high, I must've seen the edge of my brain. "No, Sola, I wa—"
"Mother of moons!" She suddenly straightened in her chair. "Did you hear they caught the scoundrel who's been marrying his way across the galaxy? He's gotten himself brides on, at least, twenty-one different planets. And none of those poor ladies were the wiser, can you imagine?"
"Sola—"
"Too bad they caught him. He might've been your best chance for a husband."
I rubbed a hand down my face, an uncharacteristic gesture from me, even in front of family. "You've heard about the battle on Geonosis, Sola?"
Her eyebrows grew animated again. "Yes! They're saying it's the outbreak of war." My sister's face grew pained with remorse. "Oh, Padmé, I'm so sorry. All your hard work…" Her voiced drifted and she finally paused. Sola seemed to put context clues together, including, perhaps, my expression. "Oh no. You were there, weren't you?"
"Still here. I just returned from the funeral for the Jedi who fell." That was a tight twist of the truth. I'd returned three hours ago. I'd spent all of them keeping myself awake so I could place this call.
Her jaw dropped and her eyes went wide. "I thought you were at Varykino?! Wearing gorgeous gowns and finally acting like you don't have the galaxy on your shoulders?!"
"I was." Pause. "Until I wasn't."
"Sis, if we're really heading into a war, you have got to learn how to keep yourself out of trouble."
"Sola, I don't have the stamina to stay awake for a lecture." I sighed and folded my arms on the table. "I'm assuming Mom and Papa still think I'm at Varykino too?"
She nodded, which somehow gracefully turned into her shaking her head wistfully. "You being safely hidden away at Varykino— or so we thought— has given all of us the first chance in a long time not to obsess over the HoloNet for news about you."
It was an innocent and almost expected thing to hear, but for some reason, it put an ache in my heart. And it didn't make what I was about to say any easier. "I know I should break the news to Mom and Papa about where I am and what I was involved in, but I can barely keep my eyes open. I only have enough energy for one call."
"Well, I love you too, but why did you call me over our parents?"
"Because you have something they don't. Two somethings." My eyes filled with an element my sister hadn't seen from me in a very long time— tears. I tried to keep my voice from breaking as I pushed through a forced smile. The octave of my voice rose involuntarily. "I would really like to see my nieces, Sola." I took in a quick breath. "I need to see them."
"Oh, oh Padmé, of course," she instinctively leaned forward, like she wanted to embrace me regardless of the actual distance between us. Her head darted over her shoulder to where I knew the door to her study was. "They've probably already heard me shouting at you. I'm surprised they haven't poked their heads in to see what's going on."
But when she looked back at me, tears were still falling down my face.
"I'm sorry, I didn't expect to—" I rubbed my eyes with the brunt of my palms. I fought to dam the sudden flood. "I just need a moment to collect myself. I don't want them to see me crying."
The hardest part about trying to stop the streaks coming out of my eyes wasn't wrestling with the emotions coming from within. It was registering the stricken but tender look on Sola's face as I did so.
She waited patiently as I gathered myself together. Luckily, the blue nature of comms meant the girls wouldn't see any residual redness on my cheeks. I sniffled one last time. "Okay. I'm ready."
Sola nodded, then turned from the camera and beckoned the girls into the room, "Ryoo! Pooja! Come, please!"
It took about a minute, but then the two most adorable, amazing little girls in the entire galaxy shuffled into the study— two faces that would inspire any aunt sitting in a makeshift Geonosian jail to pray she leaves it alive, just so she might hug this duo once again. My heart immediately filled with immense joy. I felt my face brighten and I sat up in my chair, renewed with energy.
They were still waking up and feeling sleepy, as evident by how they were rubbing their eyes. Ryoo's normally combed, straight hair looked anything but. Pooja's curly mop looked like it always did— like a three-year-old's fingers were constantly running through it.
They looked at their mother questioningly, but both grinned when they noticed who she was comming with.
"Aunt Padmé!" Ryoo's voice rang out first. Her younger sister climbed into her mother's lap, still smiling, but shyer.
"Good morning, darlings," I cooed, my voice now high-pitched from happiness. "How are you?"
"Pooja kicked me again in her sleep," my eldest niece announced, promptly turning her grin into a frown like this was the worst news the galaxy had ever heard. She fixed the creature in her mother's lap with a look only a big sister can.
"Pooja," I sing-songed teasingly, raising an eyebrow. "You have to be careful with those mighty legs of yours. You're so strong, you'll kick your sister into space next time."
The face surrounded by mischievous curls only giggled back at me, clearly curious and delighted by this concept.
Ryoo jumped in front of the camera lens eagerly, as if trying to see my surroundings better than the holocall allowed. "Aunt Padmé! Aunt— move, Pooja— Aunt Padmé! Um, um, are you bringing us back presents from wherever you are?"
There wasn't a grain of sand on Geonosis I'd be willing to put in the palm of my nieces. No part or memory of its scene would come to them.
But I could always pick up something else, something from somewhere else, between this moment and the next time I saw the girls. "You'll just have to wait and see," I answered with dramatic and promising flair.
Ryoo clapped. "Oo! I can't wait to see what it is!"
You and me both.
Our back and forth continued for a few glorious minutes— a too-brief period of time that was arguably the happiest moments I'd experienced in several days. Naturally, Ryoo was excitedly on the status of her pet Voorpak, but she was interrupted when her sister looked up from my sister's lap and cutely whined, "Momma, can we have some breakfast? My middle's hungry." She patted the small region of her stomach for extra effect.
Ryoo abruptly seemed to remember her own hunger and made a similar motion. "Mine too."
Sola nodded, and with good timing. Pooja was already scrambling off her human seat. "Head to the kitchen. I'll be right behind you. But— hey! Say goodbye to your aunt first."
The girls jointly smiled at me one last time and waved, but it felt like it was more so out of kind obligation now. Their one-track minds were focused on the satiation breakfast would bring. I waved back, a level of bliss stretching my lips into a farewell smile.
I watched the edge of the screen they disappeared from in their walk to the door. Then I sighed weightlessly, knowing only my sister could hear me. "Oh. I needed that." I relaxed further into my seat. "I needed that." When I looked center again to meet Sola's eyes, she seemed to be barely suppressing a happy grin of her own as she studied me.
But the odd nature of her expression confused me. "What?"
"Nothing, just… You're going to be a wonderful mother one day." She blew me a quick kiss. "Get some sleep, I'll take care of telling Mom and Papa you're okay."
She gave me one last small wave, and then the image disappeared.
I sat there staring at the now empty space, frozen. It wasn't the first time Sola made such a comment after seeing me interact with children— hers or other's. At this point, it had almost become routine. But as her penultimate words echoed in my head— for the first time ever after hearing them— all bliss evaporated, and I again felt the gripping urge to cry.
Hell hath no fury like a fed-up Senator.
Surprised observers, human and droid alike, parted for me swiftly as I marched through the bright, white hallways. In contrast to The Credence, the hospital ship had an unsettling perfume of lingering bacta and industrial disinfectant. I was surprised I hadn't noticed it when I was brought on board three days ago, but then, I hadn't been in my most settled head space at the time.
Much like now. But today, my nose was apparently wide awake. I had become a hunter; all senses were attuned to my target, even the ones I wouldn't need.
Each of the human faces I passed were biologically identical, but I swear— I recognized familiar wariness in the eyes of a few. I felt confident they were the medics I'd left a startling impression on with my orders and tears that first day, when I was especially desperate for information on Anakin and wasn't afraid to hound them for it. No doubt they saw the telltale frustration on my face again now, as they moved out of my way faster than most.
It was the morning after the mass funeral. I was coming from yet another briefing on The Credence where there were more questions than answers. At this point, even the cool-tempered Jurue was getting aggravated by the limited information offered by the tightly lipped Jedi.
My heart had most emphatically gone out to them due to their steep loss and undeniable bravery in the arena, but I was beyond tired of feeling like my requests for briefings were being stalled or flat out ignored. The Council and their ever-revolving envoys would likely keep passing me off until they couldn't avoid a more official debriefing on Coruscant, but I couldn't wait that long anymore. The patience of Senator Amidala of Naboo had officially run out. I was a pacifist— not a monk. And I knew just the Jedi I might be able to push into answering my questions.
I found him where I hoped and also did not hope he would be— standing at Anakin's bedside. Both men looked up at me when the gray door divided open, but I got the feeling from their expressions that they'd sensed me coming before I'd turned the corner two hallways ago. Obi-Wan had his arms crossed over his chest and was looking even more perturbed than usual.
I hadn't been in the infirmary bay designated for the Jedi before, though not for lack of wanting to. It was a long room, with two rows of hospital beds lining both sides of it. The foot-ends of the beds faced inwards, allowing the occupants to have full perspective of the space and each other. Only, the only other people in the room now were Anakin and Obi-Wan. All other Jedi had long since been discharged. Anakin had unfortunately earned the title of most gravely wounded, and he had the extended stay to show for it.
Despite the torrid tempest I'd carried over on the short shuttle ride here, and with which I'd stalked through the hallways like a general seething, I flustered completely at the sight of Anakin. Gone was his Jedi uniform of last night. Gone was most of his clothing, actually. He wore dark blue, cloth pants provided by hospital stock. He sat on top of his sheets, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his back near-vertically propped against a pair of pillows. His feet and top half were bare, revealing one toned arm and one which ended with a metallic plate just above where an elbow used to be.
Luckily, my pace didn't alter much as I continued my stomp towards them in the middle of the bay. But I had to fight to keep my eyes on Obi-Wan's down-turned expression and off Anakin's abdomen and upper chest and shoulders and face and… well, everything, really.
As I've said, those were very long hours behind conference room tables.
"Master Kenobi," I greeted first with a small smile. Of course, he was garbed in his tunics, belt, and Jedi robe. It would be more suspicious if I didn't acknowledge Anakin at all than if I did, so I took a quick breath and made eye contact with the blue orbs boring into the right side of my face. He stared back at me intensely. I nodded at him once. Polite. Cool and outwardly unaffected. "Hello, Ani."
My back was so straight and tense, a starship could have landed on it if I'd laid flat.
Anakin seemed a cross between happy to see me, eager to know why he was, but nervous about his exposed right arm. He swallowed and awkwardly reached across his chest to place his hand over the end of the base where it met the skin, in a gesture so plainly rooted in self-consciousness that it sent pangs through my heart.
"Senator." Obi-Wan was continuing our greeting. He gave me a fraction of the dip of the bow he'd bestowed when we'd reunited in my Coruscant apartment. There was no handshake this time. "To what do we owe this unexpected surprise?"
I met his eye and steeled myself. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, however, a beeping signal went off, and my lips promptly closed.
"Excuse me," the Master muttered, apologetic yet annoyed as he reached for the alerting comm on his belt. After pressing the top button, he announced, "This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, go ahead."
Mace Windu's deep voice came through on the other side. "Obi-Wan, I have an update for you for the Tartoon mission."
My inner curiosity raised an eyebrow.
"Right, thank you," Obi-Wan replied, glancing up at us. "Just one moment, Master." He lifted his finger off the comm, muting his side of it, and continued, "I'm sorry, I must take this." He scrutinized me and Anakin, as if clearly hesitant to step away even though he'd already implied that he had to.
"I promise I'll be right here when you come back, Master," Anakin mumbled with a sigh. There was an edge to his tone, and I couldn't help but wonder what had caused it.
Left with little other recourse, Obi-Wan nodded and headed towards the hallway. The gray doors automatically opened for him and shut cleanly after.
Days I had spent, pining for Anakin. Not just in Geonosis's orbit between two different ships— maddeningly on Naboo. Excruciatingly on Tatooine. And on every ship which had transported us from those places to this bedside spot. I'd been mute as to the depth of my feelings for so much of our time together, it was almost as if the pressure of the straitjacket had become familiar.
But now, my feelings had been truly, deeply, voiced. The straitjacket was known ground. This was not. Instead of feeling free and easy, I was avoiding Anakin's eye as much as he seemed to be avoiding mine. We were alone, both of our feelings expressed, yet I could not recall a single more painfully awkward moment in his company that outmatched this.
It didn't help that I couldn't keep my sight on him longer than a few seconds. I wasn't thrown by his right arm at all, unlike he still seemed to be. But even here, in a bluntly lit hospital room that smelled of medicinal agents— he was so otherworldly beautiful that it hurt to look at him.
Anakin cleared his throat and became the one with the courage to speak first. "How are your cuts?"
I nodded and reflexively gestured with a hand towards my back. "Better. Thank you."
I shifted my weight on to another foot.
"That's really great, I'm really glad to hear that."
I nodded and returned his smile. "Tomorrow the bandages come off for good." We were a few precious seconds in of doing fine. Then my eyes dropped from his on their own accord— falling directly to, of all places, his left nipple. I closed my eyes and felt heat rising in my cheeks. Shaking my head, I pointed at his bare chest, quickly trying to cover by asking, "Your ribs?"
With a level of humor we severely needed interjected, he smiled and replied, "I don't think I'll ever look at shaak ribs the same way again."
I laughed a little too breathlessly and loudly.
Get a grip, woman.
I fought to calm my rush of nervousness. "You're not in any pain?"
Anakin's lips curved up, but the smile did not reach his eyes. His voice was quieter, bereft of humor. "I'm alright." After a pause, with slightly more gusto, he added, "I'm practically all healed. The bacta tank worked its magic. I'm mostly here just to wait until they…" He tentatively lifted his right forearm by means of finishing the sentence. "It's getting attached soon."
I settled into sincerity as I scanned his face for an answer he might not verbally give. "Would you like me to stay with you during the procedure?"
His brows pulled in, and he immediately shook his head. "I don't even want to see it get attached. Just the idea turns my stomach inside out. I don't want anyone else, especially you, to see it happen either." Full lips pressed into a taunt line before he continued, "I've stuck too many mechanical arms into sockets when I was building or fixing droids, like when—" Suddenly, Anakin's eyes nearly bugged from their own sockets. "Threepio! Have you heard anything about Threepio? Or Artoo?"
Authentic embarrassment shot through me. I shook my head. "No! Not yet. I've been so busy with the briefings."
"Briefings?" Although the panic look lingered in his features, Anakin seemed to still.
"Yes, there's so much work to be done. I couldn't wait till we reach Coruscant to get started." And I needed some way to pass the time while I agonized over being away from you.
Oh, how I wish I'd said that thought out loud.
Anakin looked down at the hand in his lap. "It's been busy over there?"
"On The Credence? Very," I nodded enthusiastically, relieved to have stumbled on to a topic I knew I could talk at length about without awkward pauses. It didn't cross my mind that my listener might not be enthusiastic to hear it. "There's a multitude of conversations happening at the capital, of course, but our ship has become the second-best place in the Republic to learn information as it comes in. The Credence is full of representatives who have been cleared to join— some to report, some to listen."
"Sounds like a party." Ani's disgruntled inflection was obvious, but before I could comment on it, he swallowed with agitation and pressed, "Threepio can't be lost. He's shuffling around down there with a perfect memory of the last decade of my mother's life, from the day I left her." Eyes drilled into mine. His began to glisten as he held the stare. Then his jaw tightened, and he pushed out, "I have so many questions to ask him."
All gaiety over giving political updates had dissolved. I took a step nearer to his bed. "I'm sure they've both been picked up by now— the hassle must be in getting them back to who they belong to."
But Anakin seemed to digest these words with a growing sense of defeat. "Jedi aren't allowed possessions. He can't belong to me, even if he's found."
"I thought you were famous for having droids in your quarters at the Temple?"
"Infamous," he corrected broodily. "It wouldn't work. I always let those droids loose again when I finish upgrading them. I couldn't get away with keeping Threepio. My reputation precedes me." Anakin, ever aware of his mechanical skills, even during a moment of crisis, tilted his chip up perceptibly. "They'd never believe a problem with a protocol droid would have me stumped for years." Then he frowned and sighed heavily. "I can't take him on missions with me, and I can't leave him behind at the Temple and trust they won't get rid of him while I'm gone." He threw his head back against the pillow. "Why in the blazes did I take him off Owen's hands?"
But Anakin suddenly tensed as his head snapped forward again. His attention darted to the door. A moment later, he stared at me with hard eyes.
Not quite realizing Anakin's mercurial pendulum had swung, I soothed, "I'm sure Threepio—"
"Forget Threepio," Anakin interrupted in a rush. "Who was that man? The one with the dark, curly hair?"
I balked at him, thrown by the abrupt and tectonic shift in conversation. "What?"
His voice was barely above a whisper, but his eyes scrutinized my face hotly. "Did you only say it because you thought we were about to die?"
The door separating Obi-Wan's hallway from our bay slid open.