Ambient Dreams

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crystalcat
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Posts: 476

Ambient Dreams Aug 24, 2006 13:30:31 GMT -5

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Post by crystalcat on Aug 24, 2006 13:30:31 GMT -5

Chapter 1

Darkness surrounded him. The young blonde man struggled to maintain his grip on the
rail, agony twisting his features unrecognizable as smoke rose from his black clothes. But Anakin
knew him; knew him from his dreams, knew he was a Jedi if he did not know his name and had
never met him in life. In the dream, he was familiar; there was some ... connection ... although he
could not specifically say what, exactly, that was. But he cared about him; felt the burning
paralyzation of the Sith lightning as the man lay there, gasping.
A voice cut in, a very familiar one; eerily more familiar than the young man’s face. It was
older and rougher than it should have been, but recognizable just the same.
“Young fool! Only now do you understand,“ it said as the lightning licked forth again
from pale, knarled hands, “Your feeble skills are no match for the Dark side. You will pay the
price for your lack of vision!”
The young man writhed and fell onto the floor as the pain licked him. He cried out in
agony, his limbs jerking and twisting. Between gasps, he managed to form words...
“Father, please!”
But no father came to his aid. Instead, the robed figure - the Sith Lord - ceased for a
moment, the better the finality in his words be heard.
“And now, young Skywalker, you will die,” he declared, in Chancellor Palpatine’s oddly
ruined voice, an evil chuckle escaping his lips, the young man ... young Skywalker ... allowed a
momentary false hope. But it was too short before the jagged bluish lance once more engulfed
him. He screamed.
Anakin was his father. The young man was his grown son, having joined the Jedi Order.
His son, who lay next to him now, still safe in his mother’s womb. His son, begging him from a
dream as his grandmother had, as his mother had...
And he, Anakin, had stood with the Sith.

He awoke with a gasp, bolting to a sitting position. The room was only moderately dark;
headlights from passing vehicles and the countless lights of the city illuminated it clearly even in
the quietest part of night. Padme lay beside him on her side, sleeping peacefully. He glanced
down at the great swell of her womb, at the soft rise and fall of her breast, and slowly let out his
breath in a sigh. Then he inhaled and did it again, to calm himself.
It can’t be true, he thought. It can’t. But he knew that it was. Worse, he
knew all the other dreams he’d had about the young man - his son - were also true. In fact, he’d
always known, but had been able to ignore them because at the time he hadn’t known who the
young man was. But in most of those dreams, his son had stood looking at him with lightsaber
drawn, as his enemy.
He shuddered. The dream had not thrown him into a choked panic as had the one about
Padme, but it held a particular urgency that told him he’d have to act soon to avoid it - even
though the events it showed him were at least a good twenty years away.
Next to him, Padme stirred and sat up. He sighed apologetically.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Another dream?” she asked.
He avoided her eyes and didn’t reply.
“About me again?” Her voice was soft and concerned entirely for him. It broke his heart
that she thought so little for herself; what had she done to deserve an early death, except to love
him?
“No,” he said, and swallowed hard. Almost without volition, he reached out to caress her
swollen womb. Her hand closed over his and he felt the baby - his son - kick, almost as if in
response to the touch.
“It always does that for you,” she murmured, “almost as if it knows you’re there.”
Yes, he thought. He’ll be a Jedi. But he said nothing.
“Was it about the baby?” she persisted.
He took his hand away and nodded. Through the Force, he felt her stiffen.
“He was alive in the dream,” he hastened to add, looking up at her. “But ...”
“But?”
But he hated me ... because I was no longer a Jedi; no longer on the side of the light?
Because I’d had to use the Sith method to save you - and him - from dying? Or because I
hadn’t?
Out loud, he said, “Nothing.”
“Anakin.” Her voice clearly conveyed irritation at his avoidance. But while he knew he
needed to be more open with her - for too many things they had only each other - he was too
confused in his own mind and didn’t want to panic her with wild speculation.
For instance, Palpatine ... could he really be a Sith himself? It doesn’t seem possible;
wouldn’t the Council sense it? They hadn’t sensed Count Dooku - search your feelings and
know the truth... Trouble was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it; didn’t like the
implications if it were true. He had embraced Palpatine as a trusted mentor; accepted his
patronage; taken his advice since his arrival on Coruscant thirteen years earlier. If it were true,
could he trust even himself? Trust anything he thought he knew? Search your feelings...
How else had Palpatine known a Sith legend?
The obviousness of it stared at him. How had he not known? Had he wanted so
much to believe in the man’s claim that something existed to save his wife? That anything
existed? That his desperation would cloud all judgement? He leaned forward and buried his head
in his hands, knowing it still did; knowing he was still that desperate, that even knowing what
Palpatine was, he could not let go of the only shred of hope he’d found that Padme could be
saved.
He felt his wife’s cool, soothing hands on the hot skin of his back and shoulder and looked
up at her, intending to ask her when she would leave for Naboo; that he felt it should be soon. If
the dream had done nothing else, it had at least made him wary for her continued safety on
Coruscant. But as he saw her face in the half-light of the city’s night ambiance, it seemed to
recede from him and take on the glow of some angry red illumination. Her eyes opened wide,
staring at him in anguished accusation, her mouth working, mouthing the words, “Anakin, no,”
without sound as she grasped at her throat with both hands.
From somewhere, Obiwan’s voice spoke in a tone of command he hadn’t realized his
master had ever possessed, “Anakin, let her go!”
His was the invisible attack she struggled against, her face darkening. He was
the one attacking her, killing her.
“Let her go!”
Abruptly, she fell to the ground, some tiled tarmac on an unknown planet, and lay still. He
stared down at her crumpled form, still pregnant. The event was not far away.
Not far away.

Chapter 11

“I can’t get over how well-behaved they all are,” Sola exclaimed in a hushed tone. “Even
the littlest ones.”
They were all eating in the great dining hall of the lake resort; Padme’s parents had
arrived with Sola and her family just as the sun had begun to set. It had been obvious from Sola’s
reaction to seeing her that their mother had already told her the news about Anakin and the baby.
Her first words to Padme had been “I told you so,” delivered with a knowing smirk. She might
have continued with the teasing, but at that first comment, their father had given her sister what
they referred to as “the Look,” which, oddly, stopped Sola cold. It was so out-of-character that
Padme wondered what had passed between them about her before they’d arrived.
Padme glanced cursorily over the crowd of Jedi younglings. They were quiet for children
their age, she acknowledged. Not that they sat perfectly still and ate like little droids; some
fidgeted a bit in their seats (especially the youngest group), and virtually all of them talked to their
neighbors. But the talking was conducted in a quiet, adult way, as if they had all been trained into
behavior much older than their actual ages. She had only to look at her two nieces for the
contrast: the girls were not badly behaved, but they were unable to suppress a tendency to
constantly giggle, and they squirmed in their seats restlessly, kept there by the rules of their
parents, not their own self-mastery.
“Was Anakin like that?” Sola inquired innocently.
Padme looked at her sister. She knew she was fishing for information, but really couldn’t
blame her. And she knew she’d have to talk about it sometime.
“He was never one of them,” she replied.
Her sister regarded her quizzically.
“Anakin wasn’t born in the republic,” Padme explained. “They didn’t find him until he was
almost ten.”
Sola raised her eyebrows.
“How did they find him, then?” she asked. “Do you know?”
Padme stopped in the act of lifting her fork to her mouth, and set it back down on the
plate. She realized she had all her family’s attention now, so after swallowing a bite of food, she
said, “It was when I was queen and the Jedi got me off the planet. The hyperdrive broke down
and we had to make an emergency landing on Tatooine.”
“He’s from Tatooine?” her sister asked incredulously. The planet was infamous for being
the headquarters of the Hutts, a galactic crime syndicate who specialized in the procurement of
narcotic spice and slaves; a place where the cities were virtually lawless and the only honest folk
not indentured to the criminal set were the moisture farmers in the desert wilds, iron-willed
pioneers determined enough to wrestle crops from the endless dunes and tough enough to stand
up to the scattered but viciously violent native nomads.
“Yes,” she confirmed, hoping that would end the matter, but it was too late.
“Well, how did they find him, dear?” her mother asked curiously.
“He was working in the shop where they went to get a replacement part for the
hyperdrive.”
“Working in a shop?” Sola demanded. “At age ten?”
“Tatooine has slavery,” her father observed. Padme had been undecided about whether
she should reveal Anakin’s former status to them; his statement effectively solved her dilemma.
“Is that true?” her mother asked, her eyes round. “Was he a slave?”
“Yes, Mother, he was,” she confirmed, deliberately attacking the food on her plate.
“Oh, but ...” Jobal began hesitantly, “well, was he ... I mean ... could he ... read, or
anything?”
Padme looked up, almost relieved to finally be able to give a positive answer about her
husband’s past.
“Yes, he could read and do calculations, and so far as I know, was not behind at all in his
schooling,” she said. “His mother taught him.”
There followed more questions about his mother’s status (yes, she had been a slave, but
she’d been bought out of slavery by a man who loved her), his father (no, she didn’t know who
his father had been; whoever he was, he’d seemed long gone by the time they’d arrived on the
planet), and whether his mother knew about their marriage or the coming baby.
“No, she died before we were married,” Padme answered curtly. Then, deciding she’d
been too dismissive, she told them the story of Shmi’s death, although she carefully edited out any
mention of Anakin’s loss of control. “He didn’t understand what the dreams meant until it was
too late,” she explained. “And he couldn’t forgive himself. That’s the main reason they’re” - she
nodded towards the younglings - “here now. He had a vision in a dream that they’d be in danger
if they stayed at the temple, or even anywhere on Coruscant.”
At last they fell silent, though Padme acknowledged that it was probably with shock rather
than lack of further questions. It had certainly upset her to tell the story; she could feel the hot
tears swimming in her eyes. She blinked them away and stared down at her plate, but the rest of
her food just stared mutely back up at her.
He had that vision of you dying in childbirth, too, she told herself grimly. As
ridiculous as it sounds in this day and age, you can’t dismiss it like you want to. But there
didn’t seem to be any way to prevent it, either.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and started to push her plate away, but was
interrupted by a commotion among the younglings. One of the older ones, a thin, dark-haired boy
with a too-white face, jumped abruptly up from the table, cries erupting from the formerly hushed
conversation around him, and shot out the door.
Padme was on her feet in an instant, after him, her mother’s cries of “No, Padme, wait!
I’ll go ...” fading behind her.

He was standing in the grass at the far edge of the terrace, losing the last of his dinner.
Padme pulled up short, a couple of meters behind him, belatedly unsure of whether she should
approach, not so much because of queasiness - she was surprisingly, given her condition, not in
the least bit nauseated by his illness - but because she suddenly wondered if he’d prefer being sick
in private. Looking back, she saw that none of the other children had followed him, although her
mother was rapidly approaching them.
“I’m sorry,” she heard him say quietly, realizing he knew she was there.
Of course he knows, it dawned on her. He’s a Jedi, not just some ordinary
child. Out loud she said, “Don’t be sorry. It happens sometimes. Are you all right now?”
He shook his head, folding his arms tightly across his stomach, his back still turned to her.
She could hear his labored breathing.
Her mother reached her side, glared at Padme momentarily, then reached out and lightly
brushed the boy’s shoulder.
“Come on,” she said to him, “Why don’t we go to the infirmary?”
He nodded and turned to go with her. Jobal looked back at her daughter and said, “Go on
back in the dining hall. I’ll be back in a little while.”

By the time her mother returned, Padme and her father had retired to the salon. Sola and
her husband were busy tucking in the girls and all but the oldest of the younglings had been
packed off to their bunks. The older ones sat in a circle in the outer room, apparently playing
some quiet game. Jobal eyed them curiously as she walked up to Padme and sat down.
“Didn’t any of them ask about him?” she inquired.
Padme sighed.
“No,” she said. “It’s not something they do; they’re taught to help out if they can, but to
understand when they can’t help and to not worry about it.”
Jobal sighed and pursed her lips.
“What was wrong with him?” Padme finally asked, having given up waiting for her
mother to volunteer the information. “Is he all right now? Could the med droids do anything?”
“They said nothing was wrong with him,” she replied, “except that he was under stress.”
“Stress?”
“Yes,” her mother verified. “I’d have stayed with him, but he told me he’d rather be alone
for the moment.” Padme could tell she meant it as a warning to keep her away from him.
Her mother faced her squarely, her expression grave.
“Padme,” she began, “I know you are used to running to everyone’s rescue; that’s how
you’ve been since you were able to walk. But you’re pregnant now; you have to think of the
baby. Suppose that boy had something contagious? It might hurt the baby’s health a lot more
than it would do to an adult, or even a ten-year-old. Can you see that?”
Jolted, Padme did see it, but from a different perspective than her mother could have
imagined. Is it something like that he saw? Some illness that will take me when the baby is
born? But she couldn’t imagine any contagious disease quite like that; certainly it wasn’t the
sort of thing her mother was warning her against; that would be something that would only affect
the baby, and Anakin had said the baby would survive. Hadn’t he? Or had that been when he’d
passed out on her?
“I’m going to go outside for a moment,” she said. Maybe she could think more clearly
with the fresh air blowing in her face.
She stopped just outside the door and let the cool breeze from the lake wash over her. It
was time she calmed down and stopped obsessing over something she had no control over. If it
were her time to go, then she would go; there was no sense wasting the few weeks she had left in
worrying over it. Also - and this was far harder for her to accept - if their baby was not meant to
survive, there was nothing that could be done about that, either.
The last thought brought tears to her eyes, not the least because the baby had virtually
started to pound against her, apparently with both hands and both feet. Not for the first time, it
seemed to her that it - he (it hadn’t escaped her that Anakin had referred to their baby as a “he”
right after telling her about a vision he’d had) - seemed to be responding directly to her thoughts.
“Are you trying to tell me something, Luke?” she whispered, using the boy’s name they
had both picked out. Thump, thump. She smiled. “That you’re going to be okay?” More
thumping followed. One jab in particular hit her just beneath the keel of her breastbone, knocking
against the small pendant she wore there, concealed beneath her dress. She reached up to the
chain and drew it out; it was the jappor snippet her husband had given her to remember him by
when he was nine, just before they’d been parted for ten years. I guess that means yes, she
thought, squeezing her hot eyes shut and holding her breath against a sob, the pendent clenched
tightly in her fist.
After a moment, she took a deep breath and calmed herself, comforted by the imagined
message sent by her unborn son. She wiped her eyes and had started to go back inside when she
noticed the small, thin figure standing by the railing at the end of the terrace, staring out over the
lake. It was the youngling her mother had taken to the infirmary.
As she drew near to him, she saw that he was staring not at the lake, but upwards at the
star-strewn sky.
“There are so many of them,” he commented. “You can’t see this many on Coruscant.”
“You can’t see hardly any of them on Coruscant,” she agreed. “There are too many lights
on the planet.”
He was silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Can you see Coruscant from here?”
She looked at the sky, trying to remember the constellations from her childhood.
Overhead was the Great Crescent, and coming up beside it was the Gungan Fool, a group of hot
blue stars on the outer rim defining his left ear.
“It’s below the horizon at night this time of year,” she finally told him. It was on the tip of
her tongue to ask him how he felt when he suddenly turned to her.
“The med droid said I was under stress,” he said.
“Yes, I know,” she replied softly.
“Jedi don’t get stressed.”
It occurred to her to say that med droids didn’t get stressed either, so how would they
know anything about it, but instead she heard herself saying, “Master Skywalker does.”
The boy stared at her for a long moment, then reached out with his right hand. She
thought he might be going to try and feel the baby kick, as some people do, but his hand instead
found the jappor snippet, now hanging free over her bodice. He studied it for a few moments,
then let it go.
A long while passed in silence. She saw him inhale deeply, as if he were about to say
something ...
“Padme!” her sister’s voice rang out from the doorway. “Padme! You’ve got to see this!
Come inside! Hurry!”
An odd urgency underscored Sola’s words, telling Padme her request was more than just a
simple whim. Both of them ran to see what was going on.
Her father had brought a holovid with him, reasoning that since they were going into
hiding to avoid some political trap, they’d better stay informed about what was going on in the
galaxy so they’d know if and when the trap was set. Judging from the crowd gathered around the
projection, Padme suspected that time had come. She could hear Palpatine’s voice saying
something about a plot to destroy the republic, with the implication - had she heard it correctly? -
that the Jedi were to blame.
She managed to squeeze through a knot of younglings in time to see the chancellor raise
his arms to the senate chamber and declare himself Emperor. To her abject horror, the members
of the senate present in the gallery applauded. The color drained from her face and she sat down
heavily on the settee next to her mother. To her surprise, no tears came, only anger.
“So this is how liberty dies,” she said bitterly, “To thunderous applause.”
Having apparently said his piece, now-Emperor Palpatine stood with outstretched arms,
basking in adulation, but the broadcast, live from Coruscant via subspace linkup to satellite feed,
did not end. The camera continued to hover mercilessly on its new star, the new savior of the
republic (or was that empire?) as his podium at last began to sink into the chamber floor.
“You missed the first part of it,” Sola informed her, when it was apparent no more news
was forthcoming. “They showed the Jedi temple, or what was left of it. It was burning.”

crystalcat
Writer

Posts: 476

Ambient Dreams Aug 25, 2006 16:29:55 GMT -5

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Post by crystalcat on Aug 25, 2006 16:29:55 GMT -5

Chapter 12

“That’s outrageous!” Obiwan heard Nute Gunray’s voice exclaim, and for once he agreed
with the Neimoidian. He had been making his final approach to Coruscant in the Separatist
leaders’ transport when the supreme chancellor had astonishingly usurped the republic, laying
claim to the ancient title of galactic emperor.
The subspace broadcast had come through as an emergency bulletin as soon as they’d
dropped out of hyperspace, and had auto-activated the onboard holovid. It had taken quite a bit
of his Jedi training to avoid staring at the projection; he needed to keep his concentration on flying
the awkward converted cargo ship. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to; he could fly a
small fighter easily enough - if he had to - but that piloting ability didn’t transfer over to just
anything else. Not for the first time, he wished Anakin were here. He only hoped his impetuous
former padawan had somehow managed to get through the clone ships surrounding the planet; he
knew they were diligently watching for the sign of any returning Jedi.
As he prepared to bank the ship for orbital insertion, reassurance that Anakin had indeed
successfully made planetfall came from an unexpected source: the holovid suddenly began to play
back the recording Artoo had made of the chancellor’s office while on Mustafar. Dumbfounded,
Obiwan glanced over at it, paying for his lack of diligence a moment later when the ship skidded
off the top of the atmosphere. Small objects rolled or bounced onto the floor, and several of the
separatists who had been standing around the holovid found themselves suddenly sprawled on top
of each other; all of them protested loudly.
“Sorry,” said Obiwan, bringing the ship back under control, “but if any of you can do any
better, you’re welcome to take the helm.” He almost wished one of them would volunteer. Not
surprisingly, none did. “When did that recording start of the chancellor in his office?” he asked.
“Why was it there?” someone asked, bewildered. He could hear the beginning of panic in
the voice as well.
“Who put it there?” asked someone else. “Did that other Jedi do that?”
They all started to talk and worry about it at once.
“WHEN DID IT COME ON?” Obiwan nearly shouted, trying to get their attention.
“GUNRAY! WHEN?”
“Oh!” said the viceroy of the Trade Federation into the sudden silence, “Uh ... it was ...
right after the chancellor spoke.”
“When he was still there? Was is shown to the senate? Do you know?”
“I don’t know,” came the confused answer. “No, he wasn’t. That spiral thing had already
closed around his chair.”
Anakin, Obiwan thought, if you’ve done what I think you’ve done, it was a good
move. It’s just too bad it’s too late. Most of the senate appears to be eating out of the
chancellor’s hand. It’ll take more than that recording to convince them the Jedi are innocent
and he is the guilty one.
But as the recording ended, it became immediately apparent that his former apprentice had
quite a bit more in mind.

On the Tantive IV, Anakin had clung to the Jedi meditation techniques as never before,
willing himself to remain calm while he waited, if he could not quite manage the serenity. He
suspected Palpatine already knew he was here, but he needed to keep the Sith lord out of his mind
as much as he could until the time was right. Not that he had any specific evidence that the old
man could enter his thoughts, but certain past events indicated that possibility, and his warriors’
instinct told him it would be better if he were prepared, just in case. He did know that Sidious
could feel his emotions; that had been evident in his dreams, and, in looking back, also in his
waking life. But in fact, he was counting on that for part of his plan.
He waited for what he thought was a suitable length of time for the senate meeting to
begin, then sent Artoo off with his prearranged instructions. The little droid was just disappearing
around a corner into a service corridor when the building-wide comm system suddenly squealed
to life, announcing the imminent special broadcast of the special session of congress. Anakin gave
a start at the unexpected announcement, then took a deep breath and plunged out into the senate
building, quietly making his way as quickly as he could to the supreme chancellor’s office.
He made it to the luxurious suite of rooms unchallenged (though he’d had to use some
misdirection with the Force three times along the way to avoid newly implemented clone patrols).
His heart pounded wildly in his chest in anticipation of the coming confrontation. Usually he
made some effort to quiet it; such emotion was not acceptable for a Jedi. Now, however, he
welcomed it. He would need it; it would help him draw the thing of evil from its lair at the base of
the rotunda. Another desk, another office of the chancellor lay there, but Anakin knew he could
not face the Sith lord in a setting so near to the senate, nor with so many exits. Palpatine would
have to come to him.
His hand reached out and tapped the blinking holovid switch on the chancellor’s desk.
The projection popped into view, showing the chancellor sinking into the floor, his arms
outstretched. Anakin waited, his breathing becoming more labored as the thoughts he’d
previously pushed away filtered in: Smoke rising from the Jedi temple, Padme dying in his dream,
fighting Obiwan on Mustafar, choking the life out of Padme ... Choking ...
The iris at the base of the rotunda closed. He shut the holovid off and gave himself over
to his despair.

Deep in the bowels of the galactic senate, the newly crowned emperor felt the disturbance
in the dark side of the Force, and smiled. So his future apprentice wanted to meet him in his main
office... Very well, he would oblige. For now.

Anakin sat alone on the edge of a low table in the chancellor’s office, staring out over the
night lights of the city without really seeing them. In his mind, he saw what the city had looked
like earlier in the day; the Jedi temple had been burning, smoke rising from several places on the
roof and near the ground. Mentally, he followed the smoke down to its source, seeing the Jedi
inside cut down, hearing the clashing drone of lightsabers as they parried blaster shots, seeing the
clones - the overwhelming number of clones - overrunning the few remaining of the Jedi, most of
them padawan students, who nevertheless fought bravely and fearlessly to the end. He was there,
too, the hood of his cloak pulled up over his head, his lightsaber ignited, its blue radiance reflected
back from surfaces as he passed them. From time to time one of the Jedi would step in his way,
demanding to know why he did not stand and fight with them, and he would cut them down as if
they were no more than a training hologram and go on. He picked his way through the battle,
finding the winding stair to the younglings’ hall; knowing that they too would need to be
eliminated. Although they were not a threat to the empire yet, they would become a threat all too
soon, seeking revenge for what had been done that night, if nothing else. He walked forward, and
stepped through the door into their chamber. Tears slid unheeded down his face.
“Anakin,” the chancellor’s silky voice said softly into the silence. “I ... I understand ...
why you’ve come.”
Anakin glanced over at the chancellor’s reflection in the glass, seeing him dimly, the image
rippling in his watery vision. A part of his soul remained behind in the Jedi temple, frozen in place
in the younglings’ classroom, his lightsaber at hand, though not yet ignited, pain squeezing his
chest.
“You know, don’t you,” the chancellor went on, walking over to him and laying a hand on
his shoulder affectionately, “that it was necessary. The Jedi were once a noble order, but their
time has passed. You of all people should be aware of that.”
Anakin’s mouth worked; he struggled to speak, chest heaving. “They ...” he managed to
exhale, “they hadn’t ... attacked ... senate.” Or had they? Had he actually even spoken? He
couldn’t remember.
“It was only a matter of time before they did,” Palpatine explained. “They visited me just
the other day with their ‘request’ that I relinquish my emergency powers, which they themselves
should have known was unthinkable, even with Grievous defeated. The Separatists had not yet
been apprehended. Waiting for the Jedi to strike us would only have cost the lives of innocents.
Surely in that light you can see the necessity of my preemptive decision to destroy them.”
The trusting face of a small boy swam before Anakin, close enough to touch, his mouth
moving, asking him something: What do we do?
“The younglings ...” he croaked miserably, unable to take his eyes off the vision of the
boy.
The chancellor sighed heavily and sat down beside him.
“Regrettable, I agree,” he said wearily. “But necessary, nevertheless. They were all taken
from their families so young expressly so that the Jedi could brainwash them with their doctrine.
You, my friend, are the only one who escaped that fate. No, even the youngest would have
become a danger in time. It was far kinder to end their lives quickly, now, before they became a
danger to the law-abiding citizens of the galaxy. A difficult task, yes. But one must sometimes
choose that which is more difficult over the quick and easy path. That is the mark of a true and
wise leader.”
In Anakin’s mind, the lightsaber thrummed to life. The boy’s face became a blur, the
features indistinct, for which he was grateful. He raised the weapon to strike ...
... and took off Master Windu’s hand at the wrist. From somewhere he heard glass
breaking, and a violet-bladed saber went flying out into the night sky of Coruscant as Windu
screamed in his ear. Blue lightning licked at the Jedi Master, engulfing him, lifting him clear of
the floor before tossing him effortlessly from the building, 90 stories up. A voice, something like
the chancellor’s, only huskier and drier, cried, “UNLIMITED POWER!!”
“What have I done?” Anakin whispered, hearing a lightsaber power off as he stared out
the broken window. His nerveless fingers relaxed and the weapon dropped soundlessly onto the
carpet.
“It is, you know,” the chancellor was saying, “unlimited. Or, I should say, limited only by
what you can imagine; dependent only on yourself. No one to stand in your way; no one to tell
you whom you may or may not love or hate, you and you alone, completely in control ... of
everything and everyone. All looking up to only you. All loving only you, openly and without
restriction ...”
Padme.
“Become my apprentice, Anakin,” the chancellor purred, “Learn to use the dark side of
the Force.”
Padme, lying on a hospital bed, screaming in pain as the children are taken from her
...
Stiffly, Anakin bent to one knee, his vision blurred with overflowing tears, sobs quaking
through him, his whole body shaking with grief.
“Join me and together we can save Padme’s life,” Palpatine promised him, his hand
extended like a royal’s whose ring is to be kissed. “It is your Destiny.”
From her deathbed, Padme called his name, looking up at him, her eyes pleading ...
pleading ... for him to stop choking her, her mouth forming the words Anakin, no! seconds before
she fell lifelessly to the pavement.
I can’t live without her.
Something cold touched him inside, clinging to his heart, crushing it. He felt numb, as if
there were no feeling anywhere in his body; all had gone with her passing.
I can’t live without her.
Blinking, he saw the hand, still extended towards him. It grew old and gnarled, the nails
thickening and lengthening, the fingers curling inwards on themselves. A bluish light arced
between the digits, then leapt forth to strike not him, but another man near the railing. A man he
should have known; a man with his mother’s gentle heart. He was all he had left of her. Dying.
“No,” he groaned. In a single fluid movement, he grasped the hand and rose to his feet,
lifting the chancellor easily over his head. The blue lightning from the Sith lord’s fingers licked
down over him, engulfing them both in its deadly crackle. He staggered under the pain, but it was
nothing compared to the torture in his soul, the anguish of a loss he couldn’t bear. He took a step
toward the railing, then another. The onslaught grew in intensity, his assailant growling, roaring
wordless rage; fury, flinging from his fingertips to surge down Anakin’s arms to his lungs, to his
heart, through his legs to the carpeted floor, lancing around him, mocking the emptiness, the
nothingness he felt as his breathing failed. With a final, anguished sigh, he tossed his burden
through the shattered window. A dark thing, it fell, the flickering tongues of dissipating energy
licking hollowly around it.
His breath spent, his legs buckled, and he pitched forward onto the sill.

Across the galaxy, in the lake resort on Naboo, his wife stared in frozen denial as the
scene played out on her father’s holovid for all to see, holding her breath against the inevitable.
As if in slow motion, she saw his body sink past the broken pane of glass, falling, falling. Then
she saw no more.

Last Edit: Aug 25, 2006 16:30:58 GMT -5 by crystalcat

crystalcat
Writer

Posts: 476

Ambient Dreams Aug 25, 2006 16:35:50 GMT -5

Quote

Post by crystalcat on Aug 25, 2006 16:35:50 GMT -5

Chapter 13

The converted cargo ship angled steeply down through the atmosphere at frightening
speed, its pilot fighting to avoid the lanes of repulsorlift traffic hanging like multiple strands of
bright jewels on the night side of the planet. Inside it, the small band of Separatist leaders sat
strapped into their seats, fear overriding all other thoughts in their minds; fear that their pilot had
lost all control and that a fiery crash on Coruscant’s surface would be the ultimate conclusion to
their errant and muddled venture. In their desperation, s few wondered if they might have been
better off left to face the clones who would have come to kill them all on Mustafar.
At the conclusion of Artoo’s recording, the holovid had blinked a couple of times and
switched over to a live security feed of the chancellor’s - or was that emperor’s? - office. Seated
in it, alone, was a dark-garbed figure with a head of golden hair that Obiwan recognized very
well. Amazed, and wondering what his former padawan could possibly have further up his sleeve,
he’d kept one eye on the projection as much as he could while he penetrated the atmosphere.
Even when Palpatine entered, he had been more fascinated by their exchange than anything, and it
hadn’t been terribly difficult to divide his attention. He even thought he knew something of what
Anakin had planned, and silently applauded him, though he had no idea how it could be brought
to a conclusion. But his detached and somewhat academic admiration for his friend’s supposed
‘plan’ evaporated when he heard the glass breaking.
He’d manage to look back at the projection just in time to see Palpatine power off a red-
bladed lightsaber and, smiling, toss it on the floor beside Anakin, who was - Obiwan could now
see this clearly - obviously not aware of his surroundings. With growing trepidation, he recalled
the state his friend had been in when he’d first encountered him on Mustafar, the burden of
monstrous deeds he’d never committed weighing heavily upon him, and knew he had somehow
slipped back into that nightmare now.
“Become my apprentice,” the Sith lord purred to him, and in alarm, he saw the boy he had
taught kneel down.
“No!” cried Obiwan without realizing that he’d even spoken. He pulled the throttle full
out and dove for the senate building, dashing the Separatists to the floor for the second time that
day. They screamed and scrambled, fumbling, for their seats, as the holovid droned inexorably
on. The Jedi Master ignored it; he needed his full concentration to drive the ship where he
wanted it to go. Whatever was happening, he couldn’t let it distract him; whatever was being
said, he blocked from his mind. He had to get there, and he had to do it before it was too late.

The ship careened around the perimeter of the senate building and swooped down into a
vacant berthing area on the landing platform, its reverse thrusters screeching in at full speed.
Before it had even settled to a full stop, Obiwan had leapt free of the hatch and sprung to the
floor, almost flying through the exposed hypostile hall on his way to the chancellor’s office, his
ignited lightsaber flashing before him.
Twice he encountered squads of clones, whose fire he quickly parried, and moved on until
he reached the outer door to the chamber. There, another squad of clones stood guard. Without
altering his gait, and giving them no time to even take aim, he reached out with his free hand and
Force pushed them down the hallway before slamming himself through the door.
He had no idea what to expect once he reached the inner office; the room he’d seen on the
holovid, where the window had been deliberately smashed by the Sith lord to prey on his friend’s
unstable mind. He had, out of a sense of preservation of his own sanity, not seen what had taken
place since Anakin had knelt. Would he find the Sith lord still in attendence? Would he find two?
And if so, what would he then do? He couldn’t imagine the consequence... But as he rounded
the last corner, into the room where the shattered window was letting in the acrid night air of
Coruscant, only a single figure remained, slumped across the window frame, one arm trailing
down into the empty space far above the street. With relief and terror simultaneously in his heart,
he lifted his friend back inside and laid him on the carpet.
“Anakin,” he breathed.
His friend lay still and did not answer. Was he even breathing? It was difficult to tell; his
own gasping sobs resounded too loudly in his ears. With great effort, he closed his eyes and
pushed away his impending panic, seeking the calm of being centered in the Force. It seemed long
in coming, but he persevered, reminding himself that it was the only way he could now help his
former student. Then, with his fingers touching the younger man’s temples, he sought his
luminous presence in the Force.
It was there, but far away, held by such a tenuous link to his body that Obiwan would
never have found him if he had not burned so brightly. Yet this very intensity endangered him
now, threatening to sear through the gossamer thread that still bound him to flesh, to free him
back into the sweet oblivion of the Force.
Anakin, he called to the light, You must come back. Your work is not finished.
Defeating the Sith lord was only the beginning ...
For he knew the council had dwelt too much on the immediate quest to remove the Sith
from their presence, and had failed to consider the larger problem, the specific task stated by the
prophecy, that he would bring balance to the Force. And he knew this larger problem had not
really been adequately communicated to his padawan. Not then, not ever. He admitted he was as
much to blame for that as any of the others.
But his plea went unanswered, even in his contrition. The blazing sun that was Anakin
remained just beyond his reach, flares of passion dancing around it. Or were they separate lights
of their own? He couldn’t tell. He only knew that his own heart was breaking. His concentration
spent, he felt a tear slide down his cheek into his beard. Something squeezed his hand, faintly.
He looked down. The face of his friend - his brother - lay in repose, an expression of peace upon
it he had not seen since he’d first come to him as a small boy. His good hand lay in Obiwan’s, and
as the master watched, he saw the slight rise and fall of his younger brother’s chest.
Confused and exhausted, and inexplicably relieved, he sat completely down on the floor,
his shoulders slumping, though he didn’t release his brother’s hand. Had he felt Anakin squeeze it
before? He wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter, not entirely. At least he was breathing now.
Everything was going to be all right. At least, until he looked up and saw two clones standing in
the doorway.
His eyes widened and he fumbled for his lightsaber, but the foremost clone waved both
hands, weaponless, in front of him.
“It’s all right, sir,” he said. “Order 66 has stood down.”
Obiwan stared at him in amazement, speechless, as the clone took off his helmet.
“Do you need assistance?” the clone inquired.
“Yes!” Obiwan exclaimed, finding his voice at last. “I need a medical team right away.”

Sola watched her mother disappear out the door, a feeling of total confusion and
helplessness washing over her.
“You two stay here and take care of the children,” her mother had said to she and her
husband Darred. “Get them to bed.”
Like it was that simple. The republic had fallen apart, her brother-in-law had just been
publicly electrocuted on the holovid, and her pregnant sister had - unsurprisingly - fainted. Sola
thought of just leaving the Jedi children to Darred and running after Padme (these children were
probably perfectly capable of looking after themselves anyway, she thought), but knew her
mother’s order meant more than she had actually said. Jobal wanted her to stay away for now,
and she supposed she understood why. A shiver ran through her as she glanced up at Darred, for
a split second envisioning him instead of Anakin in that office on Coruscant. Deliberately, she
averted her gaze from the holovid projection, though she could see its glow in her peripheral
vision and even hear the moan of the wind as it howled through the broken window.
Most of the children seemed still transfixed by it, however, except one who she now saw
was staring at her - he looked away a moment after meeting her gaze - and another, the one who
had been sick earlier, who was staring out the door after her sister.
“Anakin!” a man’s voice on the holovid said. She automatically turned and looked at it,
without really wanting to, and saw the Jedi Master Obiwan Kenobi dragging her brother-in-law
away from the window to cradle his head and ... was he crying? Jedi didn’t cry ... they didn’t feel,
not the way ordinary people did, anyway. Nor do they get married and make babies, Sola.
She looked again at the group of children, into their faces.
The one standing next to her, a little blonde girl, looked up at her, eyes wide and pleading.
“Is Master Skywalker dead?” she asked plaintively.
“How would she know?” another voice cut in from across the room before Sola
could answer. “She isn’t a Jedi.”
“Well, do you know then, Marrick?” someone else asked the belligerent one sarcastically.
“Shhhh!” several ordered at once.
On the projection, Master Kenobi closed his eyes and placed his hand over Anakin’s
temples. Then, to everyone’s dismay, the image wavered and was replaced by a view of the
interior of the senate rotunda.
“No!” cried several at once.
Then they all began to argue:
“He had to be alive. Master Kenobi wouldn’t have done that if he wasn’t.”
“He was doing that to see if he was alive!”
“He killed the Sith lord. Wouldn’t he die afterwards?”
“Master Kenobi killed a Sith lord and he’s still alive.”
“Master Skywalker killed a Sith lord before and didn’t die.”
“Did he kill him? We didn’t see him definitely die. What if the Sith lord’s still alive?”
“He’s dead.” This from the sick boy on her left, the first he’d spoken. In the glare from
the projection, Sola thought she saw tear tracks on his cheek. It began to dawn on her that these
children were not really so different after all.
“How do you know?” asked the belligerent one - Marrick - again.
“He just is,” came the answer, in a tone which said it should be patently obvious.
“Children!” she heard her husband’s voice cut through. “Quietly.” He pointed up. “We
don’t want to wake up the little ones.”

Unlike average children, they immediately complied without argument.
Sola wanted to ask, Who? Who is dead? The chancellor or Anakin? but held the
question as she saw the supreme chancellor’s podium rising in the rotunda and her heart filled
with dread. Had he won, then? Dispatched her soft-spoken brother-in-law and come again to
reaffirm his grip on power? But as the camera panned in, she saw not Palpatine but Senator
Organa of Alderaan. And beside him in the capsule stood the Nemoidian Nute Gunray, viceroy of
the Trade Federation and leader of the Separatist movement.
“Is it on?” Organa asked someone off camera. Then, apparently having gotten the
affirmative, he continued, “Citizens of the galaxy and all clone troops. I have just been elected
interim chancellor of the galactic senate. All clone troops are instructed to stand down from
Order 66. I repeat: stand down Order 66 and cease all hostilities. The war is over.” He nodded
to Gunray, who leaned into the microphone pickup.
“This is Viceroy Gunray, leader of the Trade Federation,” he announced. “The war is
over. All separatist troops stand down. Repeat: All separatist troops are instructed to stand
down.”
Gunray withdrew and the new interim chancellor continued, “This republic will not be
reorganized into an empire. Several of those who aided in this attempted coup have already been
taken into custody, and” - He looked behind the camera for verification of something before
proceeding, and nodded with satisfaction - “former Chancellor Palpatine’s remains have been
recovered. This emergency session of congress will continue in order to address the problems
which have surfaced tonight.” He paused, took a deep breath, and then formally announced, “I,
Interim Supreme Chancellor Bail Organa, hereby relinquish all special powers vested in the
office of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.”
The crowd in the rotunda applauded for the second time that night, and the projection
abruptly reverted to a regular newscaster, who looked as wide-eyed as most of the audience no
doubt felt.
Sola tuned him out immediately, and leaned down to the boy beside her.
“Was that what you meant?” she asked. “That the chancellor was dead?” She held her
breath against the answer, not wanting to give up hope for her brother-in-law. Her sister had
waited too long for her own happiness to have it taken from her now.
But he simply nodded as if it should have been obvious.
“You didn’t know that,” Marrick began once again. “You’re just saying it because the
holovid told you so.”
“I could tell, too,” said somebody else. “I felt it, like something got out of the way.”
“You’re just saying that,” Marrick insisted. “Anyway, there’s no way Kuniren could have
felt it, even if it was possible. He can’t control himself.”
“I did so feel it,” the boy next to her muttered, but so softly Sola wouldn’t have heard him
if she’d been further away.
“All right,” her husband put in. “That’s enough excitement for one evening - for anyone.
I know you may not be able to sleep, but you need to go on up to your bunks and get quiet. Go
on, now.”
They began to dutifully file out, all except Kuniren, who suddenly darted out another
door, the one that led to the terrace. Sola glanced at her husband and he nodded in
understanding. He’d get the kids in bed while she went after that one.
“What about Ana ... Master Skywalker?” she asked hesitantly, as she approached him. He
was standing with his back to her, looking out at the lake. “Do you know if he is still alive?”
He glanced up at her, then away, an expression of pain she didn’t like on his young face.
“I ... I don’t know,” he told her.
“You couldn’t feel him the way you felt the chancellor?”
He started to speak, “I ...” then sighed and looked away. It occurred to Sola what the
problem might be.
“Do you know him very well?” she asked, trying to ease into the subject gently.
“He’s our flight instructor,” came the reply.
“You can fly?”
“In a simulator,” he clarified. “He programs it and then helps us if we get into trouble.”
He was silent for a moment, then added, “The scenarios he makes up are really interesting.” He
opened his mouth to add something else, but apparently thought better of it. His gaze returned to
the lake.
“You like him a lot, don’t you?” she asked, hoping she’d kept the statement neutral
enough for a Jedi-trained youngster to accept.
Apparently she had, for he nodded.
“Sometimes,” she began, “it can be harder to not know something than it can be to know
something bad.” She hoped that came out sensibly. “Because at least then you can know and ...
get it over with.”
“I know,” he said, taking a deep breath. “But I’m scared. Marrick is right. I can’t
control myself.”
“You were able to sense the chancellor’s death,” she pointed out.
“I wasn’t scared about that.”
“Not even that he might still be alive?”
“No. He was alive before, so what would be the difference?”
She smiled at the obvious logic.
“Are you unable to sense things when you’re scared?” she asked, trying a new angle
(though she was genuinely curious), “or does it just hurt if you try?”

Kuniren wished the lady would go away, but he knew it would be abominably rude to say
so. Besides, if he were honest with himself, he knew that wouldn’t really solve the problem.
The problem. Not just Master Skywalker, but everything. When Mr. Naberrie had first
turned on the holovid and he’d seen ...
No.
Yes, you know that was why you ...
No, he told himself firmly. You can’t know things like that. You can’t control
yourself.
That’s why you threw up.
I was stressed.
Jedi don’t get stressed.
From a corner of his mind, he heard Senator Amidala’s voice say, “Master Skywalker
does.”
Master Skywalker had been stressed. Kuniren had been so glad to see him because ...
Don’t think it.
... he could not control himself. Master Skywalker could not. But he’d killed the Sith
lord just the same. Only then ...
No.
Master Skywalker had known, too. He had felt it happen. What the chancellor had said.
Kill every ...
No!
He gritted his teeth and forced himself to think out the words the chancellor - the Sith lord
- had spoken: Kill everyone inside, including the padawans and younglings. Kill everyone
inside, including the padawans and younglings. Kill everyone inside including the padawans
and younglings.
We weren’t there, but ...
Everyone else is dead. The temple was burning.
I felt them die.
I felt them.
He stared out at the placid surface of the lake, reflected in the starlight. Something warm
and itchy rolled down his cheek.
“They’re all dead,” he said, his voice cracking.
“Master Skywalker?” she asked softly.
A ragged sob escaped him before he said, “All the Jedi at the temple. I felt them die. At
dinner.”
“That’s why you were sick?”
He nodded.
She sighed, and he felt her restlessness. Finally she said, “That was why Master
Skywalker sent you here. Wasn’t it?”
Vaguely he recalled the tall Jedi telling them something about rebuilding. He tried to
focus on his face, his eyes, as they’d been on the transport, but his mind kept substituting the
tormented face on the holovid. He’d sent them here, knowing.
He had known in advance.
He would have tried to stop it. But he couldn’t.
Master Skywalker was different than the others. Kuniren didn’t really know how, just that
he was. But he would be easy to find in the Force.
If ...
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked.
Something whispered. He looked further. And further.
And further still.
Light swirled around him. He reached out to find Master Skywalker, feeling him near.
And stopped himself in astonishment.
Master Skywalker was not in the Force.
He was the Force.
But he was still himself as well.
And he was in need.

crystalcat
Writer

Posts: 476

Ambient Dreams Aug 25, 2006 16:43:49 GMT -5

Quote

Post by crystalcat on Aug 25, 2006 16:43:49 GMT -5

Chapter 14

Obiwan rubbed his face and massaged his temples, before looking once again at the bio
readouts alongside Anakin’s bed. It was not really necessary for him to see them; he was attuned
enough to his little brother’s aura to sense when they started to dip. As they no doubt would
begin to do. Again.
He’d already stopped breathing twice since the medical team had brought him here, to the
city center hospital. Both times Obiwan had been able to reach into the Force and coax him back.
He hadn’t been trained as a Healer; he was just an ordinary Jedi who knew some emergency care.
He could help bind a soul to its flesh, provided the soul were willing - in plain terms he could treat
shock - but he could do little else. Unfortunately, he was now the most knowledgeable Jedi
Healer on Coruscant. The others were all dead.
He sighed, a deep, ragged sigh, and gazed at his brother’s still face. The scars - the ones
that helped earn him the nickname ‘Hero with No Fear’ - stood out starkly against the waxen
skin. His lips were slightly parted with his faint breath; the piercing blue eyes closed. Invisible
from a distance, the pale blonde stubble of his beard reflected unevenly back in the utilitarian light.
“Distress yourself you should not, Obiwan,” the small figure seated next to him said softly.
“From a long darkness, saved the republic he has. His destiny fulfilled he has. Rejoice for him
you should.”
I do rejoice for him, Obiwan thought. But not in death. Out loud he said,
“He’s too young. He ... he hasn’t lived yet.” In his mind, he could still see the small boy with
freckles sprinkled across his nose smiling up at him, trustingly offering his heart with both hands.
But accepting hearts was not in the Jedi Code. Nor was offering them, and the boy had
tried learning to put the unwanted thing away.
“But he couldn’t ...” Obiwan murmured. And so he’d offered it to someone else.
Someone he shouldn’t have. Someone they should have protected him from.
His heart had been burnt; blackened with darkness. And he had known it.
Obiwan’s eye filled with tears.
“Always clearer hindsight is, Obiwan,” Yoda told him gently. “And maybe necessary to
defeat the Sith lord, to become close to him it was.” He heard a small tap as Yoda adjusted his
gimer stick. “Always the Chosen Ones young to the Force return.”
“Chosen Ones? How many have there been?” he asked, not caring that his voice wavered.
“When the Force out of balance is, come to us they do,” the ancient master explained.
“Sent by the Force they are, and when their destiny fulfilled is, to the Force they return. So the
prophecy tells us.”
Surprised, Obiwan said, “Then the prophecy wasn’t just about Anakin.”
“About balance in the Force the prophecy is.”
“Master,” Obiwan began, “Just before I left for Utapau, you said the prophecy might have
been misinterpreted.” He paused a moment, brow knit, then asked, “How?”
To his dismay, Yoda bent his head and looked away.
“Wrong, I was,” he nearly whispered. “Too certain of what to expect I was. Too much
faith in the code I had.”
“The code?” Obiwan had just been questioning it himself. Had he been right to do so?
“Created to counter the Sith of a millennium ago it was,” Yoda explained. “To preserve
the Chosen One’s teachings it was written. Expected the new Chosen One to be a follower I did;
the pendulum’s swing I saw not. Not even when from outside the republic the Chosen One
came.”
“Pendulum...” said Obiwan softly to himself. Then he asked, “So the imbalance in the
Force changes each time it happens? Too much Living Force and then too much Universal
Force? And then presumably back again?”
“Always not,” Yoda clarified, “But likely most of the time it does. A millennium ago too
much Living Force it was; the Sith their passions in wanton abandon indulged. The Chosen One
the Jedi Order and republic began.”
“The republic?” Obiwan asked, surprised. “I remember this from my history lessons,
Master Yoda. I thought there was more than one founder of the order. And it doesn’t seem
logical that they would also have created the republic. Wouldn’t that have been a conflict of
interest?”
“Directed by the Chosen One they were,” came the answer, “before his passing.”
Obiwan’s gaze returned to the still form of his former padawan, the white of the hospital
linens making his colorless face even paler.
“And now the Living Force has been neglected,” he murmured. “Qui-Gon was right.”
Obiwan looked over at Master Yoda, who was plucking at his cane. “That’s why he found him.”
He realized he’d never quite seen anyone so vital - so alive - as his little brother. Which was why
it hurt so much to see him now. To see him ...
A sudden thought struck him.
“But then his mission was to balance the Force, not just simply destroy the Sith,” he said.
“Has it been balanced? Did the Jedi Order need to be entirely destroyed in order to achieve that?
That would make no sense; it would be just as bad as the other way ‘round.”
“Careful you must be, Obiwan,” the ancient one cautioned him. “From your attachment
you speak. To the Force you must listen.”
“Yes, Master,” Obiwan replied.

Padme shook as she entered the hospital; shook so hard that she had to lean completely on
her father’s arm so he could hold her upright. Her strength was almost gone, burned out of her
by the holovid image she could not erase from her mind, the image of the man she loved dying,
falling, as she had lived in constant fear that he would every time he left for some battlefront
during the war. Her mind had been unable to accept it then; unable to look at the image any
longer; unwilling to see him lying there, still and ... dead.
He can’t be dead, she’d thought to herself over and over. She couldn’t imagine
that face, that smile, those eyes ... gone. Visions of how he had looked to her since their re-
acquaintance three years ago flashed before her: Her first sight of him grown and the jolt she’d
felt through her entire body, down to her toes, at the sight of him, that she’d tried so hard to hide.
Their first kiss on that long-ago day, by the lake on Naboo; their marriage a short month later in
the very same place. The feel of his body against hers on the night she imagined the baby had
been conceived. The anguish she’d seen on his face when he’d first told her he loved her and she
had tried to push him aside, and the look of wonder he’d borne when she’d finally admitted she
loved him too. The kiss they’d shared then, both in chains in that arena. Dying then, together...
why had that seemed easier? She hadn’t been afraid of death. She couldn’t imagine living
without him. Without him she was dead already.
She’d awakened, screaming, in the infirmary. Her parents had tried to console her, but it
was her baby - her son - that had finally calmed her down; the incessant kicking and pounding
inside her was more than she could ignore - and almost more than she could imagine coming from
one tiny baby. The constant internal thrashing had given her hope; hope enough to keep her
going until she knew for certain. Hope that her son somehow knew something she did not. Hope
that had multiplied a thousandfold when the youngling had burst into the infirmary, ignored her
mother’s outraged protest, and breathlessly announced that “Master Skywalker is alive!” followed
by “and he needs you.”
All her energy since then had been spent on getting herself here, to this place, to see him;
He needs me, her constant litany, chanted to the unceasing drumbeat of their child’s feet
pounding inside her, pulling her, pushing her forward. Protests, objections raised by her mother,
and to a lesser extent her father, had been brushed aside in a concise recitation of recent facts; her
sister, Sola, argued her case: The republic had been restored, the war ended on all fronts. There
was no longer any reason to stay away. For any of them.
Determination and renewed strength had carried her here, to the door of the hospital. But
as she entered, her spirit flagged, the cold grip of fear seizing her as she neared her goal. What if
she were too late? What if he were already gone and she had not been there for him? Tears from
a well she’d thought long run dry filled her eyes. The youngling was not here to reassure her; the
temple had been burnt, the disposition of the Jedi still unknown. The children had remained
behind on Naboo with her sister. Her baby alone drove her on.
He kicked against her breast, beating with her heart. She knew her spirit leaned on her
unborn son more than she physically leaned on her parents. If his father died ... if he died, she
would last long enough to give the child life. But she knew that once she no longer felt his
presence inside her, that she would die then, too. His very birth would rip out her heart.
At that moment, she understood Anakin’s dream about her death in childbirth, and
realized what it meant.
“No...” she breathed, then louder, she said, “No.” Rising from her father’s arm, she
marched forward into the depths of the hospital, slowly at first, but gaining speed. Up a crescent-
shaped fall of stairs to a higher level, then down a long hallway, pulled on by a knowledge she did
not question; she should not have yet known where inside he was. On she strode, purposeful and
determined, her thoughts centered now on the promise he had made to her; the promise she had
not then believed: I won’t let it come true, Padme. I won’t let this one come true.
She would hold him to that promise.
The door to his room stood open; the glass of the wall beside it reflecting the overhead
lights of the hallway. She gained it, then stopped, seeing him. Fear began creeping back into her
soul; he looked so pale, the skin around his eyes bluish and bruised.
The baby kicked her once again and she forced herself to put one foot in front of the
other, though her mind whirled with impossible thoughts: How? He’s not conscious - how
would he know? Am I too late? But the baby - their baby - drove her on. She reached out to
touch his hand - his only hand -

Obiwan looked up as Padme entered the room. Something about her posture stopped him
from speaking; for a moment he wasn’t sure exactly what. But as she walked forward, he felt
some previously undetected disturbance in the Force suddenly manifest in the room between her
and Anakin. She reached out to touch her husband’s hand, and he saw - or perhaps he only
imagined he saw - a soft blue glow begin between their hands and spread, fading, to the whole of
their bodies before it dissipated away.
On the bed, Anakin gasped, inhaling deeply, then sighed, drifting at last into a gentle sleep.

“You’re certain?” Obiwan pressed, as they stood just outside of Anakin’s hospital room.
He knew Yoda would probably lecture him on his ‘attachment’ later, but was willing to endure
the rebuke for the sake of reassurance - even though he could - and had - already reassured
himself through the Force that Anakin would now be all right.
“His condition has stabilized,” the med droid stated. “We don’t know why. But he is now
recovering at a steady pace and is out of danger.”
“And Padme?” he asked, more for her parents’ benefit. “His wife.”
“She is perfectly healthy.”
He nodded and looked at Padme’s mother, who tightened her mouth and nodded
reluctantly.
“There, you see?” her father said. “It’s not as if we were going far. Her apartment is only
a few blocks from here.” A sudden thought seem to strike him and he turned back to Obiwan.
“Oh, I should have thought to ask, I suppose. I know the temple burned; I saw it on the holovid.
There’s no rush; we can keep the children for as long as it takes, but I thought I’d ask ... Is
something wrong?”
Obiwan realized he must have been standing with his mouth open. Children? Did
he dare hope that meant what he thought?
“I’m, sorry,” he said, not quite willing to give the hope free reign, “Children?”
“Yes, the Jedi children Padme brought with her to Naboo,” her father explained. “I know
Anakin told her they had to be hidden from the chancellor, but I would have thought you would
have known.” His brow furrowed in confusion.
“Away we were fighting the war,” Yoda suddenly put in. “But known about it we should.
The dark side our judgement clouded as well. Relieved we are to hear they are safe.”
Obiwan glanced back through the glass wall of Anakin’s room, to where he lay, still
sleeping on the bed. The cot they’d brought for Padme was braced beside it, and she lay curled
beside him in the crook of his partial right arm, her own arm wrapped protectively around his
chest.
You did it, Obiwan thought, his eyes burning. You saved them. You saved
them. He felt a gentle tap on his leg and looked down at his master.
“To Naboo you must go, Obiwan,” Yoda told him. “To Coruscant they must return, the
Jedi Order they will help restore.”
Obiwan sighed.
“Yes, well ...” he said, thinking, I should go. He’s right. He looked in at Anakin
again, and realized he simply did not want to leave his brother, at least not until he had at least
seen him awake. But, he thought, Anakin would be fine, whether he was here beside him or not.
I’ve got to let go of the attachment. He looked away. Don’t I?
The Naberries excused themselves and walked away together, arm in arm, down the
hallway. Obiwan heard Yoda take a deep breath. He looked down at the diminutive master and
saw him brush his thin hair back from his face.
“To the temple I will return,” he announced. “Meditate on what has happened, I will.”

crystalcat
Writer

Posts: 476

Ambient Dreams Aug 25, 2006 16:54:07 GMT -5

Quote

Post by crystalcat on Aug 25, 2006 16:54:07 GMT -5

Chapter 15

Obiwan set the ship into hyperdrive, sighed, and leaned back, stretching his tired muscles.
He desperately needed to rest, but didn’t feel comfortable sleeping when he was the only one on
board; if some emergency arose that the computer couldn’t handle, he might not be able to
respond quickly enough.
He rubbed his face and yawned, glancing around into the empty passenger hold behind
him. He was, extraordinarily, once again piloting the Separatist leaders’ transport, only this time,
thankfully, without any of them present. Master Yoda had managed to appropriate it for use as a
shuttle to retrieve the younglings from Naboo - the Separatists, anxious to show the Senate how
cooperative they were (without having to agree that they’d done anything wrong) had graciously
given the Jedi the shuttle “for as long as it was needed.” Obiwan wondered drily if their previous
experience with his piloting them had contributed any to their wanting to rid themselves of it.
He yawned again. Maybe he could meditate in lieu of sleeping, he decided, rubbing the
back of his neck. Because, he thought, if he didn’t do something, he was going to fall asleep
anyway. He forced himself to consciously check each instrument to make sure it was operating
properly and no problems were imminent, though he yawned wider and wider. But, finally
satisfied, he took a deep, calming breath and centered himself in the Force.
After a slight struggle to keep from simply drifting off to sleep, he found the island of
peace he sought within, and bathed himself in the light. He did not “empty his mind” but instead
simply gave the weariness he felt away. The Force accepted it; for awhile he sat surrounded by its
restoring power. After what may or may not have been a long time (In his meditation, he was not
conscious of time), his mind felt refreshed enough to explore. For the moment, he allowed it to
travel where it would.
Dry dust. Heat. Cellars and ozone. The low frequency vibration of a lightsaber. Flashes
of color. Blue. An indicator light. High levels of ... glass breaking. A child with freckles across
his nose, smiling. A blue glow between hands touching. Falling. A chasm. Far away industrial
sounds. Weight in his arms; Anakin. Weight in his arms; Qui-Gon. A half-remembered dream of
sadness, long ago. Comfort given: Dreams pass. Happiness. Security. Warmth. Red.
Glass breaking. Falling. Whispering, a promise. Qui-Gon.
“Are you able to hear me, Obiwan?” the familiar voice asked him.
He looked, happy surprise overcoming him.
“Qui-Gon?” he asked, the wonder coloring his voice. His old master smiled at him, the
little half-smile he’d known so well. “How is this possible?”
“For you to see me?” asked Qui-Gon, “Probably because you are meditating. It’s quite
possible you may only be able to detect me during meditation at all. But I am glad that this, at
least, is now possible.”
“Because the Sith have been destroyed?”
Qui-Gon nodded. “Yes, the darkness no longer blocks me from you - or Master Yoda.
Though he was able to hear me at times before. Although not, unfortunately, well enough for me
to do much good for him.”
Obiwan smiled.
“But why now? Why are you ...” he stopped, realization coming to him. “Because of
Anakin, isn’t it?”
“Not entirely,” his old master said with a smile. “I am really here; this isn’t just a figment
of memory and imagination as you appear to believe. Search yourself; you will know.”
Obediently, Obiwan complied; meditation within meditation, centering within the centered.
True seeing. The figment, Qui-Gon’s body, disappeared but his presence did not. Obiwan felt the
slight amusement and the ... waiting, the same waiting he’d always felt from his master when he’d
taught him as his apprentice. And the same amusement, as well. Only now he understood that it
had only been Qui-Gon’s amusement in waiting for Obiwan to discover what his master already
knew he’d learned.
Now you see, Qui-Gon’s thought came into his head; a whisper, not really a voice,
but Qui-Gon’s all the same.
“But why?” Obiwan asked. “How?”
A fortunate combination of my study of the Living Force and my personal
determination to finish what I’d started, came the reply. I managed to ask you to see that
Anakin was trained, but I ran out of time before I could tell you the rest of what you needed to
know.
“About what?”
About Anakin, Qui-Gon told him. I never said anything because I thought I
would be his master and would be able to do what needed to be done. You didn’t know because
you’d never left the ship when we were on Tatooine.
“What did I need to know?”
That Anakin had been a slave, came the answer. As was his mother. He was the
wrong age to be taken from her, but I wasn’t able to free her when we were there. I intended to
go back with the proper resources to do that.
Obiwan was nearly shocked out of his meditative state; he gathered himself and tried to
re-focus, but Anakin’s teenage dreams of his mother in pain partly blocked him.
It wasn’t your fault, he heard Qui-Gon tell him through the noise of his own guilt.
You understandably went by your own experience, trying to help him the way I helped you:
Dreams pass. They do, if they are merely dreams. And there was no way at that time for either
of you to suspect otherwise. When he did finally suspect, that is when he left to find her. Neither
of you were at fault; if anyone was to blame it was me.
“You?”
I could have waited and come back for Anakin when I had the resources to free them
both, said Qui-Gon. Instead, I rushed off with Anakin immediately, thinking I could return
at my leisure. I was wrong.
Obiwan considered this. Finally, he said, “I don’t think so, Master.”
Why not?
“Padme was with us when we found him,” he explained, feeling his way along with his
explanation, “I think he might have had to come with us when she was there.”
He could feel Qui-Gon considering this.
It’s possible, he admitted. There are many things about the Force I do not
understand, even now. She was necessary to the fulfillment of his destiny, no matter which path
he chose.
“Path? He kept mentioning something about turning to the dark side, as if he’d done it,
but ...”
He was well on that path. Darth Sidious had cultivated him for so long, it was a
tribute both to his resistance and to your teaching that he hadn’t turned sooner. It was fortunate
- or possibly the will of the Force - that I finally discovered a way to reach him.
“He’s spoken to you?”
Oh, no, Qui-Gon was quick to assure him, a wry amusement coloring his thought.
I simply took advantage of the extreme focus he put on dreams. I showed him what his future
would be like if he kept on the path he’d started down.
“But you said ... How could he have fulfilled his destiny if he’d turned to the dark side?
Or did you mean that Padme would do it?”
Padme would have died. That was a dream he had without any help from me, only he
had no idea what it meant. He would actually have turned to the dark side in an attempt to
prevent that from happening. But what we are taught as Jedi - that the dark side forever claims
those who turn to it, is wrong. Anakin would have eventually thrown it off, although not until
many years had passed and the galaxy had been put through much torment. What would enable
him to do it would be his son. He would have sacrificed himself to save his son from
Palpatine.
Obiwan digested that, remembering the despair his brother had radiated, not only on
Mustafar, but in the Force, in the three times he’d had to reach him to keep him from dying, and
the struggle he’d had overcoming it each time.
He’ll recover now, Qui-Gon reassured him. But it will take him some time to
completely heal. He will need you to help him through that.
Of course, thought Obiwan.
The alert sounded; the ship was about to drop out of hyperspace. Obiwan sensed Qui-
Gon’s presence fading. Wait ...
I’ll be with you, Obiwan, his master said softly. Always.

Three days later, Obiwan was back on Coruscant. Having delivered the younglings safely
into Master Yoda’s care, he sped over to the hospital to see Anakin, hoping to see him greatly
recovered. But when he got to the hospital door, he was taken aback to see it congested with
floating news cameras. They swivelled to look at him as he neared. The closest intercepted him.
“Master Kenobi,” he heard the voice of its remote operator say, “Can you let us know
exactly what your role was in the chancellor’s office on the night of his death? What part did you
play in Skywalker’s survival?”
Another joined the first one, demanding, “Was it true that Skywalker had resigned the Jedi
Order prior to his appearance in the congressional building that night?”
Three more swarmed in, and they all began questioning him at once about Anakin and the
circumstances surrounding the Sith lord’s death and the restoration of the republic. He blinked at
them in disbelief and tried to pass, but they didn’t want to yield; he tried saying, “Excuse me,” but
that didn’t work very well either. Finally he had to resort to pushing them bodily out of his way,
apologizing as he did so. When he got to the door, he turned around and said, “I’m sorry, but I
have nothing to say at this time,” and escaped to the safety of the indoors. News cameras were
not allowed inside the hospital. Thank goodness, he thought.
As he navigated his way to Anakin’s room, he wondered why the newspeople were
interested enough to hover outside the hospital. As he reached the top of the stairs, he realized
that Anakin had used a very dramatic device to engineer the chancellor’s downfall, and he’d done
it virtually in front of the entire population of the republic. Even if he hadn’t been known before
(and he had been; he was so photogenic that Obiwan had teased him about being their “poster
boy” during their exploits in the Clone War), he would have become a household name instantly
following that one act. It had been more dramatically staged (without even trying) than most
programs on the holovid, and had the added impact of being true and live. Anakin’s nearly dying
would only have added to the glamour. He knew he’d enjoyed being the poster boy, in spite of
his protests to the contrary, but that was a slight exposure compared to what lay outside the
hospital. He wondered how his brother would react to that; it would interfere with free
movement, which wasn’t something he could visualize Anakin enduring. Maybe they’d be lucky
and it wouldn’t last too long. He hoped.
He stopped just before he reached the door to Anakin’s room, the scenes he’d just
imagined evaporating as a tiny pinprick of fear stitched his heart. He’d been able to successfully
shut out the emptiness of the Jedi temple - the Jedi who’d been killed there weren’t people he’d
ever had a very close relationship with anyway. He’d been horrified by how they’d died, but had
no undue attachment to any of them. Anakin, however, was a different story. If he’d once
thought he’d had to come to terms with an attachment he’d had to Qui-Gon, that was nothing
compared to what he felt now. And while Qui-Gon’s assurance that his little brother would
recover had greatly eased Obiwan’s mind, he was still disturbed by the pronouncement that it
would take him time to heal. The despair he’d felt within Anakin had been so overpowering as to
threaten his brother’s will to live. Qui-Gon had said he must help him, and he would - he would
do anything to help. But he had no idea how to even begin. The memory nagged at him of a
bluish light shining from between two hands along with an indescribable manifestation in the
Force, and he thought he understood that the Living Force was trying to guide him with it
somehow, but he couldn’t see how it applied to him. He was genuinely afraid - he had to admit it
- that Anakin’s healing would take a very long time, and that he might never know his brother as
the same person he’d loved and shared his life with before.
Well, the fear has to go, even if I can’t manage to lose the attachment, he thought.
He took a deep breath, let it out, and entered the doorway to his brother’s hospital room. And
felt his heart leap as he stopped short with astonishment, his mouth open.
Anakin stood next to the bed, fully clothed, embracing his wife. His head was slightly
bowed and his eyes were closed - as were Padme’s. Both of them looked so at peace they might
almost have been sleeping if they hadn’t been upright. The Force permeated the room like a thick
cloud; it had the same feel to it that it had the day of the miracle, though it was more dissipated
now; of far less intensity. He perceived it as some remarkable healing property of their love for
each other; some special reaction of the Force to the Chosen One, and to the woman that he
realized now had been tied to him all along. Through it, Obiwan felt the life he recognized as
Anakin, and knew his brother must be aware of his presence as well, though he appeared to give
no outward sign. Again, he wondered what he could possibly provide that the incredible strength
of healing he felt here did not. He had done well holding Anakin together until Padme had arrived
(hadn’t he?), but he felt completely extraneous now. His brother had obviously recovered much
more quickly than he had even dared to hope. He should feel so relieved, he thought, and the
muscles he’d been holding too tensely did loosen, but to his surprise they did not relax
completely. Even so, he would have turned to go, allowing Anakin and Padme their privacy, if
Master Yoda hadn’t wished him to convey a message. So for a moment he stood there, but as he
waited, Qui-Gon’s directive seemed to nag at him harder and harder, though he understood it less
and less - until at last, Anakin opened his eyes and looked at him.
Qui-Gon had been right. His brother had recovered, but he was not healed. He had
recovered from the encounter with the Sith lord, but it would take much more to heal him from
the state he’d been in before that battle. The despair seemed less - at least Anakin appeared
aware of his surroundings now - but it was not by any means gone. Obiwan could still see it in his
eyes, along with a numbing weariness he liked even less, because he suspected it would be much
more difficult to fight.
He was unprepared, however, for his little brother’s reaction to seeing him: Slowly
releasing his wife, he flew upon Obiwan in a rush, throwing his arms around him, and hugging him
tightly. Surprised and slightly uncomfortable, Obiwan hesitantly returned the embrace, unsettled
by the shaking he felt throughout the larger man’s body.
“Anakin?” he said, “Are you sure you ought to be out of bed?”
He felt his brother sigh deeply and let go of the embrace, though he kept one hand - his
good one - on Obiwan’s upper arm.
“I’m fine,” he said unconvincingly. Then he added, “I ... I can’t stay in the hospital
anymore. I want to go home.”
“Ah, I see,” Obiwan replied. This he understood.
Padme took Anakin by the arm and he released his grip on the older man.
“He’s checked out already,” she said. “We were just getting ready to go. Will you come
with us?”
Remembering the gaggle of cameras just outside, Obiwan thought it might be a good idea
if he tagged along to help shoo them off. Yoda’s message would wait, he thought. It was
obvious his brother needed more rest that he’d at first thought.
But as if reading his mind, Anakin suddenly asked, “Did you come here to see me about
something in particular?”
It would have been easy to simply say that he’d come to see how his former apprentice
was doing - it was certainly true - but it avoided the issue. So he said, “It will wait, Anakin. It’s
not that important.”
Anakin had been starting to walk out the door with his wife. He stopped and faced
Obiwan squarely.
“I would like to know,” he said.
“Anakin,” warned Padme, but her husband only held up his black-gloved hand for a
moment and continued to stare at his older brother, though his eyes belied the firmness in his
voice.
Obiwan sighed. “Master Yoda simply asked me to tell you that he’d like to speak with
you when you felt well enough,” he related. “That’s all there is to it.”
Anakin nodded. “I’ll come now,” he said. Eyes wide, Padme opened her mouth to
protest, but her husband cut her off with, “I’ll be fine with Obiwan, Padme. This way you can
address the senate. You know it needs to be done.”
It occurred to Obiwan that a disagreement on this topic had been going on between them
before he’d arrived. Common sense told him to stay out of it, but the layer of Living Force
enveloping the room overrode his judgement. He heard himself saying, “I’ll take good care of
him, Padme. You know if he tries to overdo it, I’ll bring him back here straight away.” He
looked pointedly at Anakin as he said this, but his brother didn’t see the glared warning; he was
busy staring at his wife.
Her head fell as she relented, but she looked quickly back up and said, “It shouldn’t take
me long. Promise me you’ll come home as soon as you’ve heard what he has to say.”

Obiwan had forgotten to warn them about the cameras.
“What is that?” Anakin asked, dismay in his voice, as he pointed to the hoard of them just
outside the darkened glass of the door.
“Oh, I should have remembered to say something,” Obiwan said. “It seems you’ve
become an overnight celebrity. All the news stations in the galaxy are interested in your life now;
you know, ‘Enquiring minds want to know.’”
“I’ll take care of it,” Padme told them.
“How?” her husband asked, growing more horrified by the minute.
“When we open the door, just walk out to the shuttle - see, it’s right over there,” she said.
“I’ll stop and talk to them until you’ve made it. Keep the shuttle door closed once you’re there,
but hold it for me and I’ll join you. It’ll work; don’t worry.”
Unbelievably, it did. Senator Amidala, accustomed to handling the press virtually all her
life, completely ignored their leading questions - about Anakin’s heroics in killing the chancellor
and the speculation about a possible falling out he’d had with the Jedi Order - and segued into the
topic she intended to take up that afternoon in the senate. Obiwan and Anakin escaped into the
shuttle with only minor pursuit, which they ignored as she’d advised.
“I’m on my way to the rotunda right now to address one of the major problems brought
about by Chancellor Palpatine’s treachery,” Padme said in reply to a question about the night of
the chancellor’s death. “All of us were his victims, including the Separatists. We cannot begin to
heal the scars he left on the republic unless we first recognize this fact. I am going to pledge my
support for a waver of amnesty for those involved in the succession movement who wish to
repatriate.”
“Would this include amnesty for the Trade Federation?” one of them asked her as she
stared to walk towards the waiting shuttle.
“Yes, of course.”
“You haven’t forgotten that they once tried to assassinate you?”
“That event only shows how deeply Palpatine was able to divide us. That division has to
stop. We need to be unified in order to repair the republic, and we won’t be able to effectively
unite unless we put an end to finger-pointing. The blame lies at Palpatine’s feet, and he is dead.
We need to move forward. That is what I will support, and that is what I will work for.”
She joined her husband and Obiwan in the shuttle, and the door closed behind her, leaving
the news cameras hovering on the hospital landing platform.

Last Edit: Aug 25, 2006 16:55:38 GMT -5 by crystalcat