By Amanda Palumbo
Sylphiel paused in her chores to reach a hand behind to massage an aching back. As she did so, a gentle breeze wafted past her cheek. Eyes widened, and the woman rose from her crouched position in front of the seedling cabinets to glance around the large hall. Setting down
the handful of gardening implements save for one wickedly curving digging tool upon the soiled counter, she stalked round workbenches, sprinklers, and quietly chattering automatons.
Nothing untoward greeted her keen gaze, nor retreated from the menacing stance, yet the petite woman did not relax her guard. She’d learned long ago the price of such carelessness. Even as the pointed chin lifted, as if to scent the air for the air flow’s cause—no windows brightened the glowing germination chamber—a prickling sensation began at the base of her spine.
//Amidala…//
Dark eyes flashed in the ultraviolet illumination—now there was a name she’d not heard in a long time, nor expected ever to again. Her vision blurred momentarily, and in that split second an impression of an old, disused chamber sprang into her brain, along with an unmistakable summons.
The feeling evaporated almost immediately, and she blew wisps of hair away from her forehead in exasperation. Who knew Amidala was here, much less continued to exist? Certainly not her erstwhile husband, who’d abandoned her after his dispute with his former Jedi master. Palpatine, her Nabooan compatriot harboring insane delusions, had not only blinded his constituents, but the very seat of intergalactic power--in the guise of the Republic senate--to his true nature.
She angrily shoved back a pale blond swathe of hair, tears diffusing the hard, jade green stare.
How could Anakin have allowed his aggressive nature get in the way of everything he’d supposedly stood for, believed in? Hadn’t Master Jinn impressed upon his young student what was undeniably right in the short period spent together?
Or should she blame Obi-Wan? There had always been an undercurrent of damped anger, possibly even resentment between the two that had neutralized her husband’s lessons. She leaned against the counter wearily, sighing. The first Standard Year of their bonding had been beautiful. The young boy who’d stared at her the first time they’d met, declaring her an angel, had evolved into a tall, graceful and darkly handsome man she’d no longer recognized until he’d opened his mouth to speak.
A sad smile touched her suddenly dry lips as a memory sprang forth of a generous mouth pressing against hers, to claim what had been perceived his from the moment she’d walked into that junkyard ages ago. Hadn’t taken too much convincing on his part, either, after being held in that warm, strong embrace, his love projecting like a simmering fire.
Not that she’d allowed Anakin to be aware of his effect upon her immediately; after all, she did have her pride. Though that trait had not helped either of them toward the end—in fact, perhaps had hastened the breakdown of their marriage.
Wrapping thin arms tightly round her small chest as if to ward off the inexorable thrall of memories, the former Queen of Naboo gazed up past the growing tables to the shadowy rafters beyond as if seeking strength from her people’s brand of faith. But none was forthcoming—how could it be, when her bond was abruptly severed with the initial death of her husband, their relationship like the sacred ruins held dear by Gungans, and just as dead, and unfathomable?
She had her daughter. Sweet, precious and precocious Leia, whom at this moment was probably playing outside in one of the royal courtyards off of the tutoring area, was her sole light. Conversely, every time she thought of her other child, Leia’s twin brother, a towering wave of darkness threatened to engulf her deceptively tranquil existence.
Kenobi had convinced her of the very real danger to her children, and the thought of their innocence being twisted into something like…like Vader was sufficient to allow the separation. Yet if her baby boy needed his mother, she’d never know. When he’d uttered his first word, took his first, tentative step, she’d not been there. Nor would she ever be, unless Fate was kind enough to undo some of the excruciating damage wrought.
All she knew was that tiny Luke—at least she’d been able to name them-- was presently being raised by an entirely inconspicuous couple living somewhere toward the Outer Rim. Aside from that meager information, she possessed no other clue as to his whereabouts in case circumstances allowed the three of them to be united in the distant future.
A frisson returned her consciousness to the present, and she shook herself to clear the cobwebs from her maudlin brain.
So someone wished to contact her, did they? Well, she’d go and see, Sylphiel the gardening servant with hair and eyes molecularized so none could recognize the former Amidala. See who the visitor was, carefully keeping her very thoughts passive, ‘til she figured out what’s what.
[][][][][][]
Yume-ni Mukai waited patiently, invisible amidst the forgotten clutter. Forty generations of Organas had deposited a priceless amount of junk inside this room, he mused. Enough to feed half a starving populace bordering Unknown Regions a full turn. He exhaled noiselessly, patiently awaiting his approaching assignment. Light filtered in through the high casement, creating dust whorls inside the stray shafts of dappled sun. The Jedi knight observed the shifting patterns, a meditation to pass the time. His senses broadened automatically, registering light, tentative footfalls.
So, she was armed, eh? His old friend Jinn had been right; a warrior still, the Lady. Stroking his black goatee, Mukai squinted, a habit from childhood, as he recalled the departed Jedi master’s words.
Wake up, Yume—no rest for the living! Mukai had bolted upright in his bed, legs tangling in tattered sheets. One of Qui-Gon’s favorite sayings, and a running score between them—who’d disturb whose rest first after a difficult mission, or boring meeting at the Temple.
//Ahhh, I see you recall. Unfortunately for you, the odds are now on my side,// the ephemeral spirit gloated. The beginnings of a smile flashed across the deceptively calm countenance then vanished. // I do not have much time nor influence left in your realm, so you must listen first, old friend, then speak.// Holding up a warning hand to stem the words already forming on Mukai’s thick lips, he warned, //Once more we find ourselves at another crisis. Kenobi has also seen a problem concerning the twins of Skywalkers being discovered, but through their mother, rather than their presence.
//Vader is coming here, to the Viceroy’s grounds to affirm the Sith Palpatine’s sway over the Senate, and to assess Organa’s, and other leading families’ holdings.
// He cannot miss his wife’s presence, nor her his. She had been apprised of his mutilation by
Kenobi, and as a non-Jedi cannot begin to mask her thoughts. Nor can she hide the fact of their children once entry to her mind is gained—her very resistance to think of them will be their and her undoing.
// For her safety and theirs—I am honoring an old debt to her, as well as safeguarding the return of the Jedi…don’t ask, old friend, only know that too many shall soon be joining me here—you must burn out any Force sensitivity so she cannot register with another user, Dark or Light.
//She must also depart this planet immediately—tonight, no later—but without her daughter.
Kenobi has both children’s’ Talents completely locked down until the appropriate moment—and you must convince her to make the disappearance a mystery. If necessary, a possible suicide, but quietly.
//The queen has reverted to her villager, Naberrie roots, and therefore should see this path’s necessity. I do not believe you shall have to persuade her, as one might with most politicians.
Her vision remains primarily clear, and her focus upon the future. But you must not fail, or we Jedi shall become entirely extinct.//
Mukai’s head bowed under the weight of the revelation—skirmishes had already been fought, and several incomprehensibly lost. Sith were cropping up all over the galaxy, and had caught the Council by surprise through the sheer, single-minded viciousness characterizing these surprise attacks. While no scryer, he knew Kenobi’s bond-sister Liss to have suffered unending, terrible visions since the Clone Wars’ start.
However, he did not share Jinn’s assumption the Nabooan to bow to the inevitable. While he himself had no memory of his own parents, having commenced training at the typical, prescribed age of two, he’d seen how parents were reluctant to let their children go, even if it meant the death of all around. Shaking his head, he mumbled, “You credit Anakin’s wife overly, methinks.”
//I have never known her to be anything but cognizant of hers, and other peoples’ actions’.//
“And their ramifications?”
Jinn acknowledged their shared joke with the suggestion of a nod. Tiny elementals sparked at his motion’s intrusion upon Mukai’s mortal dimension, casting an aureole of glinting lights round long, straggly brown hair.
Yume-ni noted the absence of gray in this projection of the being he’d once shared many missions, and at times, a few women with. “You may have been luckier than the rest of us will be.”
//Would that I could be present in the dark times to come.//
The swarthy Knight snorted. “And these are not? Lifelong friends falling prey to an encroaching sickness, our ways crumbling back into the arid place where Jedi first sprang forth? An evil invading our very Council so that even Master Yoda prepares to flee?”
Jinn’s eyes filmed over, milky orbs leaking in their sockets. Even as Mukai watched, the liquid opaqued to become a sea of stars. He felt his soul being drawn into those murky depths, his individual consciousness submitting to the overwhelming sense of All. The midichlorian symbiont within the dwarf Jedi mourned in tandem with that of Jinn’s which was still in the process of unraveling, freeing Force-generated bonds tying Qui-Gon to those he could not yet bear to abandon to the predestined conflagration.
Future’s face gripped the swarthy man, driving him to his knees at what his friend had revealed. A moment later Mukai was released, and rested trembling elbows on the floor to suck in great gulps of air. Ruthlessly shoving feelings behind a wall of composure, he raised his head to find Qui-Gon regarding him with an expression of pity. He returned the stare, sensing Jinn’s signature fading.
Sure enough, the stars confined to the Jedi master’s eye orifices spilt over its confines to consume the façade of flesh, sinew, bone and robe.
Qui-Gon had used the last of his influence to impart this message, had overstayed his welcome in this physical plane of existence. Dark eyes misted, but that was all as the dwarf’s room had returned to its previously dusty, undisturbed state.
[][][][][][][]
Yume-ni peered through the wallpapered barrier as a presence announced itself in the hallway. A door retracted, a silhouette peering hesitantly into the fading daylight as Naberrie lingered at the threshold.
“You may enter without fear, milady,” Mukai called softly. “I have been sent by a mutual friend.”
Sylphiel stiffened. “I have no friends on these grounds, merely my work. What did they say their name was?”
“He is one you knew in your youth, on the world Tatooine.”
“I have never been there,” she denied softly. “Who is this friend so I may refute this to his or her face?”
“Qui-Gon Jinn,” Mukai replied without preamble. “He did not give me any specific words to pass along, but know this—he’d always believed in your husband Anakin and would have defied the Council a hundred times if necessary, to gain the right to train the once-humble boy.”
Regret flitted across the delicate features, etching lines of sorrow into her forehead. “That is something Anakin always knew. But would he, or one of his minions be told this in order to gain the trust of whomever you are seeking?”
Compelled by pending disaster, Yume-ni stepped forward to gaze up at the distrustful visage. //The lives of your children depend on this. Your young daughter here, and the son who remains under Kenobi’s eye.//
A dirty hand flew to her mouth, slender fingers spreading to encompass high cheekbones. “Who are you?” she demanded in a grating whisper.
“I am Jedi Yume-ni Mukai, former companion to Master Qui-Gon Jinn, and one sent to protect their future.”
All pretense dropped, Sylphiel/Naberrie queried, “ I thought that was to be Obi-Wan’s role…?”
Mukai grinned under the piercing stare leveled his way. “Your former Highness, if your son is anything like Anakin was, Kenobi’s hands were far too full to escape.”
She lowered her eyes, mumbling, “Thanks,” while her thoughts raced. Returning her gaze to the dark man’s craggy face, she arched delicate eyebrows questioningly.
In answer, the Knight reverted to mind communication, something Naberrie had fortunately become accustomed to when Anakin had been either wont to practice, or during blinding throes of passionate lovemaking. She evinced no difficulty in receiving Mukai’s unedited memory of his and Master Jinn’s encounter.
However, at the mention of planting a possibility of suicide, she shook her head violently, derailing their exchange of thoughts. “No,” she whispered vehemently. “ I cannot, will not subject my daughter to this—for her to carry this burden, thinking she might carry that tendency, or madness is neither right, nor fair. If we can arrange suggestion of a death, or simply list me as missing—“
“Milady, we do not have the luxury of trying options. You must leave tonight; there is no help for it. Nor can you tell anyone of this, least of all your child. Being her mother, she won’t let you go so readily.”
Nostrils flared as she replied disconsolately, “Leia never knew me as anything but her nursemaid. But…we are very attached.”
“Which is all the more reason for haste. However, we should not leave before nightfall.”
Naberrie laughed softly, an unpleasant bark. “This is a secured estate. Think you there’s no effective night surveillance?”
Mukai reminded the downcast woman, “I am a Jedi, and sense the right time for action. I know this is hard, but in Jinn’s name I am calling upon your debt of honor to him to be repaid by placing unquestioning trust in what I say.”
Green eyes flew to his face. “If Jinn spoke of this, then surely he must’ve warned you I’d never taken even his advice without question?”
Crooked teeth glinted in the vanishing light. “I’d warned him. But we’d not had time to go over details, and neither do you and me.” The diminutive, stocky Jedi shuffled closer. “Milady, I beg you to trust me in this, nothing more. I know what I ask is not easy, nor what further we must do, but there is no other way.”
Sylphiel/Padme turned away, considering, then glanced over her shoulder, startling the man with her ethereal beauty as Alderaan’s rising moons bathed her in a silvery glow. “Agreed,” she eventually said. “I shall meet you at the place your mind had described when the moons reach their apex.”
“As you say, milady.” Mukai bowed as the girl/woman spun on her heel to exit.
Chapter II
Leia beamed as her favorite person in the galaxy entered the bathroom, bearing plush mauve towels. She then returned to creating piles similar to the green hills bordering the boundaries of
Organa property in the dissipating bubbles.
Sylphiel watched her daughter play happily, tears threatening anew as she observed the auburn hair curling around tiny, shell-shaped ears; the range of expressions from intense concentration to triumphal glee in as many seconds playing across the adorable, rounded features. Delicate perfume accompanied every move of those chubby fists as questing fingers reached under the scented water to break the surface bearing successively larger, lopsided handfuls of rainbow hued bubbles. She laughed despite the overwhelming sadness, determined to observe, and store every last, precious moment with her baby.
There would be plenty of years for tears after tonight.
“Okay, cheeny, bath’s over.” A pout greeted the unpopular pronouncement. Sylphiel smiled indulgently as she dipped a callused hand into the pseudo-hills, then proceeded to dab her daughter’s chin, cheeks and nose with winking, popping foam. Leia giggled, until she heard the telltale sound of a drain being activated. An accusing dark stare identical to her mother’s glared forth, but only for a moment as the toddler surrendered to her bath’s inevitable conclusion. Holding dimpled arms out, she eagerly accepted the lift from quietly receding water into a cocoon of warmed towels.
Sylphiel combed the freshly washed hair; fingers expertly detangling the fine mass until the comb glided through gleaming tresses unchecked. “My perfect Jewel, “ she crooned, “ you are the most beautiful princess in the galaxy.”
Leia grinned at the familiar endearment, asking as always, “What is a jewel?”
Her nanny answered, smiling, “Why, what I tell you every night. You tell me.”
The baby princess dutifully recited in a lilting tone, “A jewel is a shining precious stone with different sides, growing more beautiful every day.”
“Very good, Jewel. And now we’re going to get your nightgown on so you can have a treat while I tell you a story.”
“Can it be a long one please?”
“So you can stay up all night?” Sylphiel teased, touching the button nose affectionately.
The toddler shrugged, smiling guiltily. She threw her arms around the woman, snuggling close as she was carried to the adjoining bedroom. Routine ritual ensued until at last the child lay sleeping under her covers, head pillowed by lacey, fluffy cushions. The nanny remained perched upon the fluffy, embroidered blankets, continuing to thread fingers through Leia’s silky, dried crown of riotous waves.
Eventually, she stood slowly, a trail of tears tracking down burning, reddened cheeks. Salty wetness fell upon her daughter’s exposed hand, and she stirred at the feel of the warm drops. Sylphiel backed away quickly, but not before carefully withdrawing the heirloom necklace that had graced her neck since training for aristocracy at age nine. It would serve her daughter equally well, warding off eavesdropping monitors while outwardly functioning as a regal adornment.
The flat, squared links shone briefly in the nightlight’s dim beam as she flicked a finger over the jewelry box’s light-lock, then draped it carefully into the empty drawer that slid forth. Waving her index finger once more, the drawer retracted, registering its addition with a winking red glow before returning to its quiescent state.
She bent to kiss her beloved child once more, whispering, “I’ll always love you my sweet,” then stealthily withdrew. Mukai lurked, awaiting her arrival even now. Vader would soon reach Alderaan’s system, and she must by then be long gone.
Nothing would stop his insane vengeance, and she knew Palpatine would glory in the prize her husband would present him with. The former queen of Naboo harbored no illusions what the Chancellor’s response would be: immediate, broadcast trial, then subsequent execution as example to what would befall all who dared to not prostrate themselves before his ambition.
Needing naught but what she wore, Naberrie hastened to a hidden tunnel by the stairs.
Rapping sharply twice, then thrice, she slipped inside before it had fully opened, repeating the staccato tattoo to seal the entrance/exit shut. Weird phosphorescence suddenly illuminated the winding passageway, but only certain sections, causing her to occasionally slip on the uneven flooring as it alternately dipped and raised.
One could wander aimlessly forever, she thought, even as she hurried along the path of light arrowing left here, right there to obviously keep her on track. Hopefully she was not following the trail to a trap just waiting to be sprung. Digging a hand beneath the folds of her dull green cloak, her fingers closed round the blaster secured in its belt holster.
The air smelled…mustier before. Now it seemed devoid of the initial choking dust. Must be nearing an exit, she surmised. Sure enough, a few minutes later she nearly rammed into a chilly, damp wall. Would the same knock work? Raising a fist, she steeled herself for the scraping to come when it swiveled open soundlessly.
“I congratulate you on your timing. If we make it to the woodlands without being stopped, we’ll make it out before the Sith’s armada reaches the fringes. Come, we must make a run for it.” Mukai turned without waiting to ensure the Nabooan followed, dashing off at a surprising clip on bandy legs.
Padme trotted along, endeavoring to keep pace, but surprisingly failed. Belatedly she realized the tiny man must be employing the Force, and marveled at this use of it. However, that wonderment quickly soured as thoughts of the Force typically returned her mind and heart to Anakin.
Anakin. No, I have to think of him only as Vader from now on. Darth Vader, a Sith like the one who’d struck Master Jinn down so long ago. What bitter irony that the one who’d so adored that infuriating Jedi would somehow metamorphosis into a similarly wicked creature.
She reached up to touch her throat, the searing sensation brought on by running hell-bent nearly mirroring that of when her bondmate had lost his temper that awful night.
She’d escaped soon after, when he’d departed their luxurious suite in Theed palace after she’d refused to abdicate her throne to move to Coruscant and aid Palpatine in restructuring the Imperial Senate.
He’d stood over her, radiating barely leashed fury when he’d discerned her thoughts straying to Kenobi. Which, naturally, had cropped up at the worst time. Misinterpreting that reason, stemming from increasing concern over Obi-Wan’s giving up on his student, he’d construed that as a sign of betrayal on his beloved wife’s part. The Force lent Anakin’s anger outward retribution by seizing her trachea in a closing vise.
Naberrie sank deeper into the cockpit seat, shrinking against constricting safety straps as if they would suddenly spring to life and crush the very life from her. Fingers clawed for, and clenched the release housings as she fought to regain an equally horrifying present.
Amazing she’d survived. But had that been worse than her release? It came seconds, minutes later, as spots edged in blackness stole her vision. Gasping, retching at her former love’s boots as he towered silently over her briefly, then fled. Only to return to her side in the small hours of the mourning to sob his apologies as he crushed her to him, hands roaming.
She did not, could not respond, lay cold and still in their bed, but that did not stop him from mounting her. As if assertion of his marital rights could erase earlier agony and betrayal on his part?! How could he have done that to her, of all people?!
He’d realized his grave error sometime after collapsing heavily on top of her, sides heaving, then moving off to hold her against his chest and she remained stiff and unyielding. Somehow they found a measure of sleep in ashes of their love, and when she awoke he had vanished—much to her relief--never to return.
Not Anakin in person, but two months later found the former Her Most Serene Queen of Naboo doubled over the gilded bathroom sink vomiting breakfast, lunch and dinner for the third straight evening. It was then she knew the bastard had impregnated her!
A dim voice suddenly superimposed itself over that tableau. Tangled in a loving embrace months prior, Anakin’s hoarse whisper sounded, expressing concern that the call leading him away from his no longer powerful lessons emanated from a fouled well.
But that taint had supposedly transformed into purity, according to Anakin later on, after spending time somewhere other than the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. The Council’s lack of response to slavery in the galaxy, and their unwillingness to stem swelling corruption in the government the Jedi had sworn to uphold had branded the Lightsiders as equal perpetrators in Skywalker’s jaundiced view.
She shared his disgruntlement, and told him so. After all, had they not met during the Trade War? But consolidation into an Empire run by Senator Palpatine seemed too arbitrary a solution, in her experienced, political estimation. Which relegated her to doubter status as well, in Anakin’s eyes.
Making the tiny cruiser, she paused at the hatch to run a sweaty, trembling palm across her brow to banish painful memories. Her undiluted focus belonged to her children now. Nothing else mattered as long as they were safe. And if her life was to spin out separated from them, she’d be damned if she allowed this sham of “a positive change” to take root!
Mukai waved Naberrie to the copilot’s chair, systems coming online to warm up the moment they’d entered the copse where his ship had nestled. She observed dully the ring of trees obligingly bending backward to permit their craft to rise above the dense canopy, then slowly return to their previous position. She then glanced over at the little man, whose expression betrayed nothing. Typical Jedi, Naberrie groaned inwardly. Everything’s proceeding as it’s meant to, eh? Well, not according to my reckoning! And there wasn’t a damned thing she could do to alter the past three years, the immediate present.
It wasn’t until they’d cleared the stratosphere that Padme Naberrie Amidala Skywalker burst into quiet, wrenching sobs. It finally hit home she wasn’t coming back, would not see her daughter again for a long, long time. Perhaps never.
Yume-ni attempted to pat her arm consolingly, but she jerked away from the Jedi’s touch. Thanks to Jedi her life had been destroyed, and her children’s’ endangered. From this point on she’d have nothing to do with them, save what dealt directly with Luke and Leia.
And above all, she wished fervently they’d not inherited their father’s Force sensitivity!
Leia woke slowly, stretching this way and that, then squinted out the window. The sun beckoned—time to go out and play! Once Sylphiel dressed her, that is. She was thirsty too.
“Mmmmmm? Sylfl? Sylfl?”
Waiting impatiently, she called out again. Yet still no response. Vaguely aware of this not being the norm, the toddler dragged out her legs from under the covers and slid off the smooth coverlet to land on the carpeted floor with a muffled thud. Opening the door to bathroom didn’t yield her nanny. But she had to go, so she trudged inside, then emerged a few minutes later.
“Mmmmmm!” Leia repeated, but to no avail. Where was she? The hallway loomed a few steps away. Torn, she ultimately grabbed her favorite cuddly. Gathering courage, she then took off down the airy corridor, occasionally glancing down beyond the railing to see if Sylphiel was on her way up.
“Leia, what are you doing, walking around in your nightgown?” One of the servants took her hand, intending to lead the child back to her room. But the tiny princess would have none of that, and planted her feet. “Downstairs. Syfl!” she demanded imperiously.
Rolling his eyes, the cleaning man escorted her to where he’d spied the Viceroy about to depart his private chamber. Bail Organa cocked his head, then swept up the girl. “Leia, why are you out and about without your nanny?”
Leia lifted her eyebrows, staring steadily into Bail’s brown eyes, having no answer. He bent his head until they were nose to nose. She giggled after a few seconds, then queried hopefully, “Thirsty, Daddy?”
“Am I, or are you?” he chuckled, then clutched his daughter reflexively as a scream rent the tranquil air.
Striding swiftly down the gleaming wooden stairs, he passed Leia to one of the milling servants whose daughter Winter or something like that, played with her, without missing a beat.
The Viceroy descended the winding, gleaming stone staircase three steps at a time, vaulting off the final five. Highly polished, ceremonial boots barely touched the floor as Organa continued his hurried motion without breaking stride. He walked quickly through the main hall, adrenaline pumping as the scowling man turned right into the side corridor leading to down through cavernous kitchens, then into the narrow passageway feeding to obscured work shops.
Breaking into a run, Clone Wars-honed instincts surged to the fore as he reached the source of the confusion. A group of gardeners stood in a circle amidst moved workbenches. He shouldered his way to the front, then stopped, aghast at the grisly scene.
Gentle, delicate Sylphiel lay sprawled in a viscous pool of her own blood, lovely green eyes staring sightlessly above. He gasped harshly as his gaze tracked lower to see the hilt of a garden implement protruding from her chest. Organa realized someone had evidently turned her over, for the petite woman’s garments were completely stained chest to hips. He felt his gorge rise, and bowed his head to pay respects silently as well as gather his composure in front of the servants. When he opened his eyes, he shook his head once, then rasped, “Who found her?”
A nervous quiver ran through the crowding workers, but no sound issued.
Gorgeous blue worlds like coveted jewels slid by man-sized viewports, faintly illuminating the tall figure motionless by the bridge’s forward pane. Tiny pinpoints of light glinted on twin opaque artificial “sockets”. If one were allowed close enough at this moment, an unholy gleam of red could be discerned among the fleeting reflections. His shoulders were broad, encased in obsidian armor interspersed with gray. A jet-black mantle fell to the deck plates, disguising though not completely, the powerful figure largely concealed to observers. None would dare.
A gauntleted fist clenched at the man’s side, then raised slowly, shaking at each passing orb as if to curse their very existence. Though a master of every man and machine aboard this newly manufactured flagship, as well as his own psyche, he could not filter out a quicksilver, tingling sensation that dissipated even while touching a burning ember deep inside the corrupted soul.
Anger flared, spreading familiar and empowering warmth throughout his body. Long, thickly muscled legs flexed minutely in response to the adrenaline surge, the other hand curling then releasing. As before, since fully realizing his Talent, he knew precisely from whence this passing disturbance sprang.
You. She-who-could-not-be-named lurked here; his well-compensated spies were correct.
Alderaan—his vision was of course vindicated. Did she truly think that a galaxy could obscure her signature, he who could track tirelessly for days unceasing? Naturally, his presence here came at the command of his Master, who’d given credence to whispers gleaned in Senate gardens on Coruscant. Fools, surrendering embryonic resistance plans to trees and other greenery that were not. Those scheming politicos were doomed twice—firstly for not recognizing the true scope of reformation Palpatine had begun implementing, and secondly attempting to thwart their fate.
An unseen smile stretched cracked lips and a trickle of blood spilt onto his respirator’s inner tubing. Pain and moist sensation receded swiftly as Vader contemplated the superfluous breed called “senators”. Their days were numbered…surely those pompous asses realized in this new order they were anachronisms? His Emperor’s minions even now shrived that august body. He relished his next visit to their sessions to bask in outrage that would manifest loudly as they realized one by one how much power was lost while quibbling over trivial concerns, and perceived slights to their systems.
Vader’s left eye twitched. A jolt similar to the frequent shocks delivered by his suit to perpetuate a stuttering heart flooded his being as he felt his estranged wife disappear from range. Enraged, the Sith lord spun to stalk his current ranking admiral. At his approach, the older man cringed imperceptibly, but Vader sensed it nonetheless. Good; fear would keep his fleet on edge.
Pointing an accusing finger, the terrifying figure rasped, “A ship has just left the system. I want its registry, logged itinerary and vector.”
Flaccid lips worked soundlessly, then formed an “O” as Craven’s mind worked to follow his commander’s. “This is an extremely busy system, my lord,” he stammered.
“Then I suggest you set your men to work on it immediately. If what I seek is not found, repercussions will be immediate.”
Craven paled, aware of his leader’s ire, and its habit to spike without warning. He still harbored ambitions to attain moff rank, but as long as he remained in direct service to Lord Vader, his life was in jeopardy. However, those who found favor with the Sith reaped bountiful rewards indeed. He focused upon that thought, and the stocky man’s mind cleared. Saluting smartly, he moved to comply.
Vader turned away from the sounds of ensuing low-voiced harassment. He did not particularly care how Admiral Craven obtained results, though a small part pitied his loyal officer—he’d be hard pressed to provide any useful report. Alderaan’s interplanetary traffic nearly paralleled that of Coruscant’s. It was a good exercise, though. This Destroyer full of military personnel scorned peaceful worlds such as Alderaan.
Lord Darth Vader of the Sith, however, enjoyed displays of culture, and unspoiled lands. He would pay a visit to Viceroy Organa, impose upon the aristocrat’s hospitality until somebody slipped, and the key to their society’s acknowledgement of his Master surfaced.
The respirator monitor flashed rapidly then slowed to its normal rhythm as it compensated for Vader’s pounding pulse. Amidala, you no longer rule my thoughts, he commanded himself sternly. Palpatine wanted her despite abdication. Why he did not know, but certainly would not, could not question. But it did not bode well for Naboo’s former ruler.
She had insulted her Emperor by refusing to swear fealty, almost identical in her arrogant refusal to bow to Nimoudian trade tactics. A feeble recollection of childish awe wobbled, then was vanquished as yet another blast of fury incinerated any lingering love. Arrogant, betrayer, no different than those who simpered on Coruscant!
Flicking his cape away from briskly walking legs, Vader steeled himself against further assault from returning memories. She had no name, no meaning for him, her taint removed forever from his being!
Reaching his quarters, he angrily channeled the Force to slam retracting doors first into their housings, then back out to seal with a resounding clang as his meditation pod was similarly split open. Climbing inside, he hunched forward until a rush of continuous positive airflow registered desired pressure upon his implanted monitors. Toggling a control, he slumped in the conforming chair, anticipating liberation.
Robotic appendages snaked forth to snap open catches under his helmet. A hiss of pneumatics echoed in the enclosed chamber as releases pushed apart life-saving apparatus, allowing the inorganic arms to remove his faceplate entirely. Ahhh, freedom, the irreparably damaged man exulted. Wiping the sweat from his brow, his hand strayed up to where a bald, smooth pate suddenly ended in puckered skin. Permanent scarring bumped against absently probing fingers. Questing digits stopped there, unwilling to skirt the jagged tear exposing his brain beyond the lip of this fleshy crevasse. Only the inserted transparent sheathe held in bulging ganglia and fluid. Otherwise, Vader nee Anakin Skywalker would be so much ooze on the floor, he mused bleakly. He who cherished freedom more than any other enslaved by this damnable vulnerability—another score to settle with the Jedi!
Leaning forward to rest his head in his weary hands, he short-circuited the motion with an unpleasant bark of laughter. Sure, squeeze the skull and out pops a piece of me! Not really--in theory anyway--but in this he’d not seek to push the limit. With everything and everybody else, yes. He had an empire to help build then maintain. Palpatine was right; he’d best watchdog his unruly personality, be clear about his motives.
Inhaling as deeply as the quietly functional medical equipment would permit, Vader opened the bar in his mind leading to the roiling, unfettered Force. Poised in his mind like a racer, his psyche hurtled forth into the Dark Side, relishing that which battled, then embraced all that Skywalker was like a lover. This is my destiny, came the intoxicated, marginally individual thought.
“We’re here,” Mukai announced unnecessarily while thrusting back his seat and quickly unbuckling the safety harness. Smiling brightly to mask the distaste for the task ahead, he offered a hand to his ethereal-seeming passenger. Sheen glistened on Force planes from the flawless skin before his eyes coming to rest in his palm.
Her initial rejection of he and his kind had at some point during the flight muted then transformed into crystallized purpose. Good; he’d worried about earning this beautiful young woman’s hatred. Though a Jedi and older than perhaps Qui-Gon would have lived—reckless friend of his—he was not immune to Anakin’s wife’s innocent charm. How could he plumb the depths of her mind, mayhap scarring her sense of self with this violation? You were always too much of a poet where ladies are concerned. Mukai recalled Jinn’s oft-leveled accusation, and used the memory to dispel lingering doubts. If he truly wished to ensure this lady’s safety, the geas must be done.
“Where is here?” Naberrie queried warily. She stood in the cramped cabin, peering out into an impenetrable gloom.
“A place full of swamps and fog,” the Jedi answered honestly. “But it’s only a side trip to your final destination,” he added enigmatically.
“Great,” she muttered, eyes rolling. “So what do we do now?”
“Well, it’s night out, but we’re near where we have to be.” Glancing down, he gratefully noted her sturdy work boots.“ There’s an extra cloak in the locker by the hatch—you’ll need to put it on.” He sidled out, stopping by the indicated cabinet. Pushing in to pop the door out, he grunted apologetically as it refused to budge. "Old ship; gets stuck sometimes.”
Mouth twisting at the knight’s embarrassment, she waved Yume-ni back. Reaching up, she felt along the seam of the locker’s frame, nudging here and there. “Guess there are some things you don’t need the Force to fix, “ she remarked softly.
The old dwarf absently blinked his eyes, already half in love with the young woman. A habit with him, that for some reason had always endeared him to females since a kid. The touch didn’t fail him now, for she smiled without rancor as the recalcitrant locker popped open. “Do you need another as well?” Naberrie draped one of the scratchy, patched cloaks around her shoulders. It barely swept her knees, reminding her of their height differential.
“No thanks.” Mukai beamed gently up at her for a moment, then said abruptly, “Ok, let’s go.
I can hear dinner calling!”
“Out here?” the Nabooan called doubtfully as they exited the ship to sink into a bog.
“No, over and in there,” he replied, pointing to a faint light that sprang into being as he spoke. “Watch your feet—walk exactly where I do, “ the Jedi cautioned. “This stuff has trapped animals in places fairly regularly.
A light rain began falling upon the unlikely companions, fazing Mukai not a bit. The former Amidala, however, muttered to herself when the rain notched up to a driving torrent. Mud belched with each step, not wont to release its travelers until she’d bumped into the knight.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” he replied shortly. “Just watch yourself.” With a squishing noise, he propelled himself from the bog’s clutch. Wallowing forward once more, he stopped after a bit, not hearing
her behind him. He glanced back, using Force-enhanced senses to locate her in the now impenetrable fog. Sure enough, she’d managed to get stuck in the quagmire.
Amazingly, she wasn’t flailing about as most might; she was casting about for a sturdy root for purchase. He glanced around, but finding nothing usable, he shrugged damp shoulders, then stared fixedly at the woman.
Naberrie pursed her lips, not liking the Force again aimed in her direction, but supposed she should be grateful. Devoured by mud was not exactly the noblest way to meet one’s doom. Not that much different from Gungan swamps, she sternly scolded to distract herself from both the pressure and disgusting sucking noises as the Jedi battled the swamp for her possession.
Naturally, the knight won. Clasping her mud enclustered hand briefly, he then dropped it and they resumed slogging it out with the storm. Eventually they came upon a spit of solid ground, climbing wearily upon it to squat for a bit. Gesturing back at the sea of mud they’d just forged, Mukai observed aloud, “Give it ten or fifteen turns, and that thing’ll be a swamp that’ll swallow a ship.”
“How do you know?” Naberrie didn’t spare the bog so much as a glance. She instead squinted in the eerie chiaroscuro. No light could be seen in the mists, yet before she’d slipped, she could’ve sworn that gleam they’d spotted had burned steadily! Yes, the fog had thickened when the rains had picked up, but surely it wouldn’t have hidden the source? Naberrie lifted her face to the shower, miserably allowing it to wash the smelly muck from her face. If anybody lived here, she’d be highly embarrassed to barge in with her currently slimy attire. Then again, if they were removed from this pervasive mist, she could cope.
Climbing to her feet, she stood over Mukai. “Well, let’s get going.” He nodded, rising, signaling for her to lead the way. “Don’t forget to knock first, “ the craggy man advised.
Knock? She realized belatedly that they were on a rough-hewn path that led a few feet later to a doorstep. As she stared, a shadowy outline appeared to form a curved domicile. Light once more appeared, streaming cozily out a small, round window. A sliver of light fell on her, and she threw up her hands as retinas protested.
“Come in, come in; we’ve been expecting you,” a gravelly voice greeted. “Stand longer outside you must not, come in, “ repeated the person impatiently. “Mukai, shut the door behind you; this one cannot the moisture tolerate as well.
Yume-ni complied, sniffing the air appreciatively. “Time for Jedi to eat?” he inquired.
Naberrie’s eyes widened as their host stepped into view. “Master Yoda?!” she gasped incredulously.
“Queen of Naboo, once again meet do we under grave circumstances. Seem it would destinies ours intersect thusly only. “Sit, sit!” the wizened ancient commanded testily. “Mukai, serve would you our dinner.”
Nodding, the slightly taller knight rounded the half partition to the hearth where a roaring fire beckoned invitingly. Yoda’s keen gaze regarded Padme, seeking an awareness of Jinn’s solution. Yes, there it was. “Like do you, my small shelter?”
Disconcerted, she replied, “Um, it suits you.” Pausing, she returned the gnome’s unremitting scrutiny. “You look like you belong here.”
“Observant are you, very. For here shall I stay when your son makes his way to me.”
Suddenly interested in her surroundings, she twisted her neck to fully take in the crude, but effective shelter. “Am I to live here until then?”
“No,” the stern fugitive replied. “Your destiny lies elsewhere. Important missions to fulfill.”
“I don’t understand.”
“In time will you. Long patience must you have, but busy shall you be. Important work, yes,”
Yoda huffed as he jacked to stubby feet. Turning back to Mukai, he instructed, “Remove will you the snakes from our supper.”
“Yes, Master, “ came the nasally reply as Yume-ni scooped out the latest would-be snacker.
“I thought people from your world liked these.”
“As wild creatures, yes. For food, only some. Ahhhh, “ the green Jedi breathed. “Simple yes, and delicious. Many food sources on this planet. Enough for even my lifetime,” he joked.
Naberrie accepted the passed plate graciously, then stirred the contents without eating. “Master Yoda,” she said pensively, “I cannot stay here for very long. When will you do what…the…whatever it is your Jedi told me you must?” Her green gaze flicked over to Mukai’s veiled black. He met it, then lowered his, hiding behind a laden spoon.
“Near morning, very soon.” Tapping the edge of the plain bowl with his carved implement, Yoda leaned forward. “Remember any of this, you will not. Wake up in different place, shall you,” he explained.
Disconcerted, she replied haltingly, “I…see.”
“No, you do not,” Yoda contradicted firmly. “But in time you shall. Either you live to meet your children again fully grown, or die shall you in the trying. Either way, efforts wasted they are not, young one.”
Shaking her braided head, Padme complained, “Elusive as ever, your real purpose. You Jedi hide behind a wall of cryptic words. People are dying all over the galaxy trying to thwart Palpatine’s increasing power, including your own. Why are you here, hiding? You should be out there helping them.” Silence greeted her accusation, save for Mukai’s scraping of his bowl.
Furious, she pushed the half-eaten dinner aside. “When my people were imperiled, I did all I could to save them, and I was from a society where fighting was anathema! Yet your sect teaches its own to be fierce warriors! How can you as one of the leaders simply walk away from them?” She looked away angrily.
“Warriors are our Knights, but much more than can comprehend you in your short life,” Yoda retorted, unable to resist her goad. He ignored Mukai’s covert shock. “My place is here,” he asserted, waving his spoon to encompass the cozy hut. “See you what remains of our Jedi Temple, as call it do outsiders? The Light burning can it only from here, after tens of thousands of generations!” Frustrated, Yoda bowed his head, calling upon the Force to ease the cries tormenting him relentlessly. His people, as termed them did she, suffered from his and the others’ lack of complete vision. Yet address it he could not without sacrificing the future.
“What good is it if no one is left except you? Do you really think you can raise an army from here?”
The gnome shook his head sadly, lines crinkling a previously smooth pate. “Where I am, Light must follow. Clearest is this, to explain. You carry the Force, but it is a dormant stream buried deep. For sake of your children—and daughter, train shall the son—and Vader’s end must stay I here.” Exhaling deeply, he raised his head, long ears drooping. “Regret do I, seeds sown turns before in Anakin that brought us to this pass.”
Mukai remained silent, inner doubts barely kept at bay. But he tensed, half-expecting some blame to be laid at Qui-Gon’s feet, and prepared a response. However, none was forthcoming.
Master Yoda, assailed by his own misgivings?
“To my pallet go you, to rest,” Yoda commanded gently. He felt Naberrie’s instinctual resistance, then manipulated it deftly so that she believed her willingness to do as bidden stemmed from the exhaustion causing her to sway.
“I’ll see you in the morning then,” she stated courteously, nodding to include Mukai as she got up from her kneeling position at the tiny table, futilely batting at muddy knees. Barely avoiding bumping her head on the low ceiling, she made her way to the small bed, collapsing wearily upon the pile of soft covers, asleep the moment her head lolled upon the lumpy pillow.
“Master…what are we to do?” the black haired Jedi stared over at the still form. “She’s right,” he affirmed tiredly. “We need to gather those left.”
“And do what?” Yoda inquired softly. “Begin a war with numbers remaining to us, a war within a war unleashing full power of the Force? After all this time, comprehend you do not. Fault of yours though, it is not. Trained by G’lyl’myr, were you not?”
Mukai nodded, despite the question being rhetorical. He stared bleakly outside the small round window at the rain steadily falling. “He would’ve called us to action.”
Yoda knew this not to be a challenge, but half-hopeful request. Poking the Human not much taller than he with his cane, the gnome gently repeated, “This cannot be. Involve and frighten too many it would.”
“I understand, but I can’t sit here either and watch my friends be systematically slaughtered. They’re torturing us, you know.”
The Jedi master sighed again. “Do what you feel you must, where you are called to be. That is all I can tell you. But know that we are dying for a larger purpose. And hard it is, knowing when gone are all of you, left only shall I be…until born are a few others. Last shall I be, of my friends, of my own genetic race for many turns,” he predicted solemnly. “When gone am I, last of the Jedi and first shall one of the Skywalkers be.”
Painfully rising, he gestured toward the sleeping figure. “Come, much work have I, then after rest, go you two must.”
[][][][[][][][]
Yoda endured Mukai’s affectionate grasp of his aching arm, then watched as Jinn’s friend turned to leave, escorting the dazed girl who remained in a trance. He stood rooted to the spot even after the ship powered up, then lifted off amidst a contained puff of billowing smoke, parting the dense canopy of trees with the Force to allow them to depart.
When the ship shot into the sky, he tapped his cane upon the hard ground twice, then raised a hand, eyes shuttering to teary slits. Winds sighed mournfully, echoing in the swamp. Mists swirled about more thickly, and low trees grew rapidly higher. High above the curve of forest, branches of hundreds, thousands of myriad trees touched, grafted, then intricately intertwined until a barrier of life and accompanying small lifeforms sealed off the tiny, immensely powerful Jedi far below amidst the forest floor from the rest of the galaxy for the next twenty turns.
Sirens blared louder than usual, and gongs rent the air planet-wide. Skycars slowed, departing spaceships of all sizes, shapes and forms paused, and people streamed out from lofty, crystalline high-rises and the catacombs below to mass in the streets. Glittering pyrotechnics lit up an artificially lit sky, and tiny pieces of false snow clogged the very atmosphere. “Emperor Palpatine is dead!” repeated the announcement from every corner; every street except from officially approved sources. But that lack could not dampen suddenly buoyant spirits as excitement spread, as demonstrations grew.
For as effective and omniscient as the Empire considered itself to be, contraband sources proved the mightier at spreading both word and recorded footage transmitted from the far reaches of Endor. Intel brokers threaded the increasing crowds, themselves enjoying a historical moment when time ceased for several moments, then dove to work at a frenzied pace to handle the flow of wagers and streams of conflicting information as organizations of all manner strove to jockey for the most profitable opportunities in the period of anarchy that must follow.
A daunting statue of Emperor Palpatine towered over Capital City’s main square, scowling down upon the celebrating throng. Bonfires flared, intoxicants flowed freely, feeding frenzied emotions so high that part of the impromptu parade sectioned off to march directly into the square to toss garbage and bottles at the Emperor’s feet.
Shoving their way to the forefront, a contingent of bedraggled, unidentified underground city denizens approached the lofty, disdainful sculpture. Withdrawing long weapons from dun colored robes, fifty people shot tractoring ropes up at the statue. Crowds cheered as the cables stuck, and countless more were fired. Soon Palpatine was bound in effigy, his terrifying countenance for once striking not icy fear, but laughter into the hearts and fervent yells of his former subjects.
Masses of Wookie servants surged forth to gather around the statue’s pedestal, and soon a great collaborative effort pushed, pulled and eventually weakened the base.
Holes were quickly drilled through the engraved coverings, plaques attesting to the Emperor’s superiority, to be stuffed with implosives. People fell back in waves as a chanting countdown began. “…THREE…TWO…ONE!!!”
Geysers of bluish smoke suddenly whooshed out from Palpatine’s feet, its base. And then a great, creaking groan silenced the retreating sea of intergalactic beings. The Emperor’s likeness pitched forward slowly, then crashed onto the pavement below, smashing into a hundred pieces! The crowds advanced, each determined to get a piece of their former dictator to either break down further, or throw or save as a souvenir.
A petite woman was caught up in the group hug as she lowered her gun. At last, vengeance had come. She could rest now, the long years of guerilla resistance over. Shoulders shaking, the Human allowed tears to flow unchecked as a pent-up dam burst within at the cry “Palpatine is dead!”
Memories returned in a rush, and she recalled her life before she’d woken inside a subterranean city, her mind basically wiped. Her most recent alias assumed for nearly half her life sluiced off as Padme Naberrie Amidala’s personality overshadowed the secondary identity formed after Yoda had rearranged her mind.
She was a woman with a past, a mother who could never locate her children and a queen who’d aided in the demise of a demon usurper.
“Look, look!” Hands pointed to skyscraper fronts, which winked into life, images spreading across and the length of the streets’ buildings.
“Live, and direct from the system of Endor comes footage from the Alliance, being transmitted even as we speak! See the heroes of our galaxy, including Princess Leia of Alderaan, who’s finally wreaked her revenge upon the one who’d ordered the destruction of her planet, Jedi Luke Skywalker, Admiral Ackbar, Former Senator Mon Mothma, Rogue Leader Wedge Antilles, a real rogue by the name of Solo…”
Naberrie’s mouth fell open, a startled cry sounding as she stared at the veritable banners of her children splashily displayed everywhere she turned, interspersed with shocking scenes of space skirmishes, then a dizzying view of the starfield sliding sideways, then focussing upon the jagged semi-orb now the center of the recording apparatus. All motion and audio ceased, causing the jostling crowds around her to fall silent, as the broadcast seemed suspended as if awaiting further ships.
Suddenly, an explosion engulfed the huge asteroid-like construct, and voices announced in six million languages the Emperor had been aboard. No body had survived, and the last ship seen fleeing the scene—an Imperial shuttle—had been piloted by none other than Jedi Skywalker, who’d single-handedly engaged the troops inside.
Luke, Leia! Alive! My babies! Her vision spun, white bursts swimming before glazed eyes and she stumbled. A male to her right immediately slung a supporting arm around her waist.
“Keori, you be alright?”
Naberrie nodded automatically, hand raising to flail disjointedly, then the weakness passed. Her palm fell to rest upon her companion’s face—her lover for the past eleven turns, she recalled belatedly, and she stroked the reddish stubble. “For the first time in a long time, yes. I’m alright.”
Luke grinned toothily at the spectral figures shimmering into view. //Ben,// his thoughts greeted. //Yoda…Father! // He projected joyfully, sorrow abating at the sight of his father, how Anakin Skywalker would have looked at the end of his life had he not metamorphosed into Darth Vader.
A small hand touched his arm, the familiar, ever-beloved presence of Leia filling his senses, her scent filling his nostrils as she peeked around, long hair silkily falling forward to caress the exposed synth-skin of his wrist where the short black glove ended. Glancing at her glowing countenance, he could not help but to laugh delightedly, falling in love all over again. So she was his sister—they had come through this entire hell alive.
“Come on, let’s dance!” She giggled, enthusiasm infectious, and he surrendered without protest. Allowing himself to be dragged back to the main part of the village—and enjoying every bit of it—he glanced over his shoulder briefly at his Evolved mentors and father, winking a goodbye.
Kenobi, Anakin and Yoda continued observing, though Anakin did not repent his anger with Obi-wan, even in death and stood stubbornly on Yoda’s other side until the sensation of shoulder tapping registered with all three ecto-manifestations. //It’s time to go, and let the children resume their natural course.//
Skywalker’s aura flared brightly as he let out a whoop. //QUI-GON!// Jinn allowed his soul to briefly merge with Anakin’s affectionately, returning the other’s love fully, then sought Kenobi. Yoda merely gave the impression of an expressed “harrumph” as all faded from mortal view.
Luke’s head snapped up, causing him to misstep the reel as he sensed a whisper from an unfamiliar, receding source. //Ani, your children have done well…//
That residual voice was a mystery that would remain so the rest of the last and first Jedi’s life. He gazed up into the stars despite knowing better that spirits were all around, to project to his departed observers, //May the Force be with you all, always.//
External focus returning, he smiled at his dance partner, then continued celebrating with his fellow soldiers until the party subsided just after dawn. A painful era had closed upon the Jedi’s life, now it was time to build a new, brighter future.