The Moons of Iego: The Padmé Amidala & Anakin Skywalker Website

FAN FICTION : ATTACK OF THE CLONES ERA

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Children of Circumstance
(chapters 1-8)

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To be elated at success
And disappointed at failure
Is to be the child of circumstances. How can such a one be called
The master of himself?
- - - Ancient Chinese Philosopher

Author's note: This story takes place entirely within AOTC, beginning after the Battle of Geonosis and ending with Anakin Skywalker's marriage to Padmé Amidala. It fills in the gaps left by the film, and came about because I had a lot of unanswered questions. It follows on from two prior stories:

"The Hour of Souls" (http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1024719)

"Step into My Parlor" (http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1026209)

The usual disclaimers apply. Everything Star Wars belongs to George Lucas and Co. I'm just a storyteller.

Chapter 1. Departures

There is an old expression that describes joy as "the soul taking wings."

When the soul flies, so do the feet.

Anakin Skywalker leaped off the lift at the far end of the serpentine corridor in the Senate office building and sprinted toward his next assignment, which he believed involved another cozy, private journey to a jewel-like planet near the Outer Rim with the woman who was the center of his universe.

The last thing he expected when he arrived at the Naboo Delegation's suite of offices was a crowd of people. The babble of voices flowed all the way down the curving hallway to the bank of lifts. It sounded as though he were hurrying toward the waiting room of the Sector Three Transport Station.

He slowed down in time to avoid getting slammed by one of the heavy double anteroom doors when it was abruptly flung open inches in front of his nose.

"Oof, sorry." A burly figure in the dress uniform of Naboo's security forces shot out of the noisy anteroom and belted down the corridor in the other direction. Anakin cautiously peered inside.

The room was a riot of color and noise. In one corner he recognized Captain Typho, also in uniform, in a huddle with three more security guards. A vividly dressed group of humans had gathered in the center of the room, talking animatedly and periodically glancing toward the closed door of the inner office. Six more people lounged on the grand couches in the alcove, surrounded by assorted luggage. Everyone seemed to be talking non-stop.

As soon as Anakin stepped into the room all of the conversations died down.

The Jedi effect. Without conscious shielding the very presence of a Jedi created movement in the Force that even non-Force sensitive people could perceive on some level. It usually caused them to stop talking or to slow down or stop momentarily, so the Jedi were in the habit of shielding themselves whenever they were out in public. Thinking he was going to meet Padm&wcute; alone Anakin hadn't even thought to shield himself - even after he heard the voices. What was he thinking? It was a mistake. He couldn't afford to make mistakes now that he was truly on his own.

The conversations quickly returned to their normal levels.

Captain Typho's attention snapped to the door as soon as Anakin's presence announced itself so dramatically. When he saw the Jedi, he waved him over.

"Skywalker." Typho generally deferred to Jedi Knights, but as far as he was concerned, this one was still a learner and therefore under his own command if his Jedi Master was not there. He treated him accordingly. "Wait over there until I finish this briefing."

Anakin nodded and withdrew to a polite distance. He took up a position with his back to the wall where he could survey the room and waited, picking up snatches of conversation from around the large space.

It seemed that Padmé was not the only one returning to Naboo on this trip. The people with the luggage appeared to be administrative staff on their way home. Typho was outlining security procedures for a Royal Yacht.

Anakin began to wonder what he was doing here. There was no place he would rather be than by Padmés side, but she had a full security complement already. Why had Chancellor Palpatine insisted that Anakin make this journey?

He turned his attention to the glittering group in the center of the room. A delegation of some kind. Gossiping. Something about an alliance. Then more small talk. They all knew one another well. He couldn't decide where they came from.

His attention swung to the door of the inner office like a compass needle returning to true North. With much greater care than he had used to enter the room he sent his awareness into the office.

Padmé was there. He knew her force signature as well as he knew Obi-Wan's - no. He stopped the thought cold. He would not think about his Master now. He continued to probe the inner office. He sensed three others in the office with her. The discussion, whatever it was, was intense. He could feel her anxiety flare, and then subside again. He wondered what the conversation was about.

Light, feminine laughter came from the hallway, and the doors opened once again to admit three petite, dark-haired women in glowing silk gowns. Handmaidens. The allure of sirens and armed to the teeth. He'd know them anywhere because they all reminded him wonderfully and temptingly of - wait, what was this?

A little girl with dark glossy hair bounced into the room behind them. She was dressed exactly like the handmaidens and ran to one of them, pulling her sleeve for attention. Handmaiden-in-training? He had never seen a young one among them before. He watched them with interest while adding their numbers to his mental tally of the existing security complement.

He really didn't know why they needed him.

As the woman bent down to the child her hood fell open and Anakin recognized Sabé. They saw each other at the same time, and Sabé gave him a knowing wink. Then she whispered something to the child and the two of them came to greet the young Jedi.

"My, my," grinned Sabé. "A real Jedi. To what do we owe the honor?"

"I'm beginning to wonder that myself," said Anakin. He looked at the child. "Who is this?"

Sabé dropped her voice. "Cordé's niece. Her parents also died recently. Padmé has taken her in."

The little girl continued to stare at Anakin with undisguised interest.

"Balé," Sabé said in exactly the same tone that Obi-Wan had always used when trying to use a social situation to give a lesson in manners, "this is Anakin Skywalker. He is a Jedi-" she glanced at him. He shook his head. Not yet a Knight. His chest tightened. Probably never a Knight, after this.

Sabé finished lamely, "He is a Jedi."

"Hello," Balé said. "What's a Jedi?"

The tightness in Anakin's chest started to rise into his throat. Good question. An even better question was, what kind of a Jedi was he? Struggling for something to tell the child he finally said, "A kind of soldier, I guess."

She frowned. "Why do you wear ugly clothes?"

Anakin kept a straight face. "They won't let me wear anything else."

Her eyes widened. Clearly she had never heard of such at thing.

Before they could continue their exploration of Anakin's unhappy state in the world the doors of the inner office finally opened and a wave of people turned toward it as if they had been waiting for this moment.

The room quieted as a man Anakin recognized as the Nubian foreign minister emerged, followed by a foreign dignitary who was dressed like the chattering group. Behind him came Padmé and a tall, graceful-looking man who seemed stuck to her like glue, holding her elbow protectively. He was dressed to rival the rising sun and was not, Anakin surmised, from Naboo. The chattering group broke into applause as the couple appeared in the doorway.

Anakin felt a very un-Jedi surge of longing and possessiveness as he watched the group exchange formalities. He locked his entire awareness onto Padmé and she looked up to find him. As their eyes met he sensed not only rising anxiety but also panic from her. Definitely not the reaction he had hoped for. He watched her whisper something in the man's ear - he sensed urgency - the man shook his head - resistance - then more urgency from Padmé. Finally the man seemed to agree, but he wasn't happy about it.

Anakin watched steadily as the delegation took its leave. Despite her inner disquiet Padmé managed to look serene. He could sense the effort it was costing her. The tall delegate was the last to leave. He bowed deeply to Padmé and kissed her hand.

Anakin imagined himself knocking the hand-kisser across the room and out the door with a single good Force-enhanced shove.

With the departure of the delegation Captain Typho quickly organized the remaining passengers and security personnel. While he was running security checks on the porters who came to collect the luggage and the handmaidens filed out into the corridor together with the administrative staff, Anakin finally sauntered over to Padmé to make his presence officially known. She broke into a smile and came toward him, hands outstretched to take his own.

"Anakin! I'm so happy to see you again!" Her eyes said a great deal more than that. They were full of longing and distress.

To Anakin, just seeing her felt like coming home. He yearned to strike down whatever enemy was making her unhappy.

He felt the tremor when her hands met his and she realized he was wearing gloves. He had taken to wearing them all the time lately. It helped him to forget the awkwardness of his mechanical hand.

"I'm happy to be of service, My Lady," he said, bowing and making sure that she dropped his hands after an appropriate interval. Typho was standing right behind him. For the Captain's benefit he continued, "Although I'm not sure what contribution I can make to your security force. Captain Typho has everything well in hand."

"I just feel better if you're along," Padmé said. There was a spot of pink on each cheek.

He heard Typho make a kind of strangled snorting noise right behind him.

"It's time to go, My Lady," the Captain said, surveying the room. They were the last people in it. "If you will go with the Handmaidens, Skywalker and I will take up the rear."

Padmé hesitated, then nodded and reluctantly turned away from him. It took some effort for Anakin to restrain himself from insisting on going with her.

He wondered whether the entire journey would be like this. Two days of being right next to her but unable to speak to her or touch her would probably be as bad as the month he had just spent without seeing her at all.

Typho fell into step with Anakin as they wended their way through the seemingly endless corridors of the Senate building. The shuttles were waiting on the roof port.

"We've got a total of twenty-eight passengers this time plus security complement," he said, filling the Jedi in on the details of the trip. "The Queen sent her own yacht." He looked speculatively at his young companion as if to say, what are you doing here? I didn't request your assistance. "I think we have security pretty well covered."

Anakin felt a need to establish a position for himself. A bit stiffly he said, "The request for my presence came from the Chancellor, I believe."

Typho snorted again. I don't know why he thinks we can't handle it. We're not going through any embattled sectors, and anyway, we're scheduled to pick up a fighter escort. I don't really know what you're needed for. No offense."

"None taken." Anakin thought some more. He had the same questions, of course.

"The think-twice factor." he suggested.

"Come again?" Typho was puzzled.

"You make it known that there is a Jedi presence on the transport and people will think twice before attacking it."

Another snorting noise. Strangled-sounding. Anakin seemed to bring it out in him. "That may work with pirates and in local disputes, but this is war. You know. Long distances? Heavy weapons? One Jedi more or less won't make much difference. No offense."

Privately, Anakin agreed, although he also thought that under those circumstances the Captain's security team wouldn't make much difference either. "You're in command, Captain," he said. "You decide how I can best be of service."

There was a heavy silence that lasted a few strides.

"You can keep away from the Senator."

Anakin stopped walking. Typho stopped as well and turned to face him.

"You had better explain what you mean, Captain," Anakin said in a very even and carefully modulated voice.

"I don't know what you're playing at, but the last time she was under your so-called 'protection' the pair of you left Naboo and she ended up in the middle of the first battle of the Galactic War. You want to explain that to me? Because I haven't had it explained to me properly yet."

Anakin suddenly felt very alone. Wistfully he remembered the comfort of being a small Padawan standing by the side of his Master, who always knew just the right thing to do and say. But that was over, probably forever. He wanted to do things his own way, didn't he? Well, here was his chance. Still, he found himself thinking, what would Obi-Wan do?

Obi-Wan would deal with the man sympathetically and diplomatically.

"You are absolutely right, Captain. In your position I would feel the same. It was a bad situation that got out of hand. The only thing I have to say in my defense is that the Senator will NOT take orders. Certainly not from me. I had the choice of letting her go alone or going with her."

He omitted the rest of the story.

It worked. Typho subsided a bit and even displayed a kind of twist to his mouth that might have been the beginning of a grin. "Now, that I believe." They started walking again.

Then Typho looked slyly at the young man who was striding beside him down the long shadow-lit corridor and found he couldn't resist a rare opportunity to bait a Jedi. "Looks like this is going to be an easy trip for you. Nothing to do but play games with the Handmaidens."

So much for Obi-Wan's diplomatic approach.

"It's comforting to know that your security arrangements are so effective as to render Jedi assistance completely unnecessary," Anakin retorted.

Captain Typho didn't miss a beat.

"She won't have time for you, you know. She'll be busy with her guests. That delegation from D'lai you saw back in the office? They are coming with us. They're also providing the fighter escort."

The corridor finally came to an end and they entered the waiting lift. Anakin replayed the scene in the office in his mind and began to get a very bad feeling about it. "Who are they?" he asked, neutrally enough.

"The bridegroom and his entourage. Our job is to baby-sit them back to Naboo where they're going to announce Senator Amidala's marriage to that tall fellow. Wolan, his name is. Noble or something."

Captain Typho noticed with satisfaction that Anakin was silent all the way to the docking platform. That'll teach the boy his place, he thought. The Captain was not generally an unforgiving man, but he took Padmé Amidala's safety personally. This Jedi Padawan-learner - whatever he was - was trouble. Even Master Kenobi had thought so. There was no way he would let the boy endanger the Senator again.

She will not marry him, Anakin vowed silently, striding toward the shuttle with his cloak snapping behind him in the wind that sliced across the top of the building. He still didn't understand the Chancellor's motivations for sending him here, but he no longer cared. Anakin had his own reasons and that was enough for him.

Chapter 2. Impasse

Obi-Wan Kenobi fell out of an uncharacteristically deep sleep as though he had been thrown off a cliff.

Something was terribly wrong.

Anakin. Something had happened to Anakin.

He jumped up and strove to regain his focus, reaching out in his mind for his constant companion of ten years. His Padawan.

Anakin was gone.

Think.

Anakin had been sent on assignment to Naboo with Senator Amidala. Again. That was in order. That was where he was supposed to be.

But no. Anakin was truly gone. The link between them - the telepathic link between Master and Padawan - was no longer there. Obi-Wan closed his eyes as he probed the place that Anakin had filled. It was a painful gouge in his awareness.

He has left me. He cut our bond and he has left me.

Obi-Wan fumbled for his console and checked, not very optimistically, to see whether he could find Anakin's transponder signal.

Of course not.

Maybe something has happened to him. Maybe he is hurt, or dead.

He wouldn't just cut me off like that. He would not give up everything he has worked for. That we have worked for. He wouldn't abandon the Order.

Obi-Wan calmed himself and stretched out with his feelings with a somewhat un-Knightly sense of urgency. His awareness surged through the quarters they shared in the Jedi temple, finding traces of Anakin everywhere like the shifting and thinning pictures in clouds. He searched more deeply. He found wisps of sadness and regret. There were clumps of determination and tendrils of guile. And love. And loneliness. And very clearly, he found intent.

Anakin was gone, and he had deliberately separated himself from his Master.

Stunned, Obi-Wan searched within himself to understand why.

* * * * *

The Queen's Yacht was unlike any other ship in Naboo's otherwise modest fleet. Designed for protocol, diplomacy and entertaining it was larger and more luxurious than the other starships and provided many of the amenities of palace life. Although travel at light speed made short work of most journeys, the Yacht provided the opportunity for longer, slower journeys, for off-planet diplomatic encounters and for high-level meetings while in transit. It contained luxurious staterooms and servant's quarters, a galley and dining salon, two conference rooms, and even an elegant salon where guests could meet and mingle. The centerpiece of the salon was a large viewing port - a great luxury, but one that befitted the overall style and purpose of the vessel.

The entire complement of passengers had been quickly and efficiently settled in their quarters. The Senator and her handmaidens occupied the Queen's suite of staterooms on the starboard side of the salon. The D'laian delegation had similar accommodation to port. Security personnel, staff and crew were housed in a separate section of cabins aft of the dining salon and conference rooms. The larger of the two conference rooms was immediately in use as the two delegations faced off on another round of negotiations before the ship had even lifted off.

As a luxury liner with minimal armament and no fighters of its own, an escort wing to discourage piracy and assure the safety of its important passengers generally accompanied the yacht. On this journey it had been agreed that the ship would travel unaccompanied from Coruscant to the outskirts of the D'laian system. There a complement of D'laian fighters would rendezvous with the Nubian ship and provide a largely ceremonial escort to Naboo, where the finalized treaty would be announced.

That didn't leave much time to finalize the treaty. That was a problem because the Nubians and the D'laians were at complete disagreement on several points, not the least of which was the D'laians' insistence that the agreement be sealed in the method common to their own culture - through a marriage between members of the ruling elite. Since Naboo's aristocratic culture was shot through with the annoying economic and social egalitarianism of democracy - an elected Queen with a limited term; had one ever heard of such a thing? - the D'laians had decided that Senator Amidala would fit their requirements for a suitable partner of equivalent social and economic value. At least she had formerly held the title of Queen, and even had some small reputation as a warrior.

It was nothing personal. D'laian law contained very interesting provisions for ownership of and disposal of assets between partners joined in this way. No wonder the entire planet of D'lai was in the hands of a relatively small ruling class.

The D'laians were openly offended at the Nubians' unwillingness to concede on this point. They had gone out of their way to select a prime partner for the Nubian woman. Wolan was a member in good standing of one of the finest houses, and had an outstanding reputation as a warrior - surely the most important criterion of all. He was young enough to be appealing, if the Nubians were silly enough to care about that sort of thing when it came to forming alliances. Surely there could be no objections. All that remained was for the planetary government to allocate to the Senator a suitable dowry, and the treaty could be completed.

The Nubian Foreign Minister thought that in his entire thirty-year career in the foreign service, including a long stint as Senator, he had never encountered people as arrogant and unyielding the D'laians. As chief negotiator on this mission he had the onerous task of leading this distasteful treaty negotiation. He found the assignment deeply unpleasant, not least because the Senator herself had insisted on being part of every minute of every meeting. It was difficult enough to deal with the matter-of-factness with which the D'laians bought and sold individual lives and careers without having to sit next to the woman whose fate was being so forcefully and insistently bartered.

Privately, he felt sorry for her. No one on Naboo had ever intended for the Senator to actually go through with the arrangement once the D'laians had added the marriage condition onto the package on the table. They thought it was simply another negotiating point. But over the last few days he had watched the D'laians concede point after point without ever moving on this one. It had now become the make-or-break condition of the treaty, and no one was budging. That had placed the young Senator squarely into the position of either conceding to the untenable arrangement at great personal cost, or refusing and thereby risking armed conflict with the D'laians, who were a formidable military power in the sector.

The Foreign Minister did not doubt for a moment that the D'laians would turn on Naboo if crossed. With the Galaxy at war and attention turned elsewhere, they knew they could get away with it. The small planet contained many resources coveted by the Warrior race, to be sure. But at this point the Foreign Minister was convinced that the D'laians' code of honor alone was enough to make them regard Naboo as an enemy simply because their demands had not been met.

Barbarians, he thought bitterly. Glittering, self-important, unyielding barbarians. Impulsively and uncharacteristically he reached over to pat the young Senator's hand. He felt powerless to help her.

Padmé was running out of ideas. She fervently wanted to tell the Queen to marry the man herself. But it was also completely outside of Padmé Amidala's character to inflict a burden on someone else that she would not carry herself. Hour after hour for days she had come up with alternate options. The D'laians stood firm on the point of the marriage.

This morning in her office she had barely been able to prevent that Wolan person from announcing the marriage on the spot, even without her formal concession. For him it was as good as done, and he saw no reason to listen to any more objections from her.

Here on the ship, coming closer and closer to Naboo, she was as far away from a solution as before. When she felt the foreign minister's hand on hers she realized with a staggering sense of loneliness that he had given up. The choice was hers: an abomination of a marriage or endangering the planet she had served unquestioningly all her life.

She thought back ten years to another attempt to subjugate Naboo. Chancellor Valorum had responded to the Trade Federation's blockade by sending Jedi negotiators. There were only two- a Master and a Padawan. Their modest presence had been enough to instill fear in the Trade Federation, but that fear had only served to make the enemy more dangerous.

She allowed herself to think a little bit about Anakin - at least about his presence on this ship. Clearly the Chancellor had arranged it. But why? There had been no mission briefing. His Master was not with him. He was on his own. He was not even a Knight. Would his presence have an effect on the negotiations simply because he was Jedi?

Suddenly Padmé surprised herself and everyone else in the conference room by standing up and demanding a recess in the meeting. The impulse came before the rational thought. Without waiting for an answer, she fled the conference room and walked unerringly toward the salon, telling herself only that she needed to think. She did not admit to herself that she was really looking for Anakin, as though he held the answer to all of her questions. As though he could save her.

* * * * *

Anakin stood alone before the large viewing port in the Salon like a dark statue silhouetted against the vastness of deep space. He was so still and his outline against the starry illumination was so faint that an idle passenger wandering into the salon might not even notice him at first. The salon was empty except for a small group of Nubians who sat together at the other end of the spacious room, chatting and having drinks. They had long since forgotten the young Jedi's presence, if they had ever even noticed it to begin with. He had been standing there for a long time.

Anakin had spent the first few hours on board thoroughly familiarizing himself with the ship and the people aboard. He had given considerable attention to learning about the D'laians. What he had learned so far did not give him comfort.

Now he had nothing to do but wait.

Idleness was his darkest enemy. He could cope with anything but a lack of purpose. Meditation was an acceptable and useful kind of stillness as far as he was concerned but this business of having nothing to do and nowhere to go was a rarefied form of torture. It meant that his mind was not fully occupied with a task, and that allowed room for the thoughts that he most wanted to avoid. The thoughts that lurked inside him like demons.

He hated how much he missed Obi-Wan.

He hated feeling guilty for having severed his telepathic bond with his Master this morning when he left and not even having said goodbye properly.

He hated the deepening realization that their bond had been so much more than a way for his Master to check on his whereabouts.

He hated feeling lost and lonely. It was like being orphaned again, only this time it was his own doing. All because his passion for Padmé had become the bright center of his universe, blinding him to all the other parts of his life.

He also found that he hated having - well, no proper status. As a Jedi Knight he would have arrived here with a clear mission and a full background briefing. He would have been present at all meetings. His advice would have been asked for and respected and he would have been given the authority to make decisions.

Instead all that Anakin had going for him was a grudging agreement that he could tag along if he stayed out of the way.

Padmé was unavailable. Meetings between the D'laian and Nubian delegations had continued as soon as the Star Cruiser lifted off. He had not seen her once since coming on board, and there was no way to know whether he would even get the opportunity.

Typho had been right. Anakin hated that, too.

Misery began to stalk him like a shadow.

You are now master of yourself, he reminded himself. You can decide your own actions from now on. You are free.

The bittersweet demon thoughts suggested that freedom might always be lonely.

He looked inside himself with the intention of strangling the demon voices and found instead his own bright, shining center.

Not loneliness. Padmé. He felt her presence. He turned around and she was there.

Misery lost its foothold and the voices stilled.

* * * * *

After the abrupt departure of the Nubian woman Wolan made the decision to follow her rather than trying to gain a strategic advantage with the old man during her absence. He had a sneaking feeling that she was up to something. He had already made up his mind not to allow her to confer with her security team or the other passengers. He wanted to know where she was going and why. He signaled to the three young warriors who were his constant companions, bowed to the people who still remained seated around the large conference table and followed he at a discrete distance. Action was better than that stupid talking any day.

She didn't get far. He followed her into the Salon, lengthening his stride so he entered the room only a few paces behind her. He saw her walk unhesitatingly across the room toward the viewing port.

And then he saw the Jedi.

Battle-rage rose in him like heat. She had no business inviting the Jedi here. It was none of their concern what kind of treaty was made with Naboo. The D'laians never allowed those sneaking sorcerers to get involved in their affairs.

"Senator Amidala!" Wolan's voice cut across the quiet room like a blaster bolt.

The woman stopped momentarily as though she had been struck, then continued to walk forward without turning until she stood at the Jedi's side. Only then did she turn her gaze toward him.

"Senator, I must insist that you return to the negotiating table." Wolan did not look at her as he spoke. His eyes were locked on the hated Jedi. "Unless, of course, you wish to concede on all points."

"I will return when I have finished speaking with Jedi Skywalker," she said coldly. "You may wait for me in the conference room."

No woman had the right to speak to him that way, thought the D'laian warrior.

"Our negotiations are not a matter for the Chancellor and his lapdogs," he snarled. "Our business must remain between us."

The Jedi had not moved.

"I will not ask you again, D'ai Wolan," said the insufferable woman, "You must do me the courtesy of returning to your delegation until I have completed my business here. You are a guest on my ship."

When she put it that way, Wolan had to back down. For now. But he would not forget this insult. Grudgingly he turned on his heel and left the salon without so much as a bow, and with his minions tagging along behind.

If the D'laian warrior had known more about the silent Jedi at the Senator's side he would perhaps not have spoken with such confidence. He did not know how little stood between him and his immediate demise.

For Anakin had listened to the entire exchange with an ice-cold heart.

The other passengers in the Salon were now staring at Anakin and Padmé with undisguised fascination. They could no longer speak privately. But Anakin could sense everything that was in her heart and on her mind, and she in turn gained strength from his mere presence. At this moment his fierce protectiveness felt like the only safe place in the world.

Padmé turned her back on the spectators and gazed unseeingly out the viewing port. Anakin turned with her.

"I have to go back in," she whispered, "but I need to see you. I will send Sabé when I can."

"Let me help you," he said quietly. "You know that I will do anything you ask. Anything."

"The D'laians seem to believe I am plotting against them with you."

"Then," Anakin said, with grim satisfaction, "let them continue to think so."

Padmé remained standing next to him as long as she dared. Somehow it gave her strength. Then she whispered, "I have to go back."

"You don't have to give in to them," Anakin said with a hard edge in his voice. "There is always another way."

"I wish that were true."

Anakin could think of a number of ways to make it true, but kept them to himself.

"I will not leave you," he promised.

Padmé did not know how he could be of help, but she felt comforted. Without a backward glance, she left him and returned to her duty with a quieter heart.

Anakin went back to his window.

Chapter 3. Changes

At the end of that grueling day Padmé collapsed into the relative safety of her stateroom on the Queen's Yacht. One more minute, one more meeting, one more miserable conversation and she would have exploded.

"Make sure that door is double-locked," she demanded. "Better yet, put a time lock on it. I don't want to come out again until this is all over." Sabé shook her head and made sure the door was secure.

Padmé collapsed onto the nearest chair and buried her face in her hands.

"Miss Padmé, are you all right?" Balé's worried face peered at her from behind a pile of luggage.

Sabé hurried over and took the child gently by the shoulders. "Miss Padmé is very tired. Let's let her rest a bit."

"No," Padmé said, "It's all right. Come here, sweetheart." She held her arms out for the little girl, who happily ran into them and scrambled into her lap, dislodging a few exquisite pleats and tucks in the process.

Padmé couldn't have cared less about the dress. She wrapped her arms around the child and buried her face in her silky hair. It felt indescribably good to hold her warm little body. To feel gentle fingers stroking her cheek and then playing with the heavy necklace that had been bothering Padmé all day. She drank in the child's innocent love like a plant that had spent a season without water.

Impulsively she reached up and unfastened the annoying jewelry and fastened it around Baleé's neck. "There," she said. "Now you're the Senator and I'm the Handmaiden."

The little girl squealed with delight and slid off Padmé's lap to go find a mirror.

Sabé looked at Padmé with that searching look that rarely missed anything.

Padmé looked back. "I wish," she said.

Balé admired herself in the necklace very much. Padmé continued to sag in her chair. Finally Sabé decided to take steps.

She retrieved the necklace.

She sent the little girl to find Dormé and Versé.

Then she pulled up an elaborately enameled packing case and sat down on it facing her mistress and friend.

"It's getting out of hand, isn't it," she said matter-of-factly.

Padmé felt stinging tears of rage well up. "I have never been outmaneuvered as badly as this. Not even when I was Queen."

Sabé gathered Padmés hands into her own, trying to pass along some kind of reassurance.

"Surely something can be done."

A couple of tears dropped. "Those arrogant, power-hungry, ignoble, strutting, self-important, arrogant-"

"You said that."

Padmé ignored her. "-narrow-minded, unyielding, spiritually void, culturally retarded, mercenary dandies have succeeded in boxing us into this unbelievable treaty before we could find a way out, and now they're besieging us."

"Well," Sabé said reasonably. "They are a warrior culture. That is why we wanted to ally with them - they can provide protection for us in our Sector that we can't get any other way."

"Warriors? Try imperialists." Padmé pulled her hands away from Sabé's and started to yank pins and fasteners out of her hair. "Imperialist barbarians." Pins and combs dropped onto the floor like rain. Sabé watched her mistress with mild astonishment.

"They know we need them." The ever-practical Sabé had found the hairbrush and offered it before last pin came out.

Padmé kept talking while she savagely brushed her hair. "We can't protect our planet or our ability to trade if this sector becomes embroiled in the War."

"No one can," Sabé reminded her. "That's the terror of war."

"True." The Senator was warming up to her speech while at the same time impatiently tearing off jewelry and dropping it on the floor with the hairpins. It made a fascinating spectacle. "But neither we nor the D'laians are planning to secede from the Republic. Neither are most of the other worlds in our sector." She waved the hairbrush. "If the worlds in our sector can just stay together and remain loyal to the Republic, we might not see the worst of it."

Her hair done, Padmé started viciously unbuttoning her long narrow sleeves, snapping off some of the tiny buttons in the process. Sabé sighed and stood up to help, then turned her mistress around so she could undo the complicated fastenings at the back of her heavy embroidered brocade dress. Padmé was still talking. "But what our dear friends the D'laians are trying to do amounts to annexing Naboo. With me as the hostage."

"Do you have something against your clothes?" Sabé asked, gently putting aside the exquisite garment that Padmé had flung onto the floor with a gesture that looked a lot like hostility.

"Yes." Freed of her heavy outer garments, Padmé had flung open a large trunk and was now rummaging in it wildly.

"What are you looking for?" Sabé gently pushed her mistress aside and lifted up the garments in the trunk one by one. She wished Dormé and Versé would come soon. She needed to hold her own council of war.

"I want something plain. As plain and simple as you can get. No tucks, no ruffles, no decoration. No jewels." Her voice faded as she went into the fresher.

"How about a sack?" Sabé suggested, looking through the pile of jewel-like colors and complex textures.

"Perfect," said Padmé through the sound of running water.

Sabé sighed again. She seized on a plain pale blue garment and pulled it out of the case. It was filmy and translucent. A nightgown. No, that wouldn't do. She was starting to grumble as she dug to the bottom of the pile.

Her fingers found something smooth and dense. She grabbed and pulled, and came up with a plain white gown. It was almost unornamented, except for a line of artisan-quality embroidery along the neckline and sleeves. She suddenly remembered the garment - it was actually an under-dress for a quite magnificent tabard-and skirt thing. Oh, well, it would have to do.

"I found something," she called.

Padmé came out of the fresher without makeup of any kind. She had scrubbed her face clean and her hair hung down her back. She looked like a young girl.

Sabé handed her the simple white gown. Padmé frowned at it and picked unhappily at the embroidery. "It will have to do for now." She pulled it over her head. "I need something to wear over it. A cloak, maybe. But it has to be-"

"I know, I know." Sabé went to another large packing case. "It has to be plain." She began rummaging again. "Would you like to tell me what this is all about?"

Padmé found a soft leather belt with only a tiny bit of hand tooling and fastened it around her waist. "I realized something today," she said softly.

Sabé turned around, dragging a dark velvet cloak with her, and stopped short when she saw Padmé standing in the middle of the room. The unornamented gown flowed over her like water. Her face and hair shone in the soft light of the cabin. In her grave simplicity her being seemed many times brighter than all of the gleaming objects that surrounded her in the cases and on the floor.

"You look like a priestess," Sabé breathed.

Padmé's gaze turned inward as she allowed herself to remember the picture she had been carrying in her heart all day - the picture of a young Jedi standing quietly in a crowded room of flashy, heavily ornamented people. Demanding people. People who wanted and expected things from her. People who displayed their self-importance in their clothing and their manners and their words.

"I realized that everything I value - everything I love - everything that is important to me, and to the world, is on the inside." Padmé smiled at Sabé for the first time since she had stormed into the cabin. "To the D'laians, everything is exterior. Everything is show. They wear their wealth and their status in their clothing and their manners, and that is what they value in others." She looked ruefully around the room at her own precious belongings. "I fear they must believe they have found the perfect partners in us."

Sabé was still puzzled. "And so you are trying to make a point? Or to discourage them by being something different?"

Padmé actually laughed. "No. Nothing could discourage those sons of the seventh pit. As far as they are concerned the battle is won and the village is ready to be sacked." She reached for the cloak that still trailed from Sabé's hand. It was heavy velvet, of course - a rich brown, the color of polished wood, with a pale lavender lining - but it was mercifully unornamented. She slipped it on. She looked up to find Sabé staring at her with a look that said she still didn't understand.

"I had the opportunity today to see an aspect of myself reflected in everything I saw around me. An aspect I didn't like." She looked around the room. "We'll have to replace most of these things. My days of dressing like - well, like a D'laian - are over."

Sabé was very confused. "Ours is a culture of artisans, My Lady," she said, somewhat stiffly. "Beauty is everything to us. This isn't bragging -" she looked around at all the lovingly crafted things that lay strewn around the room. "- this is an expression of our art. Of our way of looking at the world."

Padmé stepped over the gleaming bits and pieces on the floor and hugged her friend. "I know," she whispered. "I don't mean to reject or to criticize anything or anyone. But I don't want to wear my world on the outside any more. I want to carry it inside." She stepped back to see Sabés face. There was still no understanding reflected in it.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Padmé said heavily. "If I'm going to be a sacrificial offering for my people, at least let me do it on my own terms."

"There must be a way out of all this," Sabé said longingly. She didn't want things to change.

Padmé was silent for a while, lost in her thoughts while she braided her hair into a heavy plait over her shoulder.

"Well," Sabé roused herself back to duty. "I had better take care of the mess you made here."

A tap on the stateroom door made both of them jump.

"Surely not the D'laians." Padmé guessed that they would not announce their presence so gently.

Indeed Sabé opened the door to the welcome sight of her reinforcements. "I think she has finally snapped," she whispered to Dormé. The older woman took in the state of the room and the interesting attire of her mistress without comment. Young Vespé hung back shyly. Balé, on the other hand, danced into the room full of exciting news.

"I found the Jedi again!" She announced with delight. "He's really nice. We played tumble sticks."

"I'll bet he won," smiled Sabé, catching Dormé's eye. They both surreptitiously looked at their mistress, who was watching the child intently while fiddling with her plait.

"Not all the time." Balé leaned against Padmé's knee. "Did you know that he's an orphan, too?"

Padmé cleared her throat. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I did know that."

"He said I'm lucky to have you look to after me." She looked up at Padmé. "I think so, too." Padmé smiled and stroked the child's hair, reminding herself firmly that it did not do for a Senator of the Republic to be hopelessly jealous of a nine-year-old child. "What else did he say?" Every nerve in her body felt alive.

"He couldn't talk to me any more because the shiny man started talking to him."

"The shiny man?"

"You know, the really tall one. In the shiny clothes. Miss Padmé, why don't some people like Jedi?"

"I don't know, sweetheart." She looked meaningfully at Sabé, who had watched the exchange with deep interest. "But I would be very interested in finding out." She stood up and took the child's hand. "Let's let Vespé take you to the Dining Salon for some supper before bed."

Both girls went willingly enough. Vespé was the youngest and shyest of the Handmaidens, and had not been with Padmé as long as the other two. She was not yet a confidante.

As soon as they left Padmé turned to her co-conspirators.

Sabé was grinning from ear to ear.

Dormé was methodically folding clothes and putting them away. "Why do I get the feeling," she said into a wardrobe, "That there is going to be trouble again."

"As far as I'm concerned," Padmé said with asperity, "today's events have brought more trouble that I have ever imagined. It cannot possible get worse than this."

"You'd be surprised," said Dormé darkly while dropping a handful of jewelry into an ornate box.

"Tell, tell," said Sabé, perching on the arm of the nearest chair. She accepted that wardrobe duty was part of her job, but her favorite thing in the world was palace intrigue. She was the best spy and covert operative that Padmé had ever seen. It was probably because she loved her work.

Dormé turned around and folded her arms, enjoying her rapt audience.

"Apparently our D'laian friends do not think much of the Jedi in general. The word 'sorcerer' came up in several conversations. They were asking why we saw fit to have a Jedi presence on board.

Padmé became thoughtful. In her experience the multicultural Jedi Order was widely respected, although there was some grumbling about undue influence and high-handed methods. She tried to think of delegations that had spoken against them in the Senate, and remembered a few. But the D'laians had not been among them.

"Then," Dormé went on, "it came up that this particular Jedi is known to you and is here by special request."

"Go on," Padmé urged. She was beginning to get the picture. The D'laians really were worried about a Jedi presence on the ship.

"Our resplendent friend, Wolan -" Dormé rolled the name around in her mouth as though she had found a bitter pip - "heard about the connection between you and the hated Jedi, and puffed up like a sinda-bird in mating season."

Sabé giggled. The image fit, down to the strut.

Padmé was thinking furiously. "If the D'laians are that nervous about a Jedi presence they might be planning something." She looked grim. "Some kind of treachery." She looked up. "Sabé, I need you to warn Captain Typho. I don't want to be seen speaking to him myself."

"I'm on it." Sab&ecaute; slid off the chair. "I'll find out what's going on."

"Wait." Padmé took a deep breath. "I also need to see Anakin. Alone. In private. And without the D'laians knowing anything about it. Do you think you can manage that?"

"For how long?" Sabé asked sweetly.

Padmé looked her right in the eye. "All night."

There was a long, long pause. Sabé finally broke the silence. "I knew it!" she said with the deepest satisfaction. "I knew it! Give me a couple of hours. I may have to set up a scenario, especially now that they're paying attention to his presence on the ship."

Dormé cleared her throat for attention and asked gravely, "Will My Lady be dining with her D'laian guests this evening?"

"Absolutely not," said Padmé with some horror. "No. I have retired for the night and will have supper in my stateroom."

"I thought so," said Dormé. "It's all arranged."

"Thank you," breathed Padmé, with the sincerest feelings of gratitude.

Then she turned to Sabé. "What are you waiting for? Go!"

With an exaggerated bow, Sabé turned and skipped out of the room. Oh, this was going to be fun.

Dormé in the meantime had succeeded in putting the room entirely to rights. "I'll put Balé to bed," she said. "Will you need anything else before I go?"

"No, thank you." Padmé smiled. Dormé didn't return the smile. She stared at her mistress speculatively, pointedly taking in her costume. "Do you," she said, slowly, emphasizing each word, "have the slightest idea what you are doing?"

Padmé raised her chin a little. "Taking risks. It is not the first time."

Dormé could not be deterred. "Do you honestly think this is the time to be playing games?"

"I am not playing at anything, Dormé, believe me. No matter how frivolous Sabé makes me sound. I am completely serious."

Dormé shook her head in disapproval. "May the Gods preserve us all," she muttered, and left the room without a backward glance.

After Dormé left Padmé wandered over to the computer console and half-heartedly began to search for yet more information about the D'laians. Perhaps she could find something she had not seen before - anything that would help her keep out of their clutches while still safeguarding Naboo's future. It seemed an impossible task.

Another part of her mind drifted down a different path. She tried to remember the last time she had taken as many risks in a single day. She thought of a few occasions. Somehow, Anakin had been present at each one of them.

Chapter 4. Warnings

Tensions throughout the ship were high, made higher by the fact that all of the parties strove to maintain the appearance of trust and goodwill. Meetings continued with a veneer of civility. Nubians and D'laians greeted one another politely in corridors and in the Salon.

Yet everyone was watching everyone else.

The D'laians believed they had all the areas of concern covered. No one from the Nubian delegation could move without it being noted. They could not speak to one another without a D'laian joining in the conversation. The D'laians made their presence felt everywhere on the ship.

They had only one problem.

The Jedi.

That one was the one unknown factor in the plan - Jedi presence on this journey had not been announced, and indicated that the Nubians might not be quite as vulnerable as the D'laians had surmised. Jedi presence meant Senate attention, and that would not do at all. But the D'laians' objection to the Jedi went much deeper than that. To them the Jedi were magicians and sorcerers, the darkest and most evil of all enemies.

The D'laians outlawed sorcery and magic of any kind. Their culture was deeply materialistic, believing only in the knowledge they could gain through their observation and their senses. They trained their bodies and their minds to the limits of their physical prowess, but anything they could not manipulate themselves, see with their own eyes, or prove with their scientific laws was not tolerated. They feared what they could not control.

People accused of using magic were put to death on D'lai.

They knew of the Jedi, of course - who in the Galaxy did not? But they avoided any contact with them. No Jedi had set foot on D'lai for hundreds of years.

And now there was one on this ship, presumably using his evil powers on the Nubians. Wolan was certain that the Nubian Senator was under his influence; otherwise how could she continue to hold out against the inevitable?

Wolan made a particular effort to make certain that he always knew where the Jedi was. But it was a problem. Sometimes he seemed to simply disappear. And then he was suddenly there again. Quiet. In the background. But there. If Wolan were prone to admitting such things, he would have acknowledged that it made him nervous.

Somehow the Jedi had to be gotten rid of. His influence had to be ended.

* * * * *

As soon as the young Knight appeared before him Yoda knew why he was there.

"You are concerned about your Padawan," he observed gently.

"He is gone," Obi-Wan said simply.

"On assignment, your Padawan is, taking Senator Amidala back to Naboo. Has he done so?"

"Yes, Master Yoda. As far as I know he is carrying out that mission." He looked up and the ancient Master saw that his eyes reflected the pain in the deepest part of his being. "You know I had reservations about allowing him to take that assignment."

"Aware of your objections the Council was."

Obi-Wan took a deep calming breath. "Anakin has severed his link with me."

Yoda nodded gravely. "Painful this is. My heart is saddened for your loss."

"You don't seem surprised, Master."

"With a future as clouded as your Padawan's, unwise it is to have expectations."

Obi-Wan was shocked. "Are you saying that I should just let him go? Without even trying to do something about it" His voice rose a bit. "Is that the view of the Council?"

Yoda sent out a wave of love and peace to help support the young Knight, and said, "A Jedi does not do his duty because he is told to. Infused with the desire to serve, a Jedi's entire being is. He performs his duty out of the deepest, sincerest acceptance of his higher purpose."

"He is still young, Master Yoda. He still has much to learn. He can become a great Jedi, he just isn't ready for this kind of responsibility yet."

"Not ready?" Yoda repeated. "How will he know his own readiness if forever you hold him close?"

Realization dawned. "This is a test!" Obi-Wan exclaimed. "The Council is testing him!"

Yoda pressed his lips together, nodding. "A trial this is not. Prepare one can for a trial. But a test of character comes unannounced at any time in a life. Tells us, it does, who we are." With each of the last three words the Jedi master banged the tiled floor with his stick. The sound echoed, and then the room returned to silence.

Obi Wan's thoughts returned to the emotional impressions Anakin had left behind in their quarters. The boy had only been allowed into the Jedi Order under protest and had been carefully scrutinized ever since. For the first time he found himself wondering what it must be like to live one's life under a kind of cloud, being constantly watched for signs of - what? Unsuitability? Inadequacy? Darkness? Anakin was not perfect by any means, but Obi-Wan did not presume to know anyone who was.

No wonder the boy yearned for love.

"I would like to go to Naboo to find my Padawan, Master."

"Hmph." The Jedi Master was not pleased. "What then will you do when found him, you have?"

"I need to speak with him, Master Yoda. I can't just let him go. I have to see what is in his heart."

The ancient Master looked intently at the floor, as though he had never seen it before.

"Blame yourself, you do."

Obi-Wan did not respond.

Yoda looked up again. "Ask this of you, I do. Think longer on this. Meditate. If then of the same mind are you, go to find your Padawan you may."

"I will do as you ask, Master Yoda. I promise I will not be rash."

The ancient one nodded and waved the young Knight away with a heavy heart.

* * * * *

Sabé was good, but she wasn't that good.

She hadn't gone far down the corridor that led from the Salon when a hand was clapped over her mouth and she found herself inside an adjoining room within the space of two heartbeats. It happened so fast she couldn't even struggle. Then she was released again just as quickly, and turned around to find herself looking straight up into two very blue eyes.

"You could have asked," she said. "I'm really very friendly, even when it comes to sorcerer scum."

Anakin was not in the mood for jokes. "Sorry," he said shortly, securing the door of the small conference room. "I'm not taking any chances."

The glowlamps came on, illuminating a pretty room with a highly polished table. The walls were covered in tapestries depicting scenes from Theed. Sabé leaned against the table and regarded her captor with amusement.

"You're just the person I was hoping to find. I have a message for you."

"Where is she?" His voice was very, very soft.

Gods, Sabé thought. They both have it bad.

"You'll have to be patient a little longer. They are watching every move she makes."

"I know." Anakin scowled, remembering the way the D'laian had pursued Padmé into the Salon. "The D'laians are not to be trusted. They are afraid and they're hiding something." His intensity filled up the small room. "She is not safe."

"Well," Sabé said, "They are certainly afraid of you."

"It seems to me," he said, carefully, "that their 'discomfort' with my presence here might offer an way to encourage them to reveal their true motives."

Sabé gave him a hard look.

"What exactly do you have in mind?"

"It's time I made my presence felt. They spend all their time watching me, anyway."

Sabé had been thinking along the same lines herself. She was tempted, but cautious. "The Senator won't approve of any actions that might damage the credibility of the negotiations."

"We are on the same side," Anakin reminded her.

Sabé looked at him thoughtfully. It seemed to her that he might be their last, best resource at this point, but she was concerned about his diplomatic skills. It was one thing to be a brilliant fighter and bodyguard, and quite another to manipulate a situation with subtlety and discretion.

"I ask you again, Anakin," Sabé persisted. "What do you intend to do?"

"A little provocation. Some goading. It shouldn't take much to make them overplay their hand."

"Whatever takes place has to stay within the boundaries of Naboo's political and diplomatic needs. Nothing personal, do you hear me? Our ideal outcome is to find a way out of this mess with the least amount of damage done."

Anakin felt himself bumping up against the outside boundaries of his patience. Why did he have to prove himself over and over again?

"I am offering you my help," he said shortly. "As a courtesy."

There was a long silence while Sabé made up her mind.

Something clearly needed to be done. And it sounded as though Anakin would take matters into his own hands with or without her approval. Better to work with him, she thought.

"All right," she said, "I suggest you meet me for dinner in the Dining Salon to raise your profile. All the best people will be there." She paused. "Except for our favorite Senator, who flatly refuses to lay eyes on the D'laians unless she absolutely has to."

"A wise choice," said Anakin, unlocking the conference room door.

"I have to see Captain Typho," Sabé said quickly, but I will join you as soon as I can."

"Invite him to join us," Anakin said with some irony. He was certain that Typho would disapprove.

Sabé laughed, and disappeared down the corridor.

Anakin looked pointedly at the D'laian soldier who suddenly happened to be lurking at the end of the corridor and then walked in the other direction.

* * * * *

The elegant dining salon was noisy and busy. Anakin kept his mental shielding in place as he entered the room and memorized its layout and occupants as he made his way leisurely to the heavily laden sideboard. The D'laians' chief negotiator was there with two others from the delegation but Wolan and his inevitable entourage had not yet arrived.

Anakin suddenly realized that he was hungry - he couldn't remember when he had last eaten. He might as well take advantage of the opportunity. He helped himself sparingly to the simplest of the many elaborate dishes that were displayed, and then found a table in the corner furthest from the room's entrance. He seated himself so that he could survey the entire space, and began his meal.

It was not long before the gang of warriors announced their arrival with loud voices from the hallway. They swaggered into the dining salon and took quick note of all its occupants, just as Anakin had done. They spotted him right away but he did not appear to be looking in their direction.

Of course they occupied a table at the very center of the room, where other diners had to walk around them to get to their seats. They did not sit with the other D'laians. They seemed to occupy a place in the world unto themselves. Wolan sat so that he could watch the far corner.

Anakin ate slowly, but had still finished his modest meal before Sabé arrived. He was surprised that she had the one-eyed Captain of Security with her. Typho must be very uneasy if he agreed to be part of Sabés scheme. Particularly if it relied on Anakin.

Unless of course he was here to put a stop to it.

Anakin smiled to himself as he watched Sabé wend her way through the room toward his table. She must have brushed against at least three of the D'laians at the center of the room, ensuring their full attention. She was an extremely lovely woman. Typho followed her stolidly with a scowl on his face.

Anakin stood courteously as Sabé seated herself at the table. He could feel Wolan's eyes on him.

Typho nodded gruffly to him.

"I don't like this," Typho growled without preamble. Although they were visible to all, the noisy room gave the three a useful opportunity to speak without being overheard. "But I need a diversion. Their fighters are supposed to join us at midday tomorrow. I think that's when they'll make their move."

So he had the Captain's trust after all. Anakin was oddly pleased.

"Kidnapping?" Sabé asked quietly.

"Probably. I have to plan for it in any case." Typho looked at the young Jedi, wondering just what his capabilities were. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

"I don't know yet," Anakin said easily. "We'll let them think they are making all the moves. They have to be allowed to reveal themselves."

Typho was an orderly man whose career had been based on thoroughness and careful planning. He didn't like the sound of this at all. How could you guarantee the outcome of a situation if you didn't control all the variables? Anakin felt his resistance but ignored it. The good Captain could not know that his awareness had been extended throughout the ship, and it seemed to him that an opportunity to make a move was just coming down the corridor toward the dining salon.

He waited.

Balé came into the room with a somewhat disconcerted Vespé in tow. The little girl searched the room carefully, and when she saw Anakin she came straight toward him as though he had been her destination all along. In her child's mind he was her friend already because they had met twice before and he had played with her. None of the other grownups on this ship had time to play tumble sticks.

Anakin smiled at her. She came close and leaned against his leg.

"Hello, Jedi," she said, happily.

"Hello again, Balé," he said. "I thought you said you had to go to bed?"

Vespé looked miserable. "I tried," she said, "but she wouldn't settle down. I said we could come here for a snack if she goes to bed straight after." She looked meaningfully at the little girl. Balé ignored her and focused her attention on her new friend.

"Do you want to play tumble sticks?" she asked. She was nothing if not goal-oriented.

Anakin smiled and looked around the room, checking the D'laians in the process. They were watching, all right.

"There isn't much room here," he said.

"We could go into the big room," the little girl persisted.

"Balé!" Vespé protested. "You mustn't impose on people like that!"

"It's all right," Anakin said. "I don't mind at all." He looked around the table. "In fact, why don't we all go into the Salon?" He looked at Balé. "Would you like to learn how to juggle?"

"Yes!" Her eyes were huge. "Can you teach me?"

"I would be delighted," said Anakin gallantly.

Suddenly he felt wave after wave of disapproval and anger wash over him from Sabé and Typho. He knew what they were thinking, but would not be deterred.

"Why don't you go over to the sideboard and choose six nice round fruits," he suggested to Balé, "and then we can go into the big room and juggle them."

Delighted, the child was off like a shot, with Vespé tagging along behind.

Anakin turned around to face the glares of his co-conspirators. He could read their feelings as clearly as if they had spoken. How dare you use the child? Their looks said. How dare you get her involved in this?

"What makes you think," Anakin said to them evenly, just managing to keep his temper in check, "that I would ever let anything happen to her?"

"How could you?" Typho snarled, deep in his throat.

"And you?" Anakin shot back. "You brought her on board. She shouldn't be on a mission like this in the first place. If we do nothing and the ship is taken hostage tomorrow as you fear, how safe will she be then?" He got up to leave. "I am going to the salon to teach Balé how to juggle," he said. "And then she is going safely to bed. You can join me or not. I really don't care."

He moved away from the table to join the little girl and her minder, who were already carrying the requested fruit. Picking up the delighted child into his arms he carried her out of the dining salon without a glance at his companions or at the D'laians.

On his way out he reflected bitterly that no matter what he did, or however good his intentions, people seemed to fear and mistrust him. Even the Jedi. Even his Master.

Chapter 5. Juggling Act

In the Salon Anakin, Balé and Vespé sat on the richly carpeted floor with the pile of fruit in front of them. They started by practicing tossing one piece of fruit up in the air and catching it.

Toss and catch. Toss and catch. Toss and catch.

"Higher," commanded Anakin. Balé giggled and dropped her fruit a few times. But she was getting the hang of it.

"Now the other hand."

Toss and catch. Vespé was getting the feel for it, too. She was smiling and seemed to lose some of her shyness.

A few people began to drift into the Salon. Anakin ignored them.

"Now," said Anakin, "Two fruits. Both hands at the same time.'

Toss and catch. Balé kept laughing and dropping her fruit, but to her credit she kept trying. Her laugh was infectious. Anakin noticed smiles on the faces of some of the spectators in the Salon. The ones who smiled were all from Naboo.

"Good," said Anakin. "Very good. Now let's toss one fruit from one hand to the other." He smiled at Vespé, who was beginning to think that he was rather wonderful.

The Salon was filling up with people conversing quietly, although many were watching the lesson. Predictably enough, Wolan and his posse had arrived as well and were watching the game intently.

"Now," said Anakin, "try this." He began to juggle two fruits very slowly. Balé collapsed laughing and dropped her fruit. Vespé was doing a creditable job of keeping hers in the air.

The Salon was fairly full and Anakin could feel a sense of expectancy in the room. Wolan was scowling but never took his eyes off Anakin.

Balé had given up. éI want to see you do it," she said to her Jedi. "I mean really do it."

"If you promise to go straight to bed," said Anakin, "I will juggle all six of these fruits."

He had her. She had to agree.

"I promise!" Her eyes were dancing.

They handed over their slightly bruised fruit and Anakin began with one, then two, and kept adding fruit until all six were flying through the air in a high, graceful arc. Balé clapped her hands. Anakin was on a roll. Some of the fruits flew behind his back and returned on the other side while the others kept circling in the air. All eyes in the Salon were on him and some of the adult spectators applauded.

That was about all he could manage without a little Force involvement, and he wasn't ready for that yet. Slowly he let the arc get smaller until all the fruits were once again resting on the floor.

"More," Balé demanded. "Do it again!"

"Bed," said Anakin gently. "You promised." He looked at Vespé, who stood up and held her hand out to the child. Balé went with only a little reluctance. She looked at Anakin. "Can we practice again tomorrow?"

"Of course," he said. "As soon as there is time." He foresaw that tomorrow might be a busy day.

"Thank you," the little girl said, and impulsively put her arms around his neck. Anakin was surprised at how deeply it moved him. "Go," he whispered. "I'll see you tomorrow." He watched her leave with Vespé and when they had left the Salon he stood up and turned to look at his audience.

Wolan stood up at the same time.

"Charming," said the D'laian. "This must be why the Jedi are feared throughout the Galaxy. For their juggling skills."

His hangers-on snickered.

Anakin bent down to pick up the fruit and placed it on the table next to him. Seemingly as an afterthought, he picked up one piece and let it dance in the air above his hand. "The Jedi are feared?" He asked innocently. "I can't imagine why. We serve the Republic."

Idly he picked up another fruit and added it to the first. They danced together in mid-air in a complex pattern. Anakin felt a small dark wave of feeling emanate from the D'laians.

Wolan couldn't let go. "Sorcerers serve only themselves," he said darkly.

"Sorcerers?" Anakin asked sounding puzzled. "You mean this kind of sorcery?" He added another fruit to the air in front of him and made it go around the others in a contrary motion. A Nubian giggled. The spectators were really starting to enjoy the game despite the palpable tension in the room. Wolan's face was like a thundercloud.

"The D'laian delegation officially objects to your presence here." Wolan's voice reached all around the room.

Anakin replaced the fruit on the table and stood facing the D'laian with his arms crossed. "I am here as an observer at the request of the Chancellor of the Republic," he said mildly. He thought of it as only a small exaggeration. "I am sorry if you perceive my presence as a threat."

A low growl seemed to come from the D'laian warriors. Their leader went on, "A threat? You are nothing without your sorcery. It is only that which gives you a claim to any kind of skill. Any one of our warriors could defeat you without it."

Anakin noticed Typho and Sabé standing near the door of the Salon. Their eyes were locked on him, as were those of everyone else in the room.

"Are you suggesting a match of some kind?" Anakin asked gently. "Would that alleviate your concerns?" Challenge me and be done with it, you pompous, second-rate braggart, Anakin thought to himself. I am getting bored with this. There was somewhere else he urgently wanted to be.

He saw the calculation begin behind the D'laian's eyes. "I have no concerns about you," said the warrior, "but a match would be very enjoyable." A few of the onlookers began to murmur. This was entertainment indeed.

Anakin shrugged. "Set your terms," he said, with studied diffidence. "I will be happy to oblige. Provided of course that our little entertainment does not interfere with the important work that is being done here."

The D'laian began to look downright greedy. "I challenge you myself. First thing tomorrow morning. My choice of weapons. And no sorcery." He smiled for the first time. "Skill only."

"As you wish." Anakin bent down to pick up the fruit. "Tomorrow, then. An exhibition match." He bowed politely to the D'laian. "I should return these to the galley."

As he left the Salon he spared only a brief, stony glance for Captain Typho and a slightly longer one for Sabé. Behind him the level of conversation in the Salon rose to an excited buzz.

Sabé followed him to the galley.

"I'm sorry, Anakin. I should have trusted you."

Anakin deposited his burden and turned to look at her.

"You still don't," he observed. "Not really."

"We're still on the same side, aren't we?" She pleaded.

"Just get me in to see Padmé," he said wearily. "And then safeguard our privacy. That is all I ask."

Sabé nodded. "This is as good a time as any. They're all busy talking about your match." They walked down the empty corridor in silence.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Sabé couldn't resist asking. The stakes were so high.

Anakin had reached the outside limits of his patience.

"Just take me to Padmé," he said, ending the conversation. And then he was silent.

Chapter 6. Meetings

Anakin pried open the ceiling panel and dropped quietly onto a thickly carpeted floor. Padmés cabin was certainly more luxurious than the ones on the other side of the ship. The room was dimly lit and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. There wasn't a sound except for the faint, deep background thrum of the engines. He seemed to be in an empty bedroom.

Noiselessly he moved to the curving cabin wall, and slid along it through the deepest shadows toward an opening. It led to another room, evidently a sitting room, with a few tables and chairs and some wardrobes. The light was a bit brighter here.

Padmé was curled up in one of the chairs, wrapped in a dark cloak. After a few moments of listening he could make out regular breathing. He crept closer and found her asleep with her cheek resting on her hand. An almost untouched dinner tray sat on a low table at her side.

Anakin's throat tightened into a knot. He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been fighting his way toward her in some way or another. Now his single-minded journey was over and longing turned into a desire so powerful that it swept him down to his knees in front of her. There he stayed for a while, just watching her sleep.

Bit by bit he let his head sink into her lap in complete surrender. It was the only place in the world where he felt at peace.

Padmé knew he was there even before she woke. Her hand found his cropped hair and slid gently over it, down the soft skin of his neck and under the edge of his shirt as she curled forward to embrace him.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he said into her lap. "Have you been waiting long?"

"A long time. It feels like forever." Her arms moved down around his shoulders and held him. He felt the knot begin to loosen. Far away the ship's engines pounded like a faint heartbeat. On top of that the silence in the room was profound.

He reached up and gently began to draw her closer to his heart. "Is it possible that we actually have a moment of peace?"

She rested her head against his shoulder. "I am going to pretend that all those people have gone away. I only want to be with you."

"You're worried." He stroked her hair, her cheek, her throat. He had waited an eternity just to touch her.

"I walked into a trap. I don't know how to get out of it."

Still kneeling on the floor he wrapped her tightly in his embrace, as if to shelter her from the world. "I won't let you marry him. You won't have to." He was fierce.

She wanted to believe him. Sometimes it seemed to her he could do anything.

She made a last gesture toward her duties before giving up all thought of them. "Have you checked the ship? Is everything all right?"

"It is for now." He stood up and reached down to gather her into his arms. "Your guests are surprisingly nervous considering that they appear to have the upper hand. Did you know that they have someone watching your door? To see who goes in and out."

Padmé wrapped one arm around his neck and trailed the other hand along his face and across his lips as he carried her slowly toward the threshold of the other room. He drank in the feel and the warmth and the scent of her.

"Then how did you get in?"

"Sorcery," he said, with a faint smile.

Inside the bedroom Padmé noticed the open ceiling panel.

"I see," she said. "Sorcery." Burying her face in his neck, she said, "You don't have to listen to their nonsense. Just ignore it."

Using the Force to close the panel again so he didn't have to let go of her, Anakin decided that it was best to wait until later to mention what he was doing tomorrow.

* * * * *

Another unbidden vision came to the ancient Jedi Master like a waking dream. Its power and urgency held him fast while a thousand pictures unrolled in his mind with the clarity of a holofilm. It was unlike any vision he had experienced before. He could do nothing to stop the flood of images.

They began in ancient times at the dawn of the Jedi Order. The face of every Jedi who had ever lived flashed before his inner eye. Some he recognized from pictures and studies in the archives. Some he had never seen or imagined. Many he had known personally because of his great age. But he knew with absolute certainty that they were all his Jedi forbears, and that he was seeing the face of each and every one.

On and on the faces went in a dizzying progression through the centuries. They saw him. They knew him. He knew them. Faster and faster the images past, and yet he could distinguish and acknowledge each one: Each face. Each life. They reached out to him with their thoughts, their deeds, and their struggles. "See me!" they seemed to cry out. "Know me!" Three, four, five centuries passed and still the flood came. He was filled beyond filling with their faces and the strength of their collective being.

As the images continued Yoda began to realize with a rising sense of despair and disbelief that all of the faces had one thing in common.

Fear. Every face showed fear.

This is not possible, he thought as the centuries of beings continued to reveal themselves to him. Jedi do not fear. Some of the greatest Jedi in the history of the Order passed before his awareness. Yet in this vision they were all afraid.

Yoda began to repeat the litany that he had passed on to generation after generation of younglings.

Fear leads to anger.

Anger leads to hate.

Hate leads to suffering and to the Dark Side.

The vision continued to the present. All the living Jedi were there. All of them were afraid.

Except one.

The vision faded. The ancient Master sat for long time.

A gentle tap on his door roused him and Obi-Wan slipped into the room.

"I am sorry to disturb you Master Yoda, but I must speak with you."

"Decided you have," the Old One observed wearily, still full of the grief and horror of his vision. "Follow your Padawan you will."

"I kept my promise to you, Master," Obi-Wan said, humbly. "I have thought about it. I have meditated on it." He looked up and in his eyes the old Master saw reflected in them the long line of the young man's Jedi predecessors back to the beginning. "I cannot and will not give up on him."

Master Yoda sat in weary silence for a long time. So young is he, he thought. Such a heavy burden to carry. And yet he knew from his vision that the burden was shared by all those who had come before. By every Jedi who ever had been and who was now.

This one, he thought. This one. Before him sat the young Jedi whose face had been without fear in his vision. He felt an outpouring of the deepest love for the younger man - the unequivocal love of the Force for all things that live and strive.

"Stop you, I will not. Heavy my heart is at the burden you take on."

"I took up this responsibility long ago, Master. I cannot put it down."

Fortunate the boy is, thought Yoda, to have this one as his Master. Know it, he may not.

"Go, then, Jedi Knight," Yoda said, grieving.

Obi-Wan stood up, bowed, and slipped back out the door.

Meditating further, Yoda realized that two faces had not appeared in his vision.

His own, and that of Obi-Wan's Padawan.

* * * * *

Elsewhere in the dark, deep night Padmé was awake.

"Anakin?" She whispered.

"Here." He reached for her.

"Anakin, do you believe in destiny?"

It took him a long time to answer. First he had to get past the clutch of bitterness he always felt at the word. It always seemed to come hand in hand with another hated set of words: The Chosen One. That indefinable, unproven, random epithet that had catapulted him into the Jedi Order and followed him like a dark cloud ever since. Did he believe in destiny? He didn't know. How could one know?

Finally he said, "The Jedi teach that destiny is a river that flows inexorably from its source to its end in the sea, where it loses itself in the larger cycle of the world. The end is inevitable. The fact that it will flow to the sea is inevitable. But in the river itself there are an infinite number of paths to that end. At every bend, at every rock and obstruction there are numerous decision points. New flows. Counterpoints. Diversions."

"So that is our free will? The ability to choose the path, but not the ultimate outcome?"

"I suppose."

She felt his resistance. "Do you believe that?"

There was another long silence. An intense silence that seemed alive with possibilities.

"I don't want to believe that the outcome is pre-ordained," he finally said. The realization was a revelation to him. Fervently went on, "I want to believe in free will. That we can change things and make them better. That the paths we choose are our own, and lead to new places."

"You believe in freedom, then."

"Yes." He turned the thought over and over in his mind. "In freedom." Then he paused. "Why do you ask?"

"I keep feeling that some kind of destiny - some Force - has flung us together."

He moved closer. "Why does it have to be destiny?"

"Anakin, the Galaxy is vast. What are the chances of our finding each other if there weren't something else working toward it? Some kind of power or Force?"

The will of the Force. Destiny.

Anakin realized he wanted none of it.

The believer in freedom wrapped himself around the believer in destiny so that she couldn't have moved if she tried.

"I would have found you anywhere," he said.

* * * * *

It was always night in space. Padmé would have been content to let it go on forever. But the daily cycles of planetary life were imposed as inexorably on the ship as they were at home, and so at a time that purported to be early morning Sabé tried as discretely as possible to make her presence known to her Mistress.

Anakin heard her soft taps on the door from the sitting room immediately and decided it was time to go. By the time Padmé woke up and heard them he was dressed.

"No!" she said, making a grab for him. "Don't go."

Sabé heard her voice and called out, "My Lady? May I come in?"

"I have to," Anakin whispered. "Sabés here."

"Oh, don't mind her," Padmé said, making another grab for him. "She got you in here in the first place, didn't she?"

He caught her hand and kissed it. "Yes, but I can get myself out."

"My Lady?"

Padmé continued to ignore her Handmaiden, intent as she was on keeping Anakin there for just a little longer. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"Ready or not, I'm coming in," said Sabé firmly. The door slid open. Anakin disappeared into the fresher.

Sabé stopped short when she saw her Mistress. "Ye Gods," she burst out. "How do you look!"

Padmé scowled at her. "What are you talking about?"

It wasn't just the disarray, Sabé thought. It was her face, her lips, and the look in her eyes. She looked like a woman who had been - Gods.

"I don't know how to say it," Sabé said with complete honesty. "You look -" she struggled to find the right words. "You look -"

"Ravishing," Anakin said, coming out of the fresher. "She looks ravishing." He looked the same as always, although perhaps with less of an edge.

"More like ravished," Sabé muttered as Padmé looked at her indignantly. "The opposite of ravishing is ravished. What am I going to do with you? You can't go out looking like that! And what's that thing on your neck?"

Padmé looked at Anakin. He mouthed something that looked like "Sorry." Then, quickly, to Sabé, "Which way out?"

Sabé jerked her thumb upward. "You had better hurry." He started to open the ceiling panel.

"Wait," Padmé demanded. "What is going on?"

Sabé looked at Anakin accusingly. "You didn't tell her."

He was unabashed. "I didn't get around to it."

Sabé put her hands on her hips. "Well, My Lady, your glittering bridegroom has challenged our young Jedi here to a swordfight. An exhibition match. This morning. In the dining salon. The whole ship is coming."

Padmé was horrified.

"Don't worry," Sabé hurried to reassure her. "It's not about you. Your secret is safe. It seems to be about Jedi scum and sorcery."

"Coming?" Anakin asked Padmé ingenuously.

"Under no circumstances," Padmé said, outraged, "will I condone such a display on my ship. And in the middle of negotiations! I forbid it."

"Anakin can't back down," Sabé said. "Our warrior friends would take it as a sign of weakness and come straight in for the kill. He's actually doing us a favor." She grinned at Anakin. "Provided he wins, of course." She leaned conspiratorially toward Padmé. "He's not allowed to use sorcery, you see."

"This is an outrage," said the Senator, tight-lipped.

Anakin bent down to kiss her, then looked straight into her eyes. "Don't worry, Senator," he said, "I have your best interests at heart." His eyes said, "trust me." And then he disappeared through the opening in the ceiling, pulling the panel gently shut behind him.

Padmé stared at the place where he had disappeared.

"Come on," said Sabé to her mistress. "There's not much time to get you decent."

"Don't bother," Padmé said darkly. "I'm not going."

"Perhaps not," said Sabé firmly, "but I am. I wouldn't miss it for the world." She looked speculatively at her Mistress. "Perhaps I can find something with a veil-"

"Out," said the Senator. "Get out now." And she buried her head in a pillow.

Chapter 7. The Match

The dining salon had been completely cleared by the time Anakin arrived. He surveyed the space with a practiced eye, wondering briefly where they had put all the furniture. Big enough for normal sparring, he thought, but severely limiting to Jedi. There was almost no room to move.

To make it worse, the entire complement of passengers had arranged themselves around the edges of the room. No one wanted to miss the entertainment. It would be almost impossible to fight without hurting someone.

He found Typho standing by the door and beckoned to him.

"These people can't stand here like this," he said. "Someone is going to get hurt."

"I thought this was a friendly match?" Typho saw the problem as well, of course, but couldn't resist jibing the boy every chance he got. Despite his official position he was looking forward to the fight as much as everyone else.

"Move them out," Anakin demanded, "or there will be no match."

"How're you going to get out of it boy, eh?" Typho was amused. "Back down?"

"We'll just have to take it off the ship," Anakin countered. "That means a change in itinerary, rearranging everyone's schedule, landing permissions-" He looked squarely at Typho. "Do you love red tape that much?"

The Captain threw up his hands. "Fine. I'll move them."

It took fifteen minutes of group discussion and negotiations for the spectators to agree to squeeze themselves into a tight group at one end of the room. Equal numbers of Nubian and D�laian security personnel made up the front row to act as buffers if necessary. It was the best they could do.

The buzz of discussion reached a higher pitch and then stopped when Wolan entered the room with a small entourage. It was a grand entrance, or course. Wolan would never enter any other way. He was dressed in a glittering shirt, leggings and long soft boots. He thrilled the crowd by slowly and deliberately removing the shirt to reveal a taut well-muscled torso. He wasn't bulky. Anakin quickly assessed his training as having been in speed and accuracy.

Anakin was more interested in observing the two long, thin swords that one of the D'laian soldiers had carried into the room.

All the attention was on the glamorous D'laian. The quiet young Jedi on the far side of the room hardly caught anyone's attention at all.

That was just the way Anakin wanted it.

Then Wolan yelled, "Hey, Jedi!" and all eyes turned to him. Anakin looked up.

Wolan went on, "This is a straight match, remember? None of your sorcery. And get rid of that light sword."

Anakin had no intention of using his light saber. The match wouldn't last ten seconds. But he was not happy about removing it from his person.

"Of course I won't use it," he said. "You are not equally armed." A ripple went through the spectators.

"That's not good enough, Jedi."

Anakin saw the man's point of view. He looked around the room and wondered to whom he could safely entrust it. Padmé had kept her vow not to dignify this display with her presence. Sabé? She had her hands full with Balé, who clearly wanted to sit on her shoulders so she could see. Better to leave it. Then he realized what he had to do. Typho, of course. Keep your adversaries close - the man didn't like him but Anakin had faith in his honor and sense of justice.

He strode over to Typho, unclipped his light saber and offered it to the Captain without saying a word. The very act of handing it over evoked a memory of Obi-Wan's voice saying "this weapon is your life." It made him feel terribly alone again.

Typho nodded and took it gingerly. He had never touched one of these things before. The cylinder was heavier than he expected and warm from having rested against Anakin's body.

"Don't worry," Anakin smiled. "It won't activate."

Typho nodded a bit gruffly, grasped the weapon in one hand and folded his arms in such a way that the saber hilt rested on the elbow of his other arm in full sight.

Good man, thought Anakin.

Then he unfastened his cloak and handed it to the security guard who stood next to Typho. He could just as easily fight while wearing it, and it often made a good defensive weapon, but he thought he would begin simply.

Anakin moved back to the center of the dining room, turned to face Wolan, and bowed.

Wolan continued to dominate the scene by reiterating the rules they had agreed on.

"Exhibition match, one round, my choice of weapons. The match continues until one of us yields."

A little murmur of excitement rippled through the onlookers.

Wolan went on. "I choose these!" He gestured dramatically toward the swords the soldier at his side was carrying. On cue, the man came around in front of Wolan, knelt and offered him his choice of swords.

Anakin saw him look at both swords very quickly before he selected the one closest to him.

The soldier then brought the other sword to Anakin, with considerably less ceremony.

He took the proffered weapon and weighed it in his hand. It was about a meter long, very thin and flexible, with a sharp tip. The handle fit neatly enough into his hand. He moved it experimentally, judging its flexibility and balance with mathematical precision.

"What do you call these swords?" he asked, thrusting the sword once or twice.

The D'laian's eyes narrowed as he watched Anakin work the sword. "They are called Balaan. Have you never used one before?"

Anakin said casually, but clearly enough that everyone could hear him, "I've never seen one before."

The crowd cooed.

"Let us begin," Wolan said shortly, and took up an elegant stance in the center of the space that had been allotted for the match. He was using his right hand.

Anakin followed suit, making certain that his movements, expression and demeanor were as unassuming as his rival's were dramatic. His mental shielding was in place. Anakin also used his right hand - that annoying object that moved well enough with nerve and muscle impulses but was ignored by the Force. It was gloved as always, however, and did not advertise its presence.

Someone on the side called out "Begin!" and the D'laian began circling to the left. Anakin mirrored his movements, willing his opponent to make the first few moves. He reckoned he would need four or five plays to fully master the man's fighting style - whatever it turned out to be. He didn't have to wait long.

The first thrust came toward Anakin like a flash. He hadn't noticed any movements that might have telegraphed it. Interesting. He parried quickly enough, and then went back to circling.

On the second attack Wolan feinted deftly, then came in under Anakin's sword right toward his heart. Classic killing thrust. The young Jedi twisted aside easily enough and went back to circling. The man was very good, for someone who used only his material senses. Anakin wondered idly whether the first two moves represented his best or his worst effort.

Time to check out the D'Laian's defensive style. In the space of two heartbeats Anakin attacked using a classic double feint. Wolan slipped through the pattern like butter and laughed out loud. He was clearly enjoying himself. The audience tittered.

Patience, Anakin reminded himself, imagining again that it was Obi-Wan speaking.

There is more to this than meets the eye. Allow it to reveal itself.

Clearly confident, the D'laian began to attack systematically using a backwards and forwards movement with complex and elegant footwork. The slashes were often diagonal, thrusts inevitably aimed for the center of the body. Anakin automatically adjusted his defenses to the rhythm established by his opponent while evaluating every move he made. Something about the style seemed familiar. Where had he seen it before?

After a few minutes Anakin realized that nothing more was happening. He had seen to it that his style and skill matched the D'laian's, so they were at a kind of impasse. Neither one took the advantage. It was an exhibition match after all, Anakin thought. Should he make a move?

A powerful feeling told him to wait. Wait. Something would be revealed. His purpose, after all, was to make the D'laian show his true nature and intentions. Anakin continued to hold back while mastering the style better and better with each step and thrust.

Then something shifted subtly. Anakin felt it as a kind of vibration in the force before he heard the tone. The D'laian's sword was beginning to hum. It was almost imperceptible at first, but before long the tone grew loud enough for the audience to perceive it. It was a single tone without any perceptible harmonics and Anakin began to realize that it was cutting through his energy field as sharply as the blade would cut through his flesh. It was as though the blade's vibration could cut the force in two. Anakin felt the cuts as a searing pain although his body had not been touched. His ability to channel the Force faltered with each cut and he found himself having to fight with muscle and sinew alone.

At this rate he would tire quickly.

The D'laians sighed ecstatically when they began to perceive the sound. It was as though they had been waiting for it.

Then, suddenly, Anakin knew. It was a magic-killer; a sword whose specific purpose was to defeat those who used invisible powers. The sword had to be constructed so that a specific series of movements set up the sound vibrations. He had heard of such weapons. They were probably quite common on a magic-phobic world. Since the source of all so-called magic was ultimately the Force, it was a very effective weapon to use on an unsuspecting Jedi.

But only on an unsuspecting one.

The pain was growing and Anakin felt his muscles tiring. He faltered slightly. There was a murmur from the Nubians. They had not for one minute expected the D'laian to find a weakness in a Jedi. They were probably worried about their bets.

I have had enough of this, he thought. He had not survived everything life had thrown at him so far only to stumble into a clumsy trap set by a self-important, Force-blind warlord. This man is nothing, Anakin thought. He had the urge to reach out and snap the D'laian's neck and be done with it. The anger felt warm and energizing like an extra surge of muscle power. He held on to it and used it.

With all the speed he was still capable of he ducked and rolled while switching his sword to his left hand. He felt the Force flow down his arm to his fingertips. Using it for direction and speed he began move his own sword in a rhythmic pattern that he calculated would result in the same kind of tone. He was right. The sound began below hearing and rapidly escalated to the same level as the D'laian's, at almost the same pitch. Immediately the pain went away as the vibrations from his sword countered those of his opponent, deflecting them before they could do any damage.

That was only the first step, Anakin thought with satisfaction as he saw the surprise on Wolan's face. You are going to be sorry you ever challenged me.

Anakin smiled and his sword began to sing. He found that he could vary the pitch with only slight adjustments in the speed of movement. Then with equally small shifts in the plane of movement he came close to creating harmonics. To accomplish these almost opposing actions he had to move with blinding speed. The spectators gasped and began to hold their hands over their ears. Wolan fell back again and again as the complex vibrations emitted by Anakin's sword created disturbances in the D'laian's own energy field. The one he did not believe he had. The Force penetrates and binds us all...

Even the spectators began to feel ill as the sound penetrated their bodies.

Then, and only then, did Anakin drop his mental shielding. Several things happened at once.

Wolan involuntarily slowed his movements and his sword stopped humming.

The spectators fell into a shocked silence.

Anakin took advantage of the brief halt and silence to knock the D'laian's sword completely out of his hand and catch it with his own.

The spectators suddenly noticed that the swords were silent and that the Jedi held both of them at Wolan's throat.

"Yield," he said. Now that he was back in control he didn't need the anger any more, and it subsided.

"Sorcerer scum," the D'laian spat. He didn't look quite so handsome with his face contorted with rage. "No one can make a Balaan sound like that."

"I can," said Anakin, the sword tips still at his adversary's throat. He noticed that the D'laian was ever so subtly shying away more from the tip of his own sword than from the one Anakin had used.

Anakin immediately dropped his own sword and continued to hold up the other.

"Yield," he demanded again.

There was a long bitter silence. Anakin could feel the struggle in the other. Finally the words came.

"I yield."

There was an excited murmur from the crowd.

Anakin calmed himself further, stepped back and bowed slightly. "Thank you for the match," he said with as pleasant a voice as he could summon. "It was most interesting." He kept a firm grip on the sword the D'laian had used, thinking that he should have the tip analyzed for poison. The D'laian had other ideas.

"My sword," he said stiffly. "You still hold my sword."

Anakin calculated his next steps carefully. It would not do to accuse Wolan of treachery if there was no proof of it. The only way was to draw him out.

He focused on his light saber, still being held by a stony-faced Typho, and brought it uppermost into his awareness. With another bow, he handed the sword to his adversary and then deliberately turned his back on the D'laian and walked toward the Captain. I dare you, he thought, with all the intensity he could muster.

He felt the intention before he heard the faint rush of air as the sword was hurled at him tip first. As he dodged it he called his light saber to him and activated it in the same instant. As the Balaan shot harmlessly by his shoulder he severed the blade before it could harm anyone else. The two pieces of the sword fell to the floor like stones.

There was another gasp from the crowd. Anakin did not bother looking back at his attacker. He simply bent down to pick up the cut tip of the blade in his gloved hand and walked over to the slightly stunned security guard who was still clutching his cloak. The man actually bowed to him when he returned it.

Anakin returned the bow and turned to Captain Typho. "I would like a word with you when you have a moment, Captain."

Typho nodded and followed the Jedi out of the room.

In the corridor outside the dining room Anakin showed the sword tip to the Captain and said, "I have reason to believe that this may be poisoned. Do you have the facilities to verify that?"

Typho looked at him in surprise. "I can manage it." He took a glove out of his pocket and carefully wrapped the piece of metal in it. Then he looked Anakin right in the eye. "This may be just the break we need. Thank you."

Anakin shrugged. "I serve," he said.

As Typho turned away Anakin suddenly couldn't resist asking, "Tell me Captain - whom did you bet on?"

The man grinned. He actually grinned.

"On you, of course." Typho walked down the corridor with the light step of man who had just won a lot of money.

Chapter 8. Awakenings

Padmé looked around the large conference table and wondered how she could have been so blind. How could she have wrapped herself in duty the way Sabé had draped her in the filmy headdress and veil she now wore?

It was a modest enough garment by Nubian standards but did not meet the requirements of the Senator's newly established aesthetic. Still, it served a useful purpose today. And it had the added advantage of allowing her to observe every face in the room without seeming to do so.

Wolan's face, which had previously always appeared at the forefront of every discussion, was now almost hidden in a back corner of the room. He was not seated at the conference table. The two Foreign Ministers had taken over the negotiations.

On the table in front of the Nubian Foreign Minister lay the severed tip of Wolan's sword. Next to it lay a report analyzing the toxic substance found on its tip.

Every D'laian in the room was scowling. Periodically one or the other of them would allow his eyes to slide toward the wall behind Padmé and then would look away again.

How could she have been naive enough to believe that these people were negotiating in good faith? How could she have even briefly considered committing herself to one of them personally in order to safeguard Naboo?

She reached behind her in her imagination to find the warm presence that had changed everything.

Anakin was standing motionless against the wall behind her but she imagined she could feel a living pulse of energy coming from him. It was indescribably reassuring. Even sitting here in this room with group of warriors who could turn ugly at a moment's notice, and who in all likelihood would do just that once they heard Naboo's new terms, Padmé felt safe. And happy. And free.

Inwardly free.

Outwardly most things were the same. In some ways they were about to get worse.

She didn't care.

Anakin, she thought.

Here. She actually imagined she felt him answer.

With difficulty she brought her thoughts back to the table and the task at hand.

"...betrayal of trust," the Nubian Foreign Minister was saying. "As a result we can under no circumstances agree to the conditions that you have set forth."

The D'laians muttered among themselves. Wolan's rash act had not only scuttled their advantage in the negotiations, it represented a severe loss of face for D'lai. There wasn't one among them who wanted to be in his shoes when they returned home. Treachery was fine. Being caught was not.

"What is your proposal?" countered the D'laian negotiator.

The Nubian allowed a dramatic silence to settle over the room before replying.

"In the interests of regional solidarity Naboo continues to be willing to pursue an agreement between our planets based on mutual interest. We are willing to continue in this matter without reference of any kind to this morning's incident."

The D'laian looked at him across the table. "In return for..."

"There is to be absolutely no further discussion of a condition of marriage, now or in the future. And a number of other provisions will have to change as well."

Padmé wondered why the D'laians continued to mutter and rumble among themselves. It should have been perfectly obvious that Naboo would respond in this way. On the other hand they didn't seem to be able to grasp the concept of alliance without acquisition of an economic and legal stake in the ally.

One of the younger warriors stood up, raised a curved ceremonial dagger in his fist for all to see and shouted, "We can take what we want!"

Weapons were forbidden at the negotiation table. This one must have slipped through as part of his elaborate costume.

The dagger pulled away from his hand and floated through the air to land gently on the table next to the broken sword tip. All eyes turned to Anakin, whose expression had not changed at all. If some of those eyes had contained daggers he would have had to engage his light saber by now.

The Nubian Foreign Minister stood up.

"On the other hand," he said sharply, "if you are not willing to negotiate in good faith, we can end these discussions now."

The D'laian stood as well. "My apologies for the young one's rashness," he said, looking as though the words tasted bitter. "We request a recess of one hour in order to communicate your proposal to D'lai and to await instructions."

They are stalling for time. Anakin's thought entered Padmé's consciousness with perfect clarity. She wasn't imagining it.

She drew the Nubian negotiator down to her and whispered in his ear.

"We agree to a recess of one hour," he said.

The D'laians continued to radiate hatred toward Anakin as they filed out of the room. The change in the room's atmosphere once they left was a relief.

Padmé went to the COM link and called Typho, Sabé and Dormé to the conference room. Anakin's presence at their emergency summit meeting, like his presence in the room during negotiations, now seemed to be a matter of course. Anakin chose to remain standing behind Padmé. Suddenly she was deeply grateful for the veil and discretely tugged it just a little lower, because the communication she was receiving from him had nothing to do with words.

"Well?" The Foreign Minister asked.

"Our fighters are scheduled to arrive from Naboo in three hours," Typho announced. "Theirs will arrive sooner. We have to go along with the pretence until then."

"That won't be enough," Anakin said suddenly.

They all looked at him.

"Their thoughts betray them," he insisted. "They are awaiting a much larger force."

There was an awkward silence. Typho said carefully, "That is not what we have been given to understand. What is your evidence for saying that?"

"Believe it, Captain. Your fighters will not be able to defend you."

There was another silence as they struggled with their dilemma. Should they trust an inexperienced young Jedi over their own intelligence sources?

Finally Typho said, "If that is true, why did you not give us this information sooner?"

Anakin looked straight at him. "If I had been involved sooner I might have been able to."

Typho looked around the table for support. The two handmaidens remained silent, as did the remaining members of the delegation. The Foreign Minister looked at the Senator.

As usual it came down to Padmé to make the decision.

Trust me, Anakin said inside her inner awareness. Trust me. It was getting uncanny.

"Captain," Padmé asked, "how much of a force can we muster to come to our aid if this is true?"

"It depends what they are planning to do." He was looking more annoyed by the minute. "If all they intend to do is take this ship hostage we can hold them off."

"And if they have something more aggressive in mind?" Padmé prompted gently. "If they plan to turn on Naboo, for example?"

Typho looked grim. "That is something we cannot defend ourselves against. Not even with more time." He started rubbing his forehead with his hand. The gesture made him look defeated, somehow. "We were counting on the D'laians to bolster our military defense."

This was like being Queen again, Padmé thought.

"Captain," she finally said, "send an encoded message to the Chancellor on Coruscant. Priority."

There was an uncomfortable silence around the table while they waited for the Chancellor's holographic image to appear.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Chancellor," Padmé said to the image, "but I need your help. We have reason to believe that the D'laians are preparing to attack us and possibly Naboo. Do you know of anyone in the Sector who could come to our aid on short notice?"

"This is grave news indeed," the image responded. "How have you come by this information?"

"Jedi Skywalker believes it to be the case."

"Is he there, Senator Amidala? May I speak with him?"

Typho reached over and widened the field so that Anakin appeared in the image the Chancellor was receiving.

"My friend," said Palpatine. "Tell me the situation." Anakin felt a wave of gratitude at his mentor's respectful support.

"The D'laians are clearly delaying negotiations until the arrival of a significant military force. I do not know its numbers or their exact intentions, but they are anticipating its arrival very soon."

Palpatine's holo - image looked as grave as a flickering mass of atomic particles could look.

"Senator," he said, "You must trust your Jedi protector's assessment of the situation. This is precisely why I asked him to accompany you. I will take immediate steps to find you some assistance. Please take all necessary precautions until I get word to you. Is there anything else?"

"No, thank you Chancellor..." Padmé was beginning to say, when Anakin rudely interrupted her.

He didn't mean to. But a vivid, compelling picture had been forming in his mind, along with a compulsion to speak.

"Chancellor, there is more," he said, almost unwillingly. Padmé looked at him, startled.

The holo-image flickered and waited. Anakin plunged on. The words just came out of his mouth. But he knew them to be true. He just knew.

"I have no direct proof, but there is a possibility that the D'laians are secretly allied with the Separatists."

A gasp went up around the table. Everyone waited breathlessly to see how the Chancellor would respond. Anakin could feel Padmé's stab of dismay as clearly as if it were his own.

"Again your Jedi protector serves you well, Senator," the holo image said. "I have very recent information suggesting the same thing, but I had hoped it was not true. Now you must be very cautious indeed."

Anakin was surprised not only by what he had said, but also by the fact that the Chancellor had confirmed it.

"Thank you, Chancellor," Padmé said, in a creditably calm voice. "We are grateful for your assistance."

Typho and the Foreign Minister were staring at the Jedi Padawan with undisguised surprise.

Sabé looked at Anakin long and thoughtfully.

Anakin on the other hand only had eyes for Padmé, whose mood had shifted abruptly during the discussion with the Chancellor. He tried to reach out to her but she didn't respond.

The Senator stood up abruptly. "Wait for the Chancellor's communication, and inform the Queen. Give nothing away to our guests. If they want to resume discussions before I get back, say that I have been called away on other business."

She left her stunned staff and colleagues behind at the long, gleaming table on which a D'laian ceremonial dagger still lay side by side with the poisoned tip of a sword.

Anakin followed her like a shadow.

"I hope she gives him Hell," Typho thought, watching him go.

* * * * *

Chancellor of the Republic lingered at his desk after the holo - image disappeared. Occasionally one had to allow oneself a small sense of pleasure at a well-formed plan. This was one of those times.

The D'laian fools had behaved exactly as predicted. It was always a pleasure to work, however indirectly, with the Force-blind. Greed and pride were such dependable motivators.

The oppositional Senator was about to be rescued by, and become dependent on, the very army whose formation she had worked so hard to defeat. A fighting force had already been positioned nearby to come to her aid.

She was also well on her way to assuring the boy's eventual estrangement from the Jedi. He sensed that the connection between them had increased exponentially.

It was a good thing, he reflected, that she had not been killed ten years ago as originally planned. She was much more useful now.

And the boy - well, the boy. Such potential. So very receptive. And so full of conflict. He looked forward enormously to clarifying things for him.

He wanted the boy, and he wanted him soon. He had need of him. But the keys to his success had always been vision and patience. It would take a little more doing, he thought. But Anakin would be his.

* * * * *

Once Obi-Wan had made the decision to go after Anakin he moved quickly. If he hurried he could arrive on Naboo shortly after the Queen's Yacht, thus giving his young Padawan less time to get in trouble.

He hoped.

While filing his flight plan just before departure Obi-Wan was given a routine update about conditions in the Sector to which he was traveling. He didn't expect any surprises.

He was wrong.

He read the paragraph twice, with increasing alarm.

He read it a third time.

The Royal Yacht of the Queen of the Naboo was under attack by a Separatist faction from a planet called D'lai. Republican armed forces had been sent to engage the Separatists. Travelers to the Sector were warned to proceed with caution. Coordinates were given.

Obi-Wan shook his head in astonishment as he walked toward his ship.

What in blazes has Anakin done now?

It was a measure of Obi-Wan's experiences as Anakin's Master that his first reaction to news of a serious incident was to assume, without irony, that his Padawan had something to do with it.

It had been a very long ten years.

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