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

FAN FICTION : EPISODE II ERA (PRE-AOTC)

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I gon and dun' wrote a dern fanfic!
Part 2/3

by The Irish Jedi

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Soft blue light filtered through the window, segmented by the blinds. The slashes of shadow and blue cast Anakin's sleeping face into stark contrasts of light and dark.

Amidala smiled to herself as she ran the tip of her finger along his chin, tracing the firm outline, feeling the soft, clean-shaven skin.

He still had a deep bruise on the side of his temple, as well as several cuts and wounds along his neck and jaw. Despite them, he had healed remarkably fast after his epic battle with the Sith. He hadn't even needed a session in the bacta tank.

She herself healed quickly, though her muscles still ached when she moved, and the lump on the base of her skull had only just begin to go down. A week after their ordeal, however, she and Anakin had both been given a clean bill of health.

Amidala conceded the fact almost guiltily that she probably could have been up and working days ago, back on Naboo, overseeing the devastation, and hopefully the recovery.

Secured in the Republic medical frigate Vrantive's Rose, however, she and Anakin had finally had time together, with no Galactic Senate, no royal government, no Jedi Council to demand service of them. They could be people, just two people, a man and a woman in love. No talk of politics, trade tariffs, hostile forces, lightsabers, spacecraft, the Force... only of their love. Among the medical droids and hectic doctors, they could move in near anonymity, with no questions or needs placed upon them.

That time had dwindled though. She knew it, she could feel it. When they had finished eating their dinner and made their way to the observation deck as they had every night in their stay aboard the frigate, Anakin was uncharacteristically stoic.

After some needling, he caved in and admitted that he had been in communication with the Jedi Council. He was needed on Coruscant.

Sighing quietly to herself, Amidala regarded her sleeping lover. So young, yet burdened with so much responsibility. So much like herself. He had given up everything to become a Jedi, home and family, any chance at an ordinary life. Along the way he had helped an unknown pair of Jedi and a young queen in need.

She remembered his round little face, his mop of sandy blonde hair. His squinty eyes under the twin suns of Tatooine, his smile so full of joy.

"Are you an angel?" he had asked her. If she knew what she knew now, she might well have asked him the same question.

He had fought his way through legions of armed shock troopers, stealthed his way into the sieged palace, and battled an evil Sith lord for her. She remembered only flashes of Anakin's battle with the creature, but she clearly recalled the burning eyes of the Sith, the needle sharp teeth, the spicy breath. She would never forget those hideous details, forever be haunted in her dreams by its alien cackle and wailing screech. When the battle had ended though, only she and Anakin remained, and that was enough to allow her to deal with the trauma.

What had happened to her people, her city, she could not. Again, a stab of guilt pierced her side. The planet and people she represented and ruled were in dire need of their queen, yet here she was, lingering aboard a medical frigate, indulging herself in a fling with a Jedi.

Amidala couldn't fool herself, however. This was no fling and she knew it. She was in way too deep with Anakin. She loved him, and he loved her.

She quietly slipped out of the bed, careful not to disturb Anakin, and pulled her light robe over her shoulders. The recycled oxygen of the ship could get quite cold, especially given her weakened condition. DT-5600, the chief medical droid had warned her how close she had come to getting a severe bout of pneumonia, and how careful she had to be.

Moving out of their quarters, Amidala keyed the door shut behind her as she faced the narrow hallway. At the late hour, few crewmembers were about, only the occasional droid to be seen. She expected it to be so, or might have had more compunctions about moving about in her bedclothes and robe.

The floor was cold on the soles of her bare feet, causing her to whisper a curse. She had forgotten her slippers. She felt tingles of coolness ease up her legs, giving her the shivers, but it served to sharpen her perceptions. With more reluctance than she had expected, she realized that she needed to throw off the languid, sheltered cover she had erected these few days with Anakin. No more playing house.

Amidala entered the communications room, trying in vain to fight back the dread creeping around her. She knew what she was about to do would effectively end her time with Anakin.

"I have no choice," she murmured to herself resolutely.

Ignoring the painful thoughts on her mind, she keyed the transmission code for Naboo.

Within moments, the miniature hologram of Captain Panaka appeared, arms akimbo, visage dire and glowering.

"Your highness," he greeted, deep voice anything but joyous. "Your recovery has taken longer than expected. Is everything all right?" he asked.

Judging by his tone, Amidala knew that Panaka had guessed exactly what was going on. The reproach under his voice was audible to her, amplifying the guilt.

"I'm fine now, thank you Captain. What is the situation on Naboo?" she replied.

Panaka's eyebrow arched up in annoyance, or perhaps anger. "The city is nearly completely destroyed. Progress is slow, and the people are understandably shaken. They need their queen."

Amidala looked down, avoiding her captain's hologram eyes. She felt a slight redness heat up her face.

"I understand that, captain. I'll be departing for Naboo as soon as we reach Coruscant and I settle matters there," she said.

"Your highness, an investigation has been launched about the attack, and is being handled by Chancellor Palpatine himself," Panaka said, voice slightly exasperated. "We need you here, now. Power is only functioning in parts of the city, there is a serious food shortage, the water has become contaminated from a leak in the plant's reactor, the body count is rising with every excavated ruin of a home so concerns of disease and a plague are rampant, and on top of everything the Gungans have finally shown up. They claim Republic officials told them to evacuate the caves the day of the siege and stay clear of the battle. Half of the people believe the Republic is trying to destroy Naboo, the other half want to slaughter the Gungans. Moreover--"

"Your point is made, Captain," Amidala cut him off, harshly. Her anger was with herself, though. How could she be so selfish, basking in the solitude of Anakin's arms, while her people suffered even more? The shame she felt almost nauseated her.

"I will depart for Naboo immediately," she said, pushing back the pain that instantly rushed through her heart and mind. "Prepare the palace for my arrival. I will make a public speech upon reaching the city."

Panaka nodded. "Yes, your highness. Safe journey."

Amidala gave no response as she cut the transmission. For long moments she just stared at the empty space before her, arms hugging herself.

When she was young, being groomed for her reign as queen, she would often hold herself, wrap her arms tight about her. It was her way of reminding herself that in the end, all she would have was herself. No one would be there to hold her, because she must not allow that weakness, that luxury that so many took for granted. Her life was her people, her throne. She was never directly told that, but years of training had made it understood. She was not a person, but an ideal. She could not even pretend to cry.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, burying the rift in her heart, Amidala pressed the message record button. She didn't trust herself to say what she must to Anakin in person. In front of those clear, innocent blue eyes.

As the hologram recorder readied itself, she felt her lip shiver and her organs constrict. She had to be strong, though. She would be strong.

"Anakin," she said, forcing her voice to be calm. "I'm afraid our time is at an end..."

****************************

Anakin awoke with a start.

He shot up in bed, voice issuing a cry of shock.

He had dreamt of his battle again, of the demonic Sith screaming its twisted call, bearing down on him. He had watched from some observer's standpoint as he and the Sith traded saber volleys, red and blue blades crashing into each other.

In the dream though, the Sith smashed aside his defense and ran him through. Anakin watched as his body crumbled to the floor, dead.

The creature then moved to Amidala, who was backed into a corner. As it loomed over her, saber blaring its murderous intentions, the light caught its face. It was not the alien visage he had seen before. It was human. Familiar.

Before he could recognize it, though, the Sith struck, bringing its blade down at Amidala's heart –

Then, everything went red, and Anakin awoke.

For long moments, he sat there, breathing ragged and hard, sweat beating down his brow.

He reached to the side to find comfort in Amidala, but found her gone.

"Figures," he smirked. He had learned she had a tendency to sleep lightly, and move about the ship as he slept. Habits of a queen, he supposed.

She would no doubt be sending a wake up call to get him up for breakfast soon, he was sure. For the entire week, even while they were both in bad shape, she would be awake first and call down from the cafeteria to get up. He would then meet her in the botanical garden, or the observation deck, or one of the lounges for breakfast. He had never been so eager to wake in the morning.

Taking a quick shower and pulling on the light and baggy pants and tunic the droids had given him, Anakin slipped his feet into his sandals. Laughing to himself, he noticed that Amidala had forgotten hers. She always forgot her sandals, trudging around the ship in bare feet, driving DeeTee, the old med chief droid crazy.

As he went to leave and find Amidala, however, the comm beeped.

"Beat me to it again," he laughed. He should have known.

"I'll be up in a minute," Anakin said pleasantly as he keyed the comm on.

"No need, Anakin, I'm on my way down," came the answer. It was not Amidala.

"Obi-Wan?"

His Jedi Master's face appeared, smiling.

"Good morning. I trust you'll be presentable when I come down," he said. "As well as any guests you might have." The Jedi's smile was only tinged with mischief, but Anakin understood the implication.

"I'm quite presentable, Master Obi-Wan. The queen is most likely in the cafeteria," he answered.

Before Obi-Wan could reply, a voice from somewhere beside him interrupted. Anakin couldn't hear what was said, but it was brief.

"Actually, Captain Sumner tells me the queen took a shuttle to rendezvous with a cruiser headed for Naboo about two hours ago. You weren't aware?"

"What?" Anakin said, shock apparent in his voice.

"I'll take that as a no, then," Obi-Wan surmised wryly. "I'll be down in a moment."

As the transmission cut off, Anakin felt dread move up his back. Why would she just leave? He knew she would eventually have to, but so suddenly, without even waking him, saying goodbye? And why to Naboo? They were going to Coruscant, he thought?

A flashing red light on the comm console caught is attention. Under the light, it read: Saved message.

So she had left him a message. That wasn't like her at all, he knew. Why would she not talk to him?

Quelling his fear, Anakin pressed the command key to start the message.

Amidala's face appeared, blue in its hologram representation, but still unnaturally beautiful. The hollow look in her eyes triggered alarms immediately, though.

"Anakin, I'm afraid our time is at an end..."

*****************************

"I can stand no more!"

The chamber finally lapsed into silence, interrupting the hour of shouting and recriminations that had precluded the cry.

"I consider myself a fairly rational and intelligent man, but by the stars, I am at my wit's end!" Senator Bail Organa proclaimed, voice tight with frustration. "For the past three weeks I have been surrounded by so many lies and half-truths, false promises by honeyed tongues, weak excuses and ignorant claims that I wonder if one single shred of honesty remains on Coruscant."

There was no immediate response to the Alderaanian senator, as the other two dozen politicians and officers gave a moment of respect for the anger in the usually pleasant and jovial Organa.

Face calm and kindly, Chancellor Palpatine trained his eyes on the senator.

"Senator Organa, I understand and even sympathize with your plight. Please bear in mind that I too was on the planet during the attack, and I call Naboo my home. Lapsing into histrionics will accomplish nothing, however."

Organa's visage tightened, his sculpted cheekbones and firm jaw clenching. Around his narrowed ice blue eyes, thin wrinkles appeared under his furrowed brow.

"Histrionics, you say, Chancellor?" His voice was a low rumble now, ready to erupt at any moment. "Hardly. I say righteous indignation."

Sweeping his intense stare across the entire table, which sat over twenty of the senators and military officers that Chancellor Palpatine had called upon for this closed session, Organa took in the group's collective attention.

"The Chancellor points out his sympathy with Naboo, his presence on the planet when the siege occurred." Organa's finger, leveled like a dagger from his outstretched arm, pointed accusingly at the Chancellor, while he kept his furious glare on the rest of the table.

"Then I say it is even more heinous and criminal for his inaction to take place! Factions of this military are in direct mutiny and opposition against the entire Republic!"

Voices of agreement and voices of dissent spewed forth immediately, most of the military officers trading shouts with the senators, though there were a few exceptions.

General Tarkin, a rail thin middle-aged man, with piercing eyes and a seemingly constant frown on his face, stood.

"Senator Organa, if I recall correctly, this is not a vote of no confidence in the Chancellor."

"Apparently this is a Bothan trial. Instead of trying to solve this mystery and travesty, the Republic's mighty politicians will simply try and oust the Chancellor," Moff Constantine, a fiery Corellian said, tone biting and sarcastic.

"Brave words from one who's trusted understudy was the traitorous leech who slaughtered the Naboo," General Garm Bel Iblis retorted.

"Commander Rothven's involvement and subsequent disappearance are no proof of his guilt," Constantine replied, but there was little strength behind his words.

"If he does 'reappear', Moff Constantine, I assure you that, on behalf of the citizens of Corellia who understand Justice, he will be brought to trial, and convicted," Bel Iblis said, punctuating his words with a sharp punch to the polished marble table.

A loud sigh interrupted the two Corellians' argument. Such was the respect afforded to Senator Mon Mothma, that one whisper of displeasure would silence the room. Tall and willowy, with an elegant and reserved beauty, Mon Mothma was ever the voice of reason and restraint among the senate. Organa was the passion, the indignant and furious call for justice. After his heart-on-the-sleeve opening, Mon Mothma would follow up with her articulate and calmly spoken demands. She was no less passionate, but where her Alderaanian counterpart would strike at the emotions, she would attack from her deep understanding of the psychosis, human and alien alike.

"Chancellor Palpatine, I wish to make it understood that this is no way a vote of no-confidence. General Tarkin's fears are groundless." She had an airy voice, full of wisdom and compassion. She rarely, if ever, let it rise to a shout, but she never needed to. To interrupt Mon Mothma was to incur the scorn of the rest of the senate.

"However, my colleagues claims are valid. There can be no other explanation for the things we witnessed on Naboo." Her soft brown eyes fixed on Moff Constantine. "And if the word of the Republic's politicians will not suffice for some, no less than the very respected Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi can attest. The attackers were Republic troops."

Palpatine nodded, as if accepting Mon Mothma's official throwing of her hat into the proverbial ring. Tarkin, on the other hand just glowered.

"You say that with such assuredness, senator. One such as you, though, should consider that there may be other... explanations."

Mon Mothma's eyebrows raised slightly, her lips pursing.

"And what might those explanations be, General?"

Tarkin's face was stone.

"Clones."

There was no immediate reply. The shock of the General's words rippled in silence through the room.

Finally, the lapse was broken by Bel Iblis's laugh, harsh and brief.

"I've encountered absurdity before, Tarkin, but you must be striving for the top of the field on this," he bit out, words thick with sarcasm.

"Don't judge me so harshly, General," Tarkin replied evenly, tone controlled. "I have proof behind my theory. Will you not listen?"

Organa waved his hand dismissively. "Not if you insist on coating this treachery with laughable lies and incredible claims."

Palpatine raised his hand, motioning for a stop in the dialogue. Under his arching white brows, his eyes were pleading for patience.

"Please, Bail, hear the General out. When he first came to me with this possibility, I too was immeasurably skeptical. Once you get past the seemingly ridiculousness of it, however, you'll see that there may be a very tangible and immediate evil preying upon us."

Organa held Palpatine's gaze for a moment, debating, it seemed. Then, with a disgusted sigh and gesture of his hands, he sat back.

Palpatine shifted his eyes to Tarkin, a silent command.

Standing from his chair, straightening his crisp officer's tunic, the General cleared his throat dramatically.

"Cloning has become part and parcel in society of late. No one questions its ethics, its principals, even its consequences. Yet now, we must."

Senator Clasm, a Quarren with a brusque demeanor and terse tones, interrupted.

"Dispense with the flowery rhetoric, Tarkin. We need not listen to your false morals and hypocritical diatribes. Tell your tale, and be quick about it."

For a brief moment, Tarkin's eyes narrowed, and the fire that dwelled beneath his icy exterior brindled.

His thin lips curled up in the ghost of a smile, though, and his head nodded in acquiesence.

"As you wish. The fact, dear colleagues, is that there has been a mutiny of sorts. But not to the proportions that General Bel Iblis and Senators Mon Mothma and Organa would have us believe."

Tarkin began pacing around the rectangular table, now that he had an audience listening without interruption.

"A small faction, as of yet unidentified, deep within not only our military forces, but our highest order of governing, have been manipulating and utilizing vast amounts of clones. This ...army, for lack of a better term, of clones is being commanded by our mysterious faction ... and it is obvious that they are behind the Naboo siege."

Organa didn't let the General's words ring for longer than a second.

"Bollocks. Sheer bollocks. Where, pray tell did you uncover this information? Or should I say, where did you concoct this beautiful piece of fiction?"

Tarkin huffed, looking wounded. "I assure you, senator, I can validate this claim. For one, the previously mentioned Jedi Knight, Obi-Wan Kenobi, identified one of the men on the commando team that he struck down as Cord Wenshel. I do not doubt the Jedi's word. I too hold him and his fellow Jedi in the highest regard. Does anyone doubt Jedi Kenobi's words?"

None on the table offered even a sound. Even if any did doubt the word of a Jedi, the Chancellor had backed up Kenobi's report.

"Then explain this to me," Tarkin said, hitting the comm switch on his table panel.

"Explain what?" Clasm demanded, annoyed.

The door at the far end of the chamber swung open, two ornately dressed palace guards escorted an officer across the tiled floor. Tall, powerfully built, with jet-black hair and a ruggedly handsome face, he wore the markings of a seasoned combat officer on his tunic.

"Wenshel," Mon Mothma breathed, clearly taken aback.

"Yes, senator Mon Mothma," Palpatine said. "I too was shocked. You must realize, I saw the man before us laying on the grass on Naboo, dead. His torso was severed by a lightsaber. No armor could have saved him. His blood seeped out into the puddles of the storm. Cord Wenshel was dead."

Tarkin gave the commando an appraising look. "You seem remarkably fit for a dead officer, commander."

"Thank you, sir," Wenshel replied, the hint of a smile appearing on his lips.

"So, the dead man ... a clone?" Bel Iblis said, demeanor wary, on guard.

"Yes, General. A clone," Palpatine replied.

"How?" Organa asked. "How? How could we have not discovered a rogue cloning operation. In order to grow and develop stable clones, it takes years, almost as long as the average human lifespan! We can't have missed it."

Tarkin responded with a condescending look. "Who said anything about stable, senator?"

His words were not lost on the assemblage.

"My God," Mon Mothma said, fear creeping up her ordinarily placid face. "Accelerated clones. That's an explosion waiting to happen."

"It's already happened, senator," Palpatine pointed out. "Naboo but was the first such occurrence, I fear."

"We must act quickly," Constantine said, hand made into a fist. "No more tragedy can happen. The Republic will panic. We are their protection. If word of an unstable army of clones gets out ..."

"Then we must indeed act quickly," Bel Iblis agreed. "We must root out the traitors, find their cloning operation, find out where they got the ships and equipment ..."

Palpatine nodded emphatically. "General Bel Iblis is correct. We must first and foremost deal with our own institution. We must ... tighten our circle, bring more control to the center of the Republic. To us .... temporarily, certainly."

Before any protest could be given, Palpatine gestured to Mon Mothma. "Senator, I am making you the majority leader of the senate. There is no other I trust as you, and I am certain that the others will concur. You must survey the entire senate, begin forming suspects, root out these villains. I'm sure you will have the help of those in this room. None of us is in doubt, that is certain."

Mon Mothma seemed torn, but nodded. She wanted justice terribly, and this new evil seemed to have her extremely concerned.

"I will begin to ... tighten the bonds between the worlds of the Republic. If there are no loose reins, the traitors cannot strike with such impunity."

Tarkin stepped forward. "Chancellor, you have my personal assuredness that the entire military will be audited. Any leaks or mutineers will be found."

Bel Iblis also stood. "I'll begin going through the fleet. It might take some time, but we'll find them."

"I have enormous faith in all of you," Palpatine said. "However, we are dealing with a very tangible evil. A serious threat to the structure and survival of the Republic. What was said in this room does not leave it. Is that understood?"

One by one, all of the dignitaries agreed, and then filtered out of the room, purposeful. Justice would be served, if they had any stake in it.

But they didn't.

*****************

"There may be some danger in sending all of those lap dogs running," Tarkin said, approaching Palpatine.

Only moments before, the doors had closed as the last of the senators had departed. Now, Tarkin and Palpatine stood before the window, watching as Coruscant's afternoon traffic hissed by.

"No. This plan was meticulously constructed, and even more meticulously carried out. There shall be no more setbacks." The Chancellor's eyes stared out into the sea of spires, lip curled in impotence.

"What if they discover that there are no clones? That we just happened to have enough genetic material to make that hasty creation of Cord. We can hide one unstable clone, but not the absence of any others."

Palpatine shifted slightly, so as to hold the General in his peripheral stare.

"Why would they discover anything?"

"There are no clones," Tarkin replied, exasperated.

Palpatine's lips twisted into a cruel smile. "Oh, but there are, General. There are."

"You cloned our troops?" Tarkin all but shouted, his voice rising in shock and disbelief.

"Cloned? No. Conscripted an army would be more accurate to say."

"Where? From who? Pirates? The Hutts?"

The Chancellor shook his head, endlessly amused. "Would the Pirates or the Hutts have clones? I need truth behind my lies, General."

Tarkin gave Palpatine a severely skeptical look. "Mandalorians?"

"Excellent, you know your history."

"History? Hardly. Mythology perhaps. Schoolboy tales, certainly."

Actually laughing, a quiet wheezing almost, Palpatine turned to face his right hand.

"Oh, but they are no myth or rumor. And they are legion. And they are bound to me. They have been since their inception."

"What? Tales of the clone mercenaries have existed for years and years, long before you and I," Tarkin said, adamant in his conviction.

"But not longer than the Sith, dear Tarkin. They owe their creation and eventual freedom to the Sith. To me."The General shook his head, taking all the information in.

"What will use them for, than? Overthrowing the Republic? They can't be that legion."

Palpatine shook his head. "Oh no. We need not overthrow the Republic. It is already dead, and belongs to me. While Mon Mothma and Organa and all the other bleeding heart fools are off chasing phantoms, I will consolidate my empire. You will begin to turn the military into my own personal armada, my long hand of power."

"Then why use the Mandalorians?"

The look that passed over Palpatine's face was one of hate, deep, passionate, insane.

"The Jedi. They are all that stands between me and my universe. The Mandalorians will be my tool to kill each and every one of those misguided and doomed monks. I will bathe in the blood of the Jedi, as the moons of my kingdom cry my name, from one corner of this existence to another. I have foreseen it."

With that proclamation, the two men stood before the unsuspecting city. The unsuspecting world, the unsuspecting universe.

"I have foreseen it."

*****************************************

The reception hall was a labyrinth of criss-crossing archways and elevated cat walks. Spiraling staircases that stretched from the expansive main floor to the five other levels were intersected by clear glass floors, as were the separate rooms for dining, dancing, conversing, or whatever purpose those present could envision.

From the opposite great walls that made the giant hall's boundaries, multi-colored lights, almost of carnival hues shone below, different floors and rooms lit different tones for different themes.

High above the hall, the entire ceiling was a breath-taking clear crystal structure, which ran to an apex, letting the night sky, littered with stars, shine down upon the gathering.

As humongous as the ball room was, it was easily packed to capacity, thousands of aristocrats, politicians, high ranking military officers, off-planet royalty, corporate representatives, and any other note worthy person deemed important enough to make the list. The hall was a who's who of the Republic, all drawn together for the first preliminaries of the latest senate elections. Disguised as a grand party and casual socializing, candidates and current senators hoping to retain their seat would covet support from other politicians, wealthy entrepreneurs, various personages of royalty, and corporations.

Why Anakin Skywalker was here, he couldn't be sure. Obi-Wan had told him, he was sure, yesterday when the invitation was given to the two Jedi. Like so many things of late, however, Anakin had no room in his head for thoughts as trivial to him. Even now, he seemed barely able to register what was happening around him, moving through the crowd as a zombie, eyes turned inward.

Two members of the senate, a Bothan and a Twi'lek, who had been conversing pleasantly, interrupted their discussion to view the Jedi that moved between them. A Jedi at such an event was extremely rare, especially if it wasn't a council member.

The Bothan offered a jovial greeting, and outstretched her hand, obviously hoping for a conversation.

Anakin didn't seem to even hear the words, nor see the hand. He simply brushed past the two senators.

Anakin, I don't expect this to be easy on you...

Her words rang in his ears, through the corridors of his brain, echoing from synapse to nerve.

Please don't assume this is easy on me, either. It isn't.

He moved between clusters of people, groups observing strategically placed artwork, the occasional vid screen, and cliques of like-minded people. Most, if not all, spared more than a casual glance at the young Jedi, and some did as the Bothan did, calling out greetings or questions. They all received the same reaction. Stone-faced silence.

"A drink, sir?" a protocol droid, decked out in almost obscene-looking formal decor asked, offering a tray with glasses full of various liquors.

I fear I've made a terrible mistake. One I wish I could take back with all that I am. But it is done, and must now be righted.

Anakin continued his pace, arm nearly upending the tray in front of him, causing the droid to issue a cry of surprise as it struggled to maintain balance.

Eyes showing no sign of noticing the near collision, he began climbing the nearby staircase, the spiral structure enclosed on both sides.

I thought that a relationship between us would be possible. I thought that somehow, some way, I could make it possible. I was wrong.

He moved up the stairs, not conscious of any destination, feet just moving without any real volition. Along the twisting stair walls, deep blue lights entwined with an aqua like green color, flashing on and off repeatedly and swiftly, creating a black light strobe effect. All the colors on the clothing and accessories of the people ascending and descending the stairs were distorted, as was any make up or decorations.

I suppose it was my last grasp on a naive mindset, my heart making one last hope for childhood, for fantasies. Whatever it may have been, it must end.

A towering Wookiee passed by Anakin on the dual sided stairs, monstrous paws resting on the rails separating the two sides. The odd play of lights made the creature's eyes stand out preternaturally, shining a bluish white, and its barely showing fangs glare brightly. It huffed a greeting to the Jedi, paw rising in greeting.

Anakin's face was thrown into the strobe effect, blue eyes catching the flashing color, as well as the light tunic under his robe. Yet even under the bizarre lighting, his face appeared as still as a corpse, gaze nowhere near the Wookiee or even anything in the hall.

I am not a person in the sense of the word as you know it, Anakin. I am an ideal, an institution. It has been so since I was born.

He saw only her articulate and immaculate face, her full lips and passionate eyes. He heard only her words, carefully said, almost rehearsed. He felt only the crack in his heart, the void in his being, the hollow in his throat.

So, you see, it is literally impossible for me to love you. To love anyone. It was never in my fate for anyone to care about who I am, other than a queen, a monarch. For you to love me would be to toss your emotions, your passion, into refuse.

Without any sign of realization, Anakin exited the stairs, on to the third level of the hall. In contrast to the ethereal weirdness of the staircase, the third floor was lit in a rather mundane fashion, soft white light intermingling with the skyline.

Most of the floor was packed with artists and critics, the aloof crowd of the gala. They had no desire to talk of politics or elections, only of what was the latest trend among the galaxies, and of the different philosophies of the people.

I believe in fate, Anakin. I believe in things being the way they are for a reason. I was born to play this part, as were you. Maybe in some other life, some other place, our souls will meet again, be together. But that is not our province. For now, for this life, we must be stranger souls. Apart.

Sliding through a large gathering of people studying a marble bust, intently talking of its implications it seemed, Anakin was rapidly moving towards the dead end of the floor.

Somewhere, in deep recesses of his brain, he registered a few comments from the people around him.

"Isn't that a Jedi--"

"It's the one that was on Naboo, you know,--"

"Can't he read our thoughts, our very--"

"Where's his lightsword?"

"Shorter than I --"

"I heard they were over seven--"

His mind may have take stock of the segmented comments, but he paid them no heed. He simply continued staring into the regions of his thoughts, his memories. All the while, he had all but reached the far corner of the floor, where a table with food and drinks sat, unattended.

I know you think you love me. I thought I could love you. But we're both wrong. It simply cannot be. I know you think you need me. But you do not. You are a powerful Jedi, Anakin, destined for greatness. You need nothing I have to offer. And I can offer nothing.

Anakin stood before the table, seemingly studying the trays of food laid out before him, the luster of the glasses with sparkling champagne in them. Yet he saw none of it.

A young human with the uniform of the culinary office, obviously a caterer, saw the Jedi standing before the table.

The boy quickly moved behind the table, facing Anakin.

"In the mood for some food, sir?" the boy asked, excited. He had never really met a Jedi, though he had seen one before. "Maybe some champagne? We've got all kinds, for every taste."

Please don't try and fight this, Anakin. I know how you can be. So stubborn. But you cannot fight destiny. The Force should tell you that much. If you try and contact me, I will not answer. I will not contact you. From now on, I am Queen Naberrie Amidala of Naboo and you are Jedi Padawan learner Anakin Skywalker. No more, no less.

The boy was confused by the Jedi's lack of answer. Perhaps he was still debating.

"Maybe you'd like the Corellian whiskey? Very good sir, and not so boring as the champagne. Maybe a lager?"

The Jedi's face seemed to be contorting suddenly, his lips trembling as his jaw clenched, his brow furrowing.

"Sir?"

Know that I do feel sorrow for what this might do to you. As painful as it is though, this must happen.

"No..." Anakin murmured, between clenched teeth.

"Sir? No, what, sir? The whiskey or the lager?" the boy asked.

It is apparent that we could never have been together, Anakin. And, for the good of us both, I am ending this futile and destructive relationship we have developed. Perhaps, in the deep corners of my dreams, I will think of you. But that is all I can afford. And I sincerely hope that you do not spare me the slightest passing thought, though I sadly don't think that will be the case.

"She's lying ..." Anakin breathed, chest beginning to burn with rage. "She's lying to herself, to me..."

"Beg your pardon, sir?" the boy said, eyes looking around for another person. "Who lied, sir? About the beverage menu? I assure you, we have more in the back. Do you want a menu?"

In comparison to all the heartache and tragedy around the universe in these times, ours is but a footnote of unfortunate lovers who didn't understand their roles in the grand scheme of things. Now, I know that I do understand. And I hope you will come to, Anakin.

Goodbye.

"Do you want a menu, sir?" the boy repeated.

"NO!" Anakin screamed, feeling the fury in his heart overwhelm whatever defenses he had built up, encompass his reason.

With a powerful slamming motion, Anakin brought his fist down hard against the table. The thick steel structure caved in like clay, though the screeching sound it made was distinctive.

Drawing the entire floor's attention, the table snapped in two under the Jedi's blow, the trays of food and glasses of beverages crashing to the floor, smashing themselves.

"No! She's lied to herself! She doesn't believe it! She can't!" Anakin seethed, standing in the middle of the destruction he had wrought.

The catering boy had fallen back and tripped in his haste to move away from the Jedi. Now he crawled back hastily, eyes full of fear, mind relaying tales of Jedi rage.

From deep within him, Anakin felt a red-coated rage swirl about him, a frustration that burned in his gut and in his throat. There was no release for it, it just ate away at him like a cancer.

He knew she had made herself so severe, so cold and unemotional for his benefit. She didn't believe what she had said. She couldn't. If ever there had been two souls meant to be together, their fates entwined, it was theirs. He knew that, felt it to core of his being.

How could she do this? How could he survive this? Did he want to?

A hand was placed on Anakin's shoulder then, softly, comforting.

"Anakin," a deep voice said, easily cutting through the angry haze that had enveloped his mind.

"Anakin," it repeated softly.

Turning around, the young Jedi saw a tall black man, in robes similar to his, bald pate with eyes deep in wisdom. In compassion and mystery.

Jedi Master Mace Windu was an impressive sight. Not on reputation alone, either. An imperceptible aura shone from him, power and intelligence. Everything one expected to find in a Jedi Master, and more.

"You must calm down, center yourself," Windu said, voice soothing. "Forget your pain, your rage for the moment. Forget where you are, where you've been. Only see the Force."

At first, Anakin could not acquiesce to Mace's instructions. The pain was too severe, his frustration too large. He only wanted release, catharsis.

Then he felt the Jedi Master's power and will reach out to him, augmenting his own abilities. With this considerable help, Anakin pushed back the rage, felt it slink back to the rear of his brain, his heart cease its thrashing about in his chest.

The young Padawan breathed deeply, eyes trained on the floor, feeling the sweat appear on his forehead now.

"Good," Windu said, patting Anakin's back. "Good. Now, come, we should walk." As the two Jedi left the scene, droids immediately began cleaning up.

"Anakin, I can feel the pain inside you. We all can," Windu said, arm still over Anakin's shoulders as they walked across the room.

"I understand you have been through quite an ordeal. The occurrences on Naboo are well known to us. I also understand that that is not what ails you."

Anakin finally let his eyes meet the Jedi Master's, the soft brown orbs.

"No creature, not even the most powerful of Jedi can shirk love. Love is an emotion, and emotion, feelings are part of the Force. Even the negative sides of it."

"How am I to press on with this pain though? Knowing it exists doesn't make it easier," Anakin said, feeling traces of the frustration again.

"By reflection, introspection, and discipline. By listening to the Force. Being one with it." Windu's face stared right at Anakin, almost demanding, yet still comforting. "By understanding that what you feel is natural, and you will most likely feel it again. But by being ready to accept and deal with it."

"And if I find I can't?"

Windu held Anakin's gaze for a moment, contemplating his words. Then, he looked to the side.

"Then you will have failed us, the galaxy, Obi-Wan, your destiny... worst of all, you will have failed yourself."

Anakin looked away, studying the floor.

"I don't see you failing, though, Anakin," the Jedi Master continued. "As long as I have known you, you have never failed at anything. You have been a prodigy in every sense of the word, young Skywalker. I feel confident in you, as does Obi-Wan, as does Yoda, as do all the Jedi. You are strong."

Windu's words somehow bolstered the young Jedi, if only marginally. Anakin held his head higher, nodding slightly.

"Now go home, get some rest, meditate. It will not be easy to overcome this obstacle, but neither will most in life. You simply must."

The nod grew more intense. "Thank you, Master."

"May the Force be with you," Windu said, hand indicating the stairs.

"And with you," Anakin replied, entering the stairwell again.

********************

That night, Anakin dreamt of demons.

Huge, metal clad, black demons, intoning prophetic words of doom and destiny.

One demon, a cloaked and cowed figure with hands like talons merely pointed at him, varicose-veined finger like a knife. It laughed, cackling and taunting, proclaiming that Anakin belonged to the Dark Side, to him.

Beside the frail apparition, a monstrous figure, half machine it seemed, breathed like an air filter, harsh and ragged. It too told him he was a slave to his destiny.

No! Anakin cried, ready to battle the demons, be strong as Master Windu had told him he must be.

Then the scene seemed to change. He was indeed battling. Another figure, much smaller than he it appeared, was gripping a lightsaber, brilliant green blade pounding into Anakin's own lightsaber. Anakin saw that his saber was different, the blade red.

The young man in front of him was very similar to himself he noticed, with sandy blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes. He very well could have been his brother, had he one.

Then, as quickly as the battle seemed to start, it was over. The young black-clad man had smashed aside Anakin's defense and hammered at him until his arm and saber were sliced from his body.

Strangely, Anakin felt no pain, only shock and fatigue.

"Father, please!" he heard, the cry changing the scene.

Now, the man who had been battling him was on the floor, cringing in pain as purple-white bolts of energy ran across his body.

"Father!!" he cried.

Who was he calling to? Anakin looked about the darkened chamber, but saw only the crone-like demon, fingers firing the energy bolts that bombarded the young man.

All Anakin could feel was disgust, hate. He hated that crone, the corrupted soul. The things he had done to him...

But what had the demon done to him? Anakin realized he didn't know. He had to stop him, though, he knew that.

Then it seemed the lightning has spread to him, suffusing his skin and bones, blackening his insides, his soul. He felt his heart turn to a ruined pulp, smelled the smoke from his spirit.

"Father, please!"

The incessant beeping of the comm unit next to his bed awoke him.

Anakin felt his heart pounding, his hands unconsciously clenched into white-knuckled fists.

What in the hell was that about? he wondered. As if he needed any extra trauma these days.

Who was that young man? Why did he call for his father? Who were the demons? The beeping continued, finally making Anakin respond.

"What?" he answered, not in any mood for a call. It was still very late.

Obi-Wan Kenobi's face appeared, taut and worried.

"Get dressed Anakin," he said. "Then meet me at the Temple immediately."

Anakin felt the last webs of the nightmare dissolve. His master was truly upset. "What is it? What's happened?"

Obi-Wan's face remained severe. "There is little time, so suffice it to say that the situation has changed greatly. Hurry. Get to the Temple. We will be departing as soon as our transport arrives."

The transmission cut then, leaving Anakin staring at a black screen.

Not taking the time to consider his master's words, Anakin began throwing on his Jedi robes, calling his saber and cloak over to him.

Once again, the galaxy seemed it would need Anakin Skywalker. He hoped it wouldn't demand as much as it had of late.

***********************

Under the harsh acetylene lights that shone from above, Amidala wiped the film of sweat from her brow.

Despite the late hour, hundreds of people and droids were spread out before her, all feverishly working to clean the damage done. As they had been for the last four weeks. As they would continue for some time.

Stepping down from a jagged pile of crushed stones, she felt the fatigue in her legs. She was in excellent condition and health, but even she was beginning to tire after working for hours upon hours with no break for food or water.

Somewhere, deep in her mind, she hoped the pain and exhaustion would burn away the guilt and horror she felt at the destruction. She hoped in vain, however. She had seen too many bodies, too many faces she recognized, frozen in death. She would never forget them, either. For every dead man, woman, or child she had seen, each face found a space in her brain to cling to, latching on for any form of existence. Her slim shoulders had become burdened with yet another weight, this one nigh unbearable.

Moving sluggishly, Amidala poured herself a cup of water from the purifier that stood under the supplied tent. Around the machine and the tent, a few dozen workers rested momentarily, all looking haggard and weary. Like their queen.

Amidala couldn't help but notice the glint of pride in their eyes, though. Pride that their Queen had come back to them, and worked beside them to restore their home. Had pulled up her sleeves and lifted rock, dug with a shovel, helped cart away the dead. She was one of them, she was their embodiment. All her exotic beauty was thrown aside for a grease-covered face and callous-lined hands.

"You should get some rest, your highness," a voice said from behind.

Slowly, she turned to see Captain Panaka approach her. He too was glistening with sweat, wearing only a tattered tank top shirt, dirt and grime covering his lean, muscled frame.

"You should talk," she smiled tiredly. "When's the last time you took a nap?"

Panaka smiled slightly in response. "Last night. I would say that was awhile ago, but since you haven't slept in two days, I must be comparatively well-rested."

Amidala let her head droop a bit, exhaling loudly.

"That long, huh? Time has sort of blurred the last few weeks."

The large Captain inclined his head. "Too true, my Queen. But you really must get some rest. You've worked harder than any."

"Have I?" she asked, more to herself it seemed, as she stared vacantly at the work going on outside the tent.

"There is no question," Panaka replied adamantly. "But now, you can barely move. All you are doing is slowing things down, your highness. Believe me, when you wake, there will be more to do."

For long moments she stared into her faithful captain’s brown eyes. He was indeed faithful, and brave, and moreover right. She couldn't help anyone if she passed out.

"I am hungry," she admitted. "And a bath would be glorious. Though I plan to get just as filthy tomorrow."

"Of course," Panaka laughed slightly.

Clasping the Captain's shoulder and squeezing affectionately, Amidala walked off, towards the palace.

She negotiated her way through the rubble cautiously, as her exhausted legs were not to be relied upon.

Along the way she stumbled upon a dirty, torn and charred doll. A tiny thing, with fake strands of yellow hair and cheap button eyes, it bore no resemblance to the ornately designed works of beauty she had played with when she was a child. Yet it had a simplicity to it, an emotional aspect her porcelain dolls never possessed.

She felt her chest constrict, and her chin tremble suddenly. The doll must have belonged to one of the city's lost children, countless of them killed in the siege. The little girl wouldn't have understood why or how it was happening. She probably was sitting in her den, playing with her doll, maybe singing her favorite nursery rhyme to herself. Than, the dark figures would have come, rifles spewing death, shouting strange, foreign things. She wouldn't have comprehended why she and her family were being slaughtered. She might have had time to cry.

Now, all there was left was the ruined doll, a pathetic, blackened lump of plastic with tatters of cloth around it.

In her weakened state, Amidala had none of the barriers she usually possessed. They had been filed down from the last few months. She felt the emotion, the sorrow overwhelm her, erupt from deep within her.

Oh, God. All the pain poured out from her, as she felt the tears come, hot and wet. She began to sob uncontrollably, her body convulsing as she wept openly. She propped her fist against the rocky ground to support her as she cried, fist digging into the debris until blood began to flow from her knuckles.

Why had this been done? She didn't understand anymore. She had no clarity. What possible ends could this have served? What reason could there possibly be for this senseless tragedy?

She could feel her face distort in a grimace, as she continued to sob, her head lowering until her forehead touched the ground. Her teeth were clenched together, in a reflexive attempt to silence her outpouring.

Then, a soft touch on her head.

"Lady," a tiny voice called from over her. "Hey, lady."

Amidala slowly raised her head from the earth, tears still running down her cheeks, the only clean spots on her dirty face.

Before her, a small girl, not possibly more than five years old stood, looking quizzically at her.

"May I have my doll back, please, lady?" the little girl asked. She had big blue eyes, seemingly enormous compared to her tiny head. On that head, an unkempt mane of dark blonde hair ran to her back.

Amidala regarded the ruined doll, which she still clutched in her hand.

"This... this is your doll?" she asked, voice still unsteady from crying.

"Yes, ma'am. Her name is Shana. She's mine," the girl answered, smiling slightly. Her eyes seemed to sparkle when she did that.

"Well, hello Shana," Amidala said, smiling suddenly. "I guess I better give you back to your owner here."

She handed the doll back to the child, who seemed very happy to have her companion back.

The little girl was about to run off, when she seemed to think of something.

"Hey, lady, you shouldn't cry," she said, putting her small hand on Amidala's shoulder. "We'll build you a new home, like my Mommy and Daddy are building. It will be nice, promise!"

The queen smiled. "Thank you. I'll hold you to the promise."

The girl returned the grin, almost mischievously. "Mmkay. Bye-bye lady."

With that, the child ran off, leaving Amidala sitting on the stony ground, smiling to herself.

"Your highness?" a voice called out from behind her. It seemed everyone was sneaking up on her today.

Sabe, her only surviving handmaiden, had come looking for her.

"Captain Panaka has said you would be on your way. You are filthy! Well, we'll jus--" Sabe broke off as she saw that Amidala had been crying.

"My Queen? What--"

Amidala stood, holding her bleeding hand. She felt drained, utterly empty, after her outpouring of grief. She felt tired, as if sleep would overcome her soon, against her will.

"Just doing what we all have in one way or another for the last month, Sabe. Grieving."

The handmaiden nodded, sympathy and understanding in her expression.

"Come, a bath will solve at least a little of your ills," she said, putting her arm around her queen's shoulders.

Amidala let her head lean on Sabe's shoulder. She was extremely grateful for her presence. The rest of her loyal handmaidens, the closest thing to friends she had from childhood, had perished in the siege. Without Sabe, she might have succumbed to the despair that plagued her.

From somewhere deep in the back of her mind, almost against her will it seemed, she realized how badly she wanted Anakin's arms around her. How much of her pain would disappear to just be held by him, let her head rest on his chest, hear his heart, sleep in his comfort.

How that little girl had reminded her of him. Those beautiful, clear blue eyes, so full of life, that hair, that smile.

Resolutely, she cast the image from her mind's eye. There was no use adding extra sorrow, especially when it was in vain. She and Anakin would most likely never cross paths again, and would certainly never be the same. She had done the right thing. She couldn't be with him, or anyone.

As she and Sabe entered the palace, however, she couldn't help but wonder what he was doing at that moment.

***************************

"Watch for fighters at five o' clock!" the comm screamed, as Anakin threw the ship into a barrel roll.

Roaring by the cockpit, red bolts of blaster fire missed by only inches, causing a few in the pit to shout in surprise. That was the third such, near miss, and nerves were already frayed.

Anakin hammered on the throttle, pulling the transport ship he, the other six Jedi, and the two senators were on away from the battle's core.

They had emerged from hyperspace only minutes before, only to find a full-fledged dogfight ensuing.

Obi-Wan had yanked Anakin from bed earlier and two Jedi had joined two other Knights and their Padawans aboard the light transport freighter Fynn's Hope. The industrial planet Vrantive Major had sent an emergency beacon to Coruscant, saying it had come under attack from unknown forces.

Anakin was not expecting to see a battle of this magnitude, however.

At least twenty capital war ships, black and unmarked vessels, pounding into the planet's defenses, and the planet itself. The ships were dreadnaught style, crude yet deadly looking constructs, spewing turbolaser fire at the orbital stations that defended Vrantive Major.

Around the capital ships, swarms of fighters engaged the vastly out-numbered Vrantive defense force, keeping them away from their mother ships.

Now, a good portion of those fighters were speeding to meet the newcomers. Along with the Jedi's ship, the Republic warships The Adamant and the Daytripper had come from Coruscant.

"General Kenobi, this is Captain Belsaurus aboard the Daytripper," the voice came over the comm. "As per orders, we will attempt to drive a wedge into the enemy formation. We will send two squads of fighters to make sure you can make it to the planet."

Anakin looked over at his master, who had been given the military rank of general no less. Obi-Wan had a tight expression, but was taking in everything, as usual.

"Very well, captain. Proceed. Any word on the planet itself?"

There was a pause, and then, "Yes, sir. The capital city of Shawnon has been taken. No identification or description of the enemy as of yet."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Thank you, captain. We'll make contact when we reach the city. May the Force be with you."

"And you as well."

As the comm was cut off, Kenobi turned to Anakin.

"All right, Anakin, time to show off. We need to make it throw that--" he pointed to a cluster of fighters, all busy at the moment peppering the orbital defense stations.

"Hold on," the young Padawan replied, gunning the ship.

From behind Anakin, senator Bail Organa sat up.

"Can we make it through that?" he asked, indicating the mass of fighters that had just realized the transport was heading their way.

"Have faith in young Skywalker, senator," Jedi Holven B'dras said. B'dras was young human Jedi, much like Obi-Wan, only recently bestowed the rank of Knight. "He is an excellent pilot, among other things."

Anakin smiled slightly. "If not, senator, don't worry, I doubt you'll have long to ponder our fate."

"Thank you, I feel wonderful now," Organa replied dryly.

"That's what we're here for," Obi-Wan smiled, despite the firefight approaching him. Around the transport, the two squads of Republic fighters roared into the enemy's midst, creating a wedge.

"Punch it!" Obi-Wan instructed, though needlessly. Anakin was already bringing the ship in at break neck speed, the engines whining from the stress.

The maneuver got them clear for the most part, but several of the enemy fighters followed them.

"Picked up a tail," Anakin said through gritted teeth. "Hold on again."

The young Jedi brought the ship into a vicious spin, than buckled hard to the left.

One of the bogeys bought the move, and roared right by them, confused. The other two, though, weren't fooled, and stayed right on their tail.

What kind of weapons do we have?" Anakin asked.

"Not much," Organa answered. "Just a quad cannon, and some turrets."

Obi-Wan unfastened his buckle. "Keep avoiding them, Anakin. I and the others will deal with him."

Kenobi sat on the floor, cross-legged. B'dras and his Padawan, a teenaged Rodian, along with the other two Jedi, both humans of middle age joined him on the floor, assuming similar positions.

They all closed their eyes, drawing on their collective grasp of the Force.

While they gathered power, Anakin was decking and dodging blaster fire. The two fighters were hot on his tail, and they were driving him back towards the orbital stations, where many more fighters awaited.

Keeping his mind calm and focused, Anakin let the Force guide him, his hand turning the transport in a series of dives and feints, then rolls, evading the blasters.

One of them managed to get a glancing blow on the ship's aft section though, rocking the cockpit.

"Damn," Anakin muttered, as he felt the controls become much more sluggish. The other ship had come around from the weak side, and had targeted the transport.

Anakin tried to pull a fade out, but he could tell the response time was too slow from the damaged ship. He would never make it before the fighter wiped them out.

Then, suddenly, the fighter swerved violently to the side, as if malfunctioning. It careened like a meteor towards its companion. The two craft smashed together, a fiery ball of explosion marking where they had collided.

"Nice work," Anakin said behind him.

Obi-Wan nodded as he took his seat next to Anakin. "Thank you. It's difficult, but worth it. Now get us down to that planet, so we can tell just what in the hell we're up against."

Anakin yanked hard on the throttle again, bringing the ship towards the planet.

******************

On board the Daytripper, Captain Belsaurus viewed the scene before him with grim determination.

"Enemy fighters coming in at mark seven, and at marks twelve and thirteen," one of the tech crew reported.

"Intensify forward battery fire, and launch the rest of the fighters," Belsaurus replied instantly. He was an old war-horse, a campaigner since his youth in the space corps. His passion was tactics, his art the subtleties of war. He always found it odd, however, how much he hated battle, as good at it as he was. Yet here he was again, commanding his ships into pitched warfare.

As apt as he was, he also knew he didn't stand a chance.

The enemy force had nearly two dozen capital ships, all powerfully built war cruisers, and a seemingly endless supply of starfighters. His own task force of his starship and The Adamant was an impressive sight, but no match for the fleet in front of him.

"Have the Jedi reached the surface yet?" he asked his nearest comm officer.

The officer, a middle-aged woman with copper hair, nodded, her own expression grim as well.

"Yes, captain. But last report from General Kenobi was that their fighter escort was nearly wiped out."

Belsaurus nodded, face betraying no emotion. He had expected that. Those fighters were up against at least six to one odds. It was practically a suicide mission. The Jedi had to reach Shawnon, though. General Bel Iblis had stressed the importance. Apparently, they might be able to ascertain the nature of the opponent, and diffuse it before full-scale war broke out.

Whatever the case, Belsaurus had done his job. The Jedi had reached Vrantive Major's surface. They were on their own now.

"Lieutenant, order all fighters to begin pulling back and move into jump formation. Get captain Dantille on the line and tell him to get The Adamant moving as well."

"Yes, sir," came the reply.

Even as his bridge officers hurried to complete their orders, proximity alarms began screaming, the red light flashing its warning.

"What the hell is that?" Belsaurus's first mate, a smallish Bothan named Trosk shouted.

Behind The Daytripper space began to distort, the stars wavering momentarily.

Then, emerging from lightspeed, another flotilla of the black dreadnaughts appeared, surrounding the two Republic ships.

"I count ten ships-- no, make that thirteen ships, sir!" the tech cried, trying in vain to maintain his composure.

Belsaurus felt his jaw tighten, his brows contract. Quite a carefully laid trap they had sprung.

"Bring us around, full speed," he ordered. "Contact Coruscant--"

"All frequencies jammed, sir!"

He nodded, anticipating that. "What's the farthest squad right now?"

The comm officer hurriedly ran through her data pad. "Vermillion squad is currently engaged with a group of enemy fighters at point... oh-six-four, sir."

"Instruct them that their paramount concern is getting at least one of their fighters to lightspeed, and contact Coruscant, best possible speed. That is all that matters. Have the rest run interference if they must."

"Yes, sir."

The Captain turned to face the view screen. Like swollen obelisks, the pitch-black warships were growing larger as they approached the Republic ships.

"It's a fight, then," he sighed. How much of one, that remained to be seen.

*********************

Obi-Wan was the first out of the transport, his head craning around to scan the scene.

They had brought the ship down just on the capital city's outskirts. Unfortunately, they hadn't realized how large the city was.

A collection of ugly, bluntly designed skyscrapers, Shawnon was every bit the industrial city. Dozens of foul-smelling factories with their cannon-shaped smoke stacks poured swollen gray heaps of pollution into the sky. It was autumn on Vrantive Major, so the sky was almost always a gray, almost night hue during the day. So all that showed from the city, was blurred shape of the towers, and the pinprick yellow lights.

That, and the firefight going on in its heart.

"We must cover ground quickly," Holven B'dras said, pulling his robe tighter around him. The air was crisp and chilly, and a strong breeze carried the foul stench of Shawnon to them.

"Yes, but the actual act might be difficult," another of the Jedi answered. Ocen Bai-Talz was an imposing man, nearly two meters in height, with wavy silver and gray colored hair. He had ice blue eyes, narrow and piercing, along with chiseled cheek bones and an accentuated jaw line. An overall handsome man, but considered very brusque due to his brevity of words.

"We cannot take the transport into the city, as we'll be shot down immediately," he finished.

"I can get us in there," Anakin said, drawing himself up from where he was crouched. The fire around the city didn't seem too concentrated, save for the area around the government buildings and the embassy.

Talz gave the young Padawan a skeptical look.

"No, Anakin, Ocen-Bai is correct. No matter your piloting skills, there is no flying into the city. We must make our own way."

Anakin nodded, accepting his master's words. He wanted to take the craft in, though, show them that he was no ordinary pilot. Both Jedi Knights had said no, however, so that was that.

Talz's Padawan, a young, brown-haired Alderaanian, not much older than Anakin, pointed to the city's outskirts.

"There will likely be some resistance on the perimeter."

The Padawan, who's name was Dagan Conner if Anakin recalled, was also tall, though not of the stature of his master, and displayed bright green eyes that seemed like they were at the mid-point between youth and adult. The mark of Padawan, it was called often.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, I doubt it. I don't think our mystery antagonists will be expecting a group of nine people to try and invade. Moreover, I think they might still be quite preoccupied."

Senator Organa and his two bodyguards, both highly trained Republic commandos, emerged from the transport last.

"According to the schematics General Bel Iblis put together for us, there should be a small ship yards at the east side of the city, not far from here. Once inside, we might be able to procure a small hovercraft, and penetrate into the city's core," Organa said, studying his data pad.

"A sound idea," Talz said, nodding.

"Communications have been jammed," B'dras reported, holding his comm unit uselessly.

"Do you think the cruisers got out?" Conner asked, watching the sky for some sign.

B'dras shook his head. "Doubtful. But that cannot be our concern, unfortunately. We must make best possible speed."

As the six Jedi, and the senator and his escort made their way through the barren treelands that bordered the city, Obi-Wan turned to Organa.

"You said you had some additional information about the siege, Senator. Perhaps now would be a good time to disclose all."

Organa produced another data pad. "Agreed."

"Do we know when the attack began?" Talz asked, eyes still on the city before them.

"Sometime last night, around dusk, we believe. At least that's when we received the distress signal."

"What did that transmission say?" Obi-Wan said.

"We're not entirely sure," Organa replied. "It was quite distorted. If the integrity of the signal is to be believed, than it reported that the invaders had identified themselves as Mandalorians."

Anakin furrowed his brow. He had never heard of any such race or planet. By the looks on Conner, and the Rodian Padawan, Cholden's faces, they hadn't either.

Obi-Wan, Talz, and B'dras apparently had, however.

"That's absurd," B'dras dismissed. "Either the transmission was distorted, or our mystery enemy has a love for folklore."

Talz shook his head. "I would concur, but I didn't recognize those star ships, nor those fighters. And a force of that magnitude would have been discovered or known for some time, I'd imagine."

"The Mandalorians?" Anakin finally spoke up.

"A tale to scare children and spineless politicians, no more, no less," B'dras answered with scorn.

"I wouldn't put it that way exactly," Obi-Wan countered, "but they are mostly a tale, told for centuries. They were supposedly a renegade group of clones, who broke free from several mining colonies, stole a healthy supply of ships and weapons and than disappeared."

"For years, any unexplained attack or raid was blamed on the dreaded Mandalorians," B'dras said. "The pirates and Hutts loved it. They were now only secondary scapegoats, and to a figment of the collective imagination, no less."

Anakin was taken aback. Of course on Tatooine he would never of heard those stories. Could they be true, though? Could those ships be the Mandalorians?

"Possibly," Obi-Wan answered his Padawan’s unspoken thought. "But more importantly, it is irrelevant as of now. First, let's get to the city. Than, we'll deal with whatever we find."

With that, the small group increased its pace, nearing the dark city.

***************************

The Adamant's demise was every bit spectacular as it was early.

The long and delicately designed star cruiser seemed to swell for a moment, the light gray hull pushing outward. Then, from the back, where the engines had been struck by turbolaser fire, a chain of explosions ripped the once mighty ship to shreds.

The monstrous blast lit the bridge of The Daytripper alight briefly, as the crew stared in shocked silence while half of their force was wiped out.

"Full reverse!" Captain Belsaurus roared, seeing the debris clear, giving the enemy ships a clear line of fire.

"Captain, we have hostiles at every position!" his comm tech reported, panic-stricken. "There is no direction to take!"

"I said full reverse, dammit!" the captain repeated, voice a harsh rumble.

"But sir-"

"Now!"

The tech hurriedly swiveled around to face his console again, and punched in the coordinates. Almost immediately, the ship began backing up.

Right towards the blockade of black-hulled ships speeding towards them.

"Captain, we're on a direct collision course with at least four enemy vessels. Scanners indicate a superior hull make up on their ships, sir. Ramming will only destroy us," the first officer said, staring hard at Belsaurus.

"Maintain course," the captain replied, walking over to another console, where an astromech droid, a new R-2 model watched the navigation controls.

Triggering a series of keys, he brought up a screen of coordinates.

"Hyperspace coordinates, sir?" his first officer asked. "Surely we can't make the jump here."

Belsaurus turned to his pilots. "Prepare to drop deflector shields, divert all power to the hyperdrive."

The first mate followed his captain as Belsaurus walked back to his chair.

"Sir, did you hear what I said? There is no way we can jump to lightspeed!"

The older man didn't reply, only watched the view screen.

"Captain--"

"There," Belsaurus said, sitting forward, finger pointing at the screen.

"What?"

"There. The forward line of ships is breaking formation, moving into firing position."

"That's because they're about to blow us to hell, sir," the young man said, completely confused.

"Ensign, what is the position of the ships at our aft? Have they moved yet?" the Captain asked, ignoring his officer.

"Uh, yes, sir they have. Due to our moving towards them, I'd surmise, they have closed formation. We're not getting through that line, sir," came the reply.

"We're surrounded, captain," the first officer persisted.

"I know. But we must let them get closer first."

"Sir, they'll be firing any second now!"

"Exactly."

********************

The passage through Shawnon was surprisingly easy.

Once they had found the shipyards Senator Organa had the coordinates for, the group procured a small hovercraft and made for the heart of the city.

The frigid wind whipped through Anakin's hair as he piloted the craft through the maze like streets of the city. He kept his eyes narrow against the harsh cold, and he tried to breath through his nose to minimize the foul industrial stench.

The buildings they raced past were cut from the same design. Tall, blockish, and dark, any finish they had once possessed had been corroded or covered by the soot, smog, and filth of the city's by-products.

Usually, the streets and airways would have surely been crowded, packed with the some four million people who worked and lived in Shawnon. Now, though, they were all huddled in those bleak towers, hiding from the invasion that was ravaging their downtown.

"The battle must be dying down," the Padawan, Conner, said.

"The militia has either been destroyed or surrendered," Obi-Wan answered. "That will make our mission that much more difficult, unfortunately."

"It can't be helped, Obi-Wan," Talz replied. The silver-haired Jedi than turned to face Organa.

"What is your plan, senator? I find it hard to believe that these... terrorists will welcome peace talks."

"If they wanted peace, I find it strange they would have laid siege to Naboo," B'dras said.

"You believe these attackers one and the same as the Naboo invaders?" Obi-Wan asked, slightly skeptical.

"The timing cannot be coincidental," B'dras pointed out. "The style of invasion is the same as well. Common, to be sure, but the same nonetheless."

Organa shook his head. "Whatever the case, it is inconsequential at this point. We must reach the Capitol Building. I've been to Vrantive many times, and know where their high tech equipment is. I need to get in that building."

"To do what, exactly?" Talz asked, steel colored eyebrow arching up in annoyance. "I'm quite sure that Belsaurus was jammed before he could get word back to Coruscant."

"Then we must find the communications building," Obi-Wan stated firmly.

B'dras gave a low whistle. "That would have been the first place taken. You can bet it will be crawling with hostiles."

"Seems like everything on this damn planet is hostile," Anakin muttered.

A light laugh went around the group as the hovercraft neared the epicenter.

"Very well then," Obi-Wan said, eyes facing the other Jedi. "We will split up. Half of us will accompany the senator to the Capitol building to do... well, what exactly are you going to do, Bail?"

"Use the satellite holonet connection," came the answer, followed by a smug smile.

"Well, that solves the problem of finding the communications building. It's in the Capitol building," Anakin shrugged. "What will the other group do?"

"Find the planetary defense shield and activate it. It may give our foes some pause up there," Organa said, pointing to the sky. "It should be in the Naval building base, which is across from the Capitol building in the square."

"They have a planetary shield?" Conner demanded, incredulous.

"Why in the bloody hell wasn't it up when they were attacked?" Talz said, somewhere between indignant and confused.

"I'm guessing the attack came extremely fast, and the fact that, the Vrantive won't activate the shield until the last possible second," Organa explained. "The power it takes to operate necessitates that all the mills and factories and plants shut down. They tend to be skittish about that."

B'dras laughed cruelly. "Damn industrial cultures. So economical it literally kills them."

Obi-Wan nodded grimly, pressing on. "As I said, very well. Half of us go with the good senator, and contact Coruscant. The other half will make it through the Naval office, and activate that shield."

There was no disagreement with his plan. So they all merely rode the last few minutes in silence, preparing for their mission.

Finally, they reached Shawnon Square, the main area of the capital, where all the governing buildings were, as well as embassies.

There were no more blasts or explosions, and surprisingly little damage to the area. There was, of course, a reason for that.

The square was packed, corner to corner with an army.

"By the stars," Organa murmured, eyes trained on the thousands of troops occupying the square. "No wonder the battle ended so quickly. It was never a battle."

Seemingly undaunted, Obi-Wan just tightened his lips.

"We may have to change our plans slightly. Ocen-Bai, you go with Bail and his escort. Get them into the Capitol."

Obi-Wan's outstretched arm pointed to the Capitol building, surprisingly one of the least guarded towers.

"The rest of us will make our way to the Naval base," Kenobi finished.

"This should be fun," Conner said, his humor trying to hide the fear he felt. Anakin understood. Watching the endless sea of soldiers and armaments that occupied the Square, he couldn't help but wonder how they would get through them.

Then again, he didn't think it possible to defeat the Sith, back on Naboo. If the Force was with them, they could do it.

Nonetheless, he felt the anxiety build up his spine, as they moved over the army below. Already, shouts could be heard as they spotted the Jedi.

Obi-Wan turned to Ocen-Bai and gripped his forearm.

"We'll do our best to create a suitable distraction. Get through to Coruscant and tell them the situation!"

The Jedi Knight nodded and returned the forearm grip. He then turned to his Padawan.

"Dagan, you must quell your fear. Stay close to the others, fight as one. If the Force is your ally as it should be, all will be as it should."

"Yes, master," Conner answered. "Be careful."

Talz inclined his head grimly.

Obi-Wan produced his lightsaber from under his cloak. B'dras followed suit, as did Choldon, Conner, and Anakin.

All hissing in unison, the five blades came to life, glowing and humming in anticipation.

"Stay tight, but make your way towards the Naval building at all costs. Do not stop if one of us is injured or killed. It does not matter. Vengeance does not matter. Only the completion of our goal. Many lives are at stake here. Our success is paramount." Obi-Wan looked all the other Jedi in the eyes, making his thoughts plain.

"May the Force be with us all, then."

With that, Obi-Wan jumped from the craft, cloak billowing out about him, blue saber held high.

The other four Jedi leapt after him, sabers at the ready. Five cloaked figures descending into a sea of thousands of armed troops.

Even as they began their fall, an outpouring of red blaster bolts rushed to meet them.

*********************

Garm Bel Iblis frowned at General Tarkin's hologram image.

"I've heard no reports from The Daytripper or The Adamant," he said. "They're not due to report on the uprising on Vrantive for another hour or so."

Tarkin shook his head, the blue hologram grainy as it did so.

"No, General, I have definite reports that the Jedi delegation, along with Senator Organa has met with extreme resistance, and that Vrantive Major is under siege."

"From where?" Bel Iblis said, brows arching up in something between skepticism and suspicion.

"The planet itself, General. And preliminary reports describe the enemy force as being very similar to what we know about our mystery Naboo attackers. I figured as much."

Bel Iblis nodded, but didn't abandon his skepticism. "I wonder why I wasn't notified of this information."

"That's what I'm doing now," Tarkin said, voice strained. "I have orders from the Chancellor. Mobilize the main fleet, and make best speed for Vrantive."

"The main fleet?" Garm said, shocked. "I'd think a sector fleet would do. The main fleet is in orbit outside of Coruscant."

"Chancellor's orders, General. I suggest haste though. The odds described in our report aren't good. Chances are, the ships could already be lost."

Bel Iblis knew an implied order when he heard one. Sure, he could tell Tarkin to shove a power converter where a mynock couldn't find it, but the little weasel would just whine to Palpatine, who would order him to do just what Tarkin had said.

"Very well. Main fleet will begin preparations to make the jump to lightspeed immediately. But I want a formal documentation of my protest at using the main fleet."

"Of course, General, of course."

*****************************

Tarkin keyed the hologram off and turned to the Chancellor, who was studying the view screen in his office.

"The main fleet is readying to depart for Vrantive Major, Chancellor," the General reported. His tone was obviously strained.

"You are confused, aren't you, General Tarkin?" Palpatine said, eyes not leaving the projection. "Though you would never admit it, would you? No, never."

Tarkin just held his sneer in check and waited for Palpatine to explain.

"See that, Tarkin?" His thin, pale finger pointed to the viewscreen, where Bel Iblis's main fleet was moving into jump formation.

"Yes," he answered.

"Soon, that will be lovely, black, empty space. Open."

"I understand that. What I don't understand is why you had me alert Bel Iblis to the true situation on Vrantive."

Palpatine sighed. "So frustrating sometimes, Tarkin, so frustrating."

Crossing the room to his expansive rose wood desk, the Chancellor keyed his comm unit on.

A hiss of static was followed by a blur of blue lines forming a head.

A domed head, almost like a droid. Yet it was a helmet, Tarkin could tell. From the left side of the helmet, an antennae of some sort protruded. Over the dome itself, a face shield of yellow and black came down, almost in a Y pattern.

"Greetings, Commander Bandon Fett. How goes the siege?"

In a raspy, gravel-like tone, the Mandalorian answered. "As expected, Lord Sidious. The City is taken. Our perimeter fleet has destroyed one of the Republic cruisers, and will soon destroy the other."

Palpatine smiled thinly. "Excellent. The Jedi and the Senator?"

"No ships or fighters made it away from the ships. They are either dead, or will be soon."

The Chancellor turned to Tarkin, almost a mischievous look on his face.

"This is quite fun, isn't it Tarkin. Tossing away our enemies' lives."

Tarkin just maintained his dull stare.

Palpatine sighed. "You need to have a little more excitement with your life, General." He then turned back to the Mandalorian.

"The main Coruscant sector fleet will be arriving shortly, Bandon Fett. Make sure you leave enough of a task force to give them some pause, including that interdictor cruiser. That should slow them down. But as soon as Bel Iblis's flag ship emerges from hyperspace, have the majority of your fleet make the jump to lightspeed."

"Understood, Lord Sidious."

The transmission cut off.

Tarkin immediately approached Palpatine.

"You're having them retreat after they've taken the planet?" There was no hiding the confusion in his tone this time.

Palpatine chuckled almost pleasantly. "Yes. Grand isn't it?"

"Explain."

The Chancellor's visage lapsed into a stone-like glare.

"If I must. Vrantive is obviously a feint, General."

"For what?"

Palpatine looked almost surprised.

"Why, Coruscant, of course. Where else?"

******************************

The midday sun of Naboo beat down upon the devastation that was the city of Theed.

After weeks of clean-up and reconstruction efforts, Amidala had to admit it didn't seem like they had accomplished much. They had restored power and running water to most of the city, even with the dam in ruins, but what good was the power when most of the city's people were living in tents and shelters?

Letting a deep sigh escape, Amidala sat down on the nearest rock. Her entire body felt numb with exhaustion, every inch of her drenched in sweat and grime.

With a wry grin, she regarded her attire. Stained, and in places torn khaki work pants, tucked into worn brown leather boots. She had cast off her jacket hours ago, and now wore only a white shirt, sleeveless, and sullied with grease, sweat, dirt, and even a little blood from the scrapes on her hands and arms. She wore her light brown hair in a tight ponytail, bunched up to keep out of her face.

What would the Royal court think of me now? she wondered. Probably send her to a kennel with the dogs, she decided.

Stepping around one of the monstrous piles of rocks, her handmaiden Sabe made her way over to the queen. Her friend and servant looked as disheveled as Amidala, wearing similar attire, and showing similar signs of wear and exhaustion.

"I have some water, my queen," she said, sitting down next to Amidala and handing her a cup.

Throat too tired to say much, Amidala just smiled gratefully and took a long pull of the water.

Feeling the cool liquid slide down her throat, like salve on a burn, she sighed again, this time deeply content.

Sabe brought her hand to her queen's back and rubbed along her thin shoulders.

"So much for pomp and ceremony," she cracked, an almost mischievous grin on her face.

Amidala laughed. "Where are my dresses? I need more make-up!" she said, distorting her voice to make it deeper, sitting up straight in her impersonation of a queen.

"Bring on the wine! Let's talk about politics!" Sabe continued, by now laughing whole-heartedly.

"I want a pink cruiser! With white trimming, you morons!" Amidala shouted, pointing to a pile of rocks as if they were her servants.

The two young women laughed for a good few minutes, hugging each other.

"Ah, Sabe," Amidala said, still clutching her friend's hand. "I don't know what I would do without you... this would all be too much."

Sabe smiled warmly and shook her head. "No, my queen. Even if I died with the others -" a look of momentary sadness passed over the handmaiden's pretty features. Then - "you would still have pressed on. You're so strong. I scarcely believe you need any of us."

Amidala's eyes were trained on the ground below. Again, she could feel the emptiness in her, like some part of her soul was missing. It was an actual physical thing, as much as perceived.

"But I do, Sabe," she responded, voice barely more than a whisper. "I need you, and Panaka so badly."

She brought her head up, looking in the direction of where the work was being done.

"To them," she said, indicating some of the people who were working, "I am an ideal. Their queen who must be this one thing. I am not afforded any luxury of individuality or preference, save if it applies to politics or commerce. I embody them."

She shook her head sadly. "And yet, I understand that. I do not hold them in contempt. They are my people. I am their queen. What sacrifices I make, they surely make their own."

Sabe smiled thinly at her friend and sovereign. "Forgive me for saying so, my liege, but you are wrong."

Amidala turned to Sabe, a questioning look on her face.

"They," the handmaiden said, also pointing to the workers, "do not view you as an ideal, an institution. Neither do we. You are far too much of an individual to be viewed as some figurehead."

"If you refer to my politics..."

"No, Amidala," she said. "I'm talking about you. The woman who governs the Naboo. From the moment you took the throne, everyone knew you were no dolled up aristocrat. Your actions speak, and have spoken for years now, for you."

Sabe squeezed Amidala's hand. "Think of when the Trade Federations had take the planet captive. You escaped to Coruscant, and could have conceivably just stayed there in safety, until some settlement in the Senate could be reached."

"No, I would never have--"

"But most leaders would have, my queen," the handmaiden gently interrupted. "Yet you returned to our sieged home, and with cunning and bravery, freed it.

"Now, you work alongside the people you govern, with the merchants, with the artists, with the riveters, with the school children. You rebuild the planet, brick by brick, stone by stone. If ever there was an individual Naboo, your highness, it is you."

Amidala took in her friend's words silently, still staring at the ground. She had no reply to offer, she was too engrossed in her thoughts.

Had she been so wrong? Was sacrificing her life and sacrificing her individuality for her throne two separate things? Could she be Amidala the Queen and Amidala the woman at the same time?

She had no answer. It was too much of a strain on her already exhausted mind. Patting Sabe affectionately on the knee, Amidala stood up.

"I thank you for your words, Sabe," she said. "You have truly given me much to think on. But it can wait. We have work to do."

The two began to walk towards the work site, slightly refreshed.

As Amidala approached the site, though, the scenery began to warp. The gray stone and the blue sky seemed to twist, changing colors.

All around her, bodies, some dead, some alive.

Crimson flashes, blaster bolts he surmised, hissed by her head. Many were coming right before her, but a brilliant blue-white blade was moving almost too fast for her to register and blocking the shots.

"Anakin!" a voice cried from somewhere, deep within the black forms all around her. Smothering her.

Under the black sky she could hardly register what was happening. Only the flare of blasters and the glow of her lightsaber let her know that the attackers wore some type of armor, different colors with different markings, but they all were trying to kill her, she was sure.

Four more fell before her, the blue saber slicing through their armor. She was moving so fast she couldn't begin to ascertain which direction she was moving.

Suddenly, she had leapt above the mass of dark figures, and felt her body contort in a flip, feet arching over her head, and than striking concrete.

With a new perspective, she saw just what stood before her.

Thousands and thousands of the armored attackers were all around, in the square of a strange and harsh looking city.

"Anakin!" the voice cried again, and next to her, a haggard-looking Obi-Wan Kenobi appeared, his own saber flaring.

"Where's Cholden?" the Jedi Knight asked.

She felt her perceptions alter, as if her head was moving side to side frantically. Her breathing was ragged.

"I can't see him!" came the reply from somewhere in her. The voice was distant, hollow in her ears.

Even as she tried to register what was happening, she was still pumping her arms in a frenzy, fending off countless blaster shots.

"We must make another push! We cannot wait for the others! Stay with me!" Kenobi cried, voice barely audible in the din of battle.

As Obi-Wan leapt back into the crown below, though, she felt her ankle snagged.

Around her ankle, a thin wire had been wrapped, fired from somewhere in the horde before her.

As the wire was tugged, her feet were pulled out from under her.

She tried to grip the concrete as her saber was lost from her hand, but she could feel herself being pulled back into the horde.

She writhed, thrashing back and forth, trying to break free.

The hands were on her though, and she was pulled back into the darkness...

"Amidala!"

She felt strong hands clasping her arms, encircling her biceps.

"Queen Amidala!" the shout came again. This time, she let her eyes open.

The sun was blocked out by Captain Panaka's head, staring down at her. Next to the captain, Sabe stood, looking very worried, along with several other people.

"Are you all right?" Sabe asked, seeing her queen had woken up.

"What? What happened?" Amidala asked, looking at Panaka's hands which were releasing their grip on her arms.

"You collapsed," Panaka explained.

She felt the ground beneath her, and a soreness at the back of her head.

"I did?"

"Yes, your highness. Then you began struggling and writhing about, so Captain Panaka had to restrain you," Sabe answered.

"You were calling out a name, I think," one of the civilians who must have been working nearby said.

"Anakin," she breathed, the dream coming back to her. No, not the dream. The vision.

Sliding away from Panaka, Amidala shot to her feet.

"My queen, wait," Panaka said, hands restraining her again. "You're obviously exhausted. You need to see the doctor."

"No," she said, panic creeping into her voice. "Anakin's in danger! I saw it!"

"No, my queen, you had a fever dream. You fainted," Panaka persisted.

With more strength than the captain thought she possessed, Amidala threw off Panaka's grip.

"Do not question me, Captain." Her voice was steel. "I am in full possession of my faculties, and I know what I am doing. You will instruct the comm grid to patch me through to Coruscant."

Panaka held the queen's stare for a moment, as if ascertaining her seriousness. When it became apparent that she was deadly serious, he nodded, and made for the communications outpost.

As the captain was contacting Coruscant, a flash of insight came to Amidala. She couldn't be sure from where it came, but she felt its surety.

"Sabe," she said, calling her handmaiden to her. "As fast as you can manage, ready my transport. I'm going to Coruscant in person."

Sabe nodded, though she looked skeptical. "Forgive me, my liege, but why then have Captain Panaka contact them, if you are going there?"

"They must not know I'm coming," she replied.

"Who, my queen? Who must not know?"

Amidala shook her head. She didn't truly know. She trusted her feelings, though. If she was to save Anakin, she must be on Coruscant.

She realized that the city she saw in her vision was no part of Coruscant she had ever seen. In fact she was sure it wasn't the capital planet. Yet she knew she must go there.

As Sabe rushed off to complete her orders, Amidala turned her head to the sky.

"I'm coming, Anakin. Please hold out, I'm coming."

***********************

"We're losing rear deflector shields, sir!" Trosk, the first mate cried.

Belsaurus's face was set in stone, as if playing a master's round of Sabaac.

From every direction, the dark-colored warships bore down upon The Daytripper, turbolasers blistering.

"Position of warships around the Orbital station?" Belsaurus asked, eyes studying the scene in front of him. To the others, they saw only scores of hostile forces, death waiting. To him, it was something different. A pattern...

"The orbital station?" one of the techs responded, almost incredulous.

"Yes."

"Uh, there is only one ship around the Orbital station, sir, as it is pretty much gutted."

"Excellent," Belsaurus said, more to himself than anything.

The ship rocked, a concentration of fire erupting the comm unit.

"We've lost tracking and starboard shields sir," the tech said. "One more volley and we're through."

Trosk turned to his captain. "We can still get most of the crew to escape pods, sir. Order the all clear!"

Belsaurus turned his gaze upon the Bothan.

"Contain yourself, commander. We're not through yet."

"How can you say that, sir?" Trosk demanded. "We cannot fight these odds!"

"And we won't," Belsaurus answered, stepping down from his chair, walking over to the navigation crew.

"Bring the hyperdrive on line," he ordered.

"Sir, we can't jump from here! With all these ships, there's no way to coordinate a jump. We'll be torn to shreds."

Belsaurus nodded slightly. "Possibly. But I doubt it. We aren't going far."

The captain leaned over and punched in the jump coordinates.

"Of course," Trosk said, understanding. "Will it work, sir?"

"Only one way to find out, commander."

"Sir!" the tech called out again. "Forward line of ships is in firing range. All batteries are powered up."

"And the aft line?" Belsaurus asked.

"Still holding sir, penning us in."

"Perfect."

The navigation officer readied the lightspeed controls.

"Wait for it," Belsaurus instructed.

"Sir?"

"Wait."

"Front line is readying volley," the tech reported, voice frantic.

"Wait."

"We've lost all shields, sir," Trosk said.

"Batteries fully energized, sir."

"Wait."

"Repeat, no shields!" Trosk cried, as the ship rocked from stray blasts.

"Wait."

"Here it comes!"

Belsaurus kept his eyes on the screen, but his hand was gripping the chair.

"Now!" he barked.

Not wasting a second, the navigation officer gripped and triggered the hyperspace controls.

The Daytripper lurched, than flashed forward, like a dagger of lightning.

Just as the ship disappeared, the full volley of the Mandalorian ships spewed forth, a hail of fire.

And ripped into their own aft line of ships that was surrounding The Daytripper.

Scores of explosions lit the dark void, as at least several of the ships were destroyed upon impact. Their following eruptions slammed into the nearby ships, causing more damage.

As the carnage ensued, The Daytripper was jarred loose from its second long trip in hyperspace, the ship being wrenched with a bone crushing swiftness.

The bridge crew all tumbled onto the floor, as klaxons began screaming, and the sound of metal screeching against metal was heard.

A jet of coolant fumes shot from the ceiling, as much of the bridge was on fire. Stray bits of armament and hull plating were shed off, casualties of the maneuver.

Trosk pulled himself up onto his console.

"Captain?"

Belsaurus gripped his chair's armrest, and pulled himself up as well.

"Report."

"We've lost all power save emergency life support. No weapons, no drive, no shields, no communications. We're dead in space."

The Captain inclined his head gravely. "I figured as much. Have the engines shut down, or redlined?"

"Shut down, sir."

"Good. No explosions that way."

From the view screen, most of the scene was obscured by the mass of the orbital station in front of them.

"Do you think they'll see what happened?" Trosk asked.

"Eventually, yes, I'm sure they will. How long we have remains to be seen. Not long, I'd wager."

The Bothan nodded. The Captain's move had bought them time, nothing else.

"So now we wait," he said.

Belsaurus sighed. "Yes. Now we wait."

***************************

--->continue to part 3

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