A Small Thing, continued
Aug. 29th, 2008 07:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
matrilThere's a bit of re-hashing here - much of the Episode I-era stuff is going to have only subtle alterations from the original scenario - but hopefully there are hints of changes to come...
“I have a bad feeling about this.”
Qui-Gon looked at his Padawan with his usual serene face. “I don't sense anything.”
“It's not about the mission, master.” Obi-Wan searched for right words to articulate this...wrongness he felt. “It's something – elsewhere. Elusive.”
His master was unmoved. “Don't center on your anxieties, Obi-Wan. Keep your concentration here and now, where it belongs.”
Obi-Wan kept back a sigh. “Yes Master.” But surely Qui-Gon sensed it as much as he did; probably more, with so many years of learning to attune his senses. Yet he blithely ignored it; considered the future unimportant until it became the present. Such tendencies had made him a great Jedi, but they had also kept him off the Council and deprived him of the honor that he deserved. All this time training with Qui-Gon, and there were times Obi-Wan felt he still hardly understood him at all.
As they waited and discussed the mundane matters of negotiation, the foreboding feeling persisted, refusing all of Obi-Wan's attempts to put it aside. It crawled up from his toes, crept along his spine, bored into his brain –
He and his master leaped to their feet, weapons brandished. The explosion had been close, probably in the hanger where they had landed. Before he could do more than absorb the fact that their ship had been destroyed, taking the lives of their small crew, something ominous began seeping from the vents.
If he hadn't been forced to take a great breath and hold it, he would have been tempted to tell his master I told you so. Clearly, the Federation had had sinister intentions from the start. But there wasn't much use in being smug. There were other more important matters to take care of.
Like fending off the battle droids sent to dispatch them after the toxic gas failed to do so, and breaking into the command room to proceed with aggressive negotiations. Unfortunately, the later proved to be impossible, thanks to heavily shielded destroyer droids, so they made new plans.
In the enormous hanger that held the Federation's battleships, Obi-Wan couldn't resist one wry comment about the remarkably short negotiations. Qui-Gon simply gave a long-suffering smile.
Then they split up and prepared for a surreptitious flight to the planet's surface.
---
Anakin peered around a doorway, then drew back quickly as another group of people ran by with clattering footsteps and urgent frowns. He looked back at Mistress Surali, whose
face was white. “What's going on?” he asked her, wishing his voice wouldn't shake quite so much.
“I don't know,” she said. “Something bad.” Her hands were very unsteady as she straightened her skirt. “I'm afraid this was the wrong time to be in the palace, Anakin.”
Something bad. Anakin was afraid, and he didn't like how it felt. His heart seemed like it was in his throat; he couldn't seem to move as easily as usual. Why had today been the day the palace officials finally gave them clearance to come to the hanger and install the backup shield generators?
“Is it something to do with the Trade Federation?” he said, thinking maybe he could keep away the fear by talking calmly about things.
Mistress Surali bit her lip. Was she going to cry? He had never seen a grownup cry before, except when he and Mom and been freed, and Mom's tears had been happy then. “Yes, probably. Anakin, I know I'm your teacher, and you trust me. But right now, I don't know any more than you do. If there's danger here – and I'm afraid there will be – I can't do much to protect you. I'm an engineer, not a fighter.”
The answer came to him very simply. “Then I guess we should hide,” he said. “It's the only way to be safe, if danger comes.”
“Hide?” Mistress Surali seemed older than she ever had before, with deep lines all across her face. But her voice was almost like a little girl's. “Where?”
He took her hand. “Let's start looking.”
--
Negotiations, Padmé thought in disgust. Sio Bibble had been right. You couldn't negotiate with Neimoidians. She had tried to communicate peaceably; she had tried to speak reasonably; and then, bolstered by the Chancellor's promises, she had forcibly demanded that they end the blockade. The Federation had responded by filling the streets of Theed with battle droids.
She was angry because anger was easier to deal with than horror. The sight of her beloved city, polluted with the machines of war, had awakened a sick dread that she could only stave off with an active rage. She tore through her clothing compartments, seeking the most imposing outfit she could pull together, something that would speak her defiance, her refusal to be manipulated by the Federation. Fearful thoughts lunged, meanwhile, at her angry barriers. Fear for her people, her family, for the Skywalkers, whose home might at this very moment be surrounded by battle droids -
“Your Highness?”
Padmé turned. It was Sabé, standing at the door with a drawn and anxious face.
“Have they reached the palace doors?” Padmé asked grimly, her grip tightening on the feathered headdress in her hands.
“Not yet.” Sabé seemed to be steeling herself. “Your Highness, you can't go out there.”
“What do you suggest? Hiding under my bed?”
Sabé didn't smile, not that Padmé was really attempting to be humorous. “I meant that you can't go out there as queen.”
Padmé felt the dress drop from her hands. “Do you mean –”
“It was situations like this that I was trained for,” Sabé said somberly. “We all were. That's why it was so important that we have a resemblance to you.”
“But my people need me,” Padmé said fiercely. “I can't hide away from my place as queen. It would be more cowardly than hiding under the bed.”
“Captain Panaka feels – and so do I – that you would serve Naboo much better if you stayed in one piece.” Sabé stooped and retrieved the dress from the ground, her eyes filled with a frightful determination. “Your Highness, for your own safety, and for the good of the people...”
Padmé saw, in those determined eyes, the real possibility that Sabé would lose her life protecting her. And she was ready to do it. Her own eyes clouded. “All right,” she whispered. “But I hate it.”
So it was that when she left her chambers and was soon after confronted by battle droids, she did not present herself as a bold picture of royal defiance. That was Sabé. Instead, she was a mild, cowed handmaiden, who could only watch in silence as her queen was marched down the stairs like a common prisoner.
--
After nearly getting their heads blasted off by battle droids, dealing with a hapless, inarticulate life form who ludicrously called himself Jar Jar, wheedling their way out of an alien court of law and fleeing mountain-sized fish through the core of a planet, Obi-Wan could only stare at Qui-Gon when he said mildly, “I sense a disturbance in the Force.”
Oh, really? he wanted to say. Something just slightly amiss, is there? But he was too grumpy to say anything eloquent. Scowling, he scanned the plaza that stretched out beneath them, looking for the queen and her captured party.
“Focus your mind,” Qui-Gon said chidingly. Chidingly!
Obi-Wan frowned, searched his feelings grudgingly, and found that he understood what his master was speaking of. It had nothing to do with Neimoidians or Gungans; it did not revolve around the blockade or anything associated with the Federation's plots. Something was...rippling the Force. Causing change, new events. “I feel it also, Master,” he said thoughtfully.
Crouched behind them on the elevated walkway, the Gungan let out a noise, perhaps of exasperation. “Wesa talking of feelings? Wesa gonna die!”
He wouldn't have admitted it, but at the moment Obi-Wan was close to agreeing with Jar Jar. Now was not the time to be pondering the mysteries of the Force, not when they had to rescue the queen and get her to safety before the Federation could go through with their plans, whatever they were. Qui-Gon gave a tight smile.
“You aren't going to die, Jar Jar, not if I have anything to do with it. Now keep down and keep quiet.”
Jar Jar just let out a strangled moan and covered his mouth. Rolling his eyes, Obi-Wan pulled out his lightsaber.
The sound of multiple footsteps below; some human, some metallic. Qui-Gon nodded at his Padawan, and they both leaped to the ground. The battle droids were easily taken care of, and they had hurried the queen and her entourage out of sight before Jar Jar had the chance to even regain his balance. Why they continued to bring him along when he only caused trouble, Obi-Wan could not guess. If Qui-Gon had a good reason for it, he hadn't taken the trouble to explain it to him.
He was startled to see how young the queen was. No wonder the Federation had assumed they could take advantage of her. But most of her advisors were older. One of them, a white-bearded man with cynicism all over his face, observed sarcastically that their negotiations must have failed. Despite having had some very similar thoughts himself, Obi-Wan was ruffled and took an immediate dislike to him. Qui-Gon, ever calm, ignored the jibe and inquired how they could get in touch with the Chancellor.
The peculiar sense of rippling in the Force increased as they entered the main hanger. Qui-Gon was keenly aware of it, his eyes traveling all over the hanger walls, going from ship to ship. But he said nothing of it, focusing instead on the immediacy of the mission. After some brief persuasion – bolstered, oddly, not by her elder advisors but by one of her young attendants – the queen decided to go with them to Coruscant. After turning a few more battle droids into scrap metal, they were on their way, leaving the Force disturbance, whatever it was, behind them.
“I have a bad feeling about this.”
Qui-Gon looked at his Padawan with his usual serene face. “I don't sense anything.”
“It's not about the mission, master.” Obi-Wan searched for right words to articulate this...wrongness he felt. “It's something – elsewhere. Elusive.”
His master was unmoved. “Don't center on your anxieties, Obi-Wan. Keep your concentration here and now, where it belongs.”
Obi-Wan kept back a sigh. “Yes Master.” But surely Qui-Gon sensed it as much as he did; probably more, with so many years of learning to attune his senses. Yet he blithely ignored it; considered the future unimportant until it became the present. Such tendencies had made him a great Jedi, but they had also kept him off the Council and deprived him of the honor that he deserved. All this time training with Qui-Gon, and there were times Obi-Wan felt he still hardly understood him at all.
As they waited and discussed the mundane matters of negotiation, the foreboding feeling persisted, refusing all of Obi-Wan's attempts to put it aside. It crawled up from his toes, crept along his spine, bored into his brain –
He and his master leaped to their feet, weapons brandished. The explosion had been close, probably in the hanger where they had landed. Before he could do more than absorb the fact that their ship had been destroyed, taking the lives of their small crew, something ominous began seeping from the vents.
If he hadn't been forced to take a great breath and hold it, he would have been tempted to tell his master I told you so. Clearly, the Federation had had sinister intentions from the start. But there wasn't much use in being smug. There were other more important matters to take care of.
Like fending off the battle droids sent to dispatch them after the toxic gas failed to do so, and breaking into the command room to proceed with aggressive negotiations. Unfortunately, the later proved to be impossible, thanks to heavily shielded destroyer droids, so they made new plans.
In the enormous hanger that held the Federation's battleships, Obi-Wan couldn't resist one wry comment about the remarkably short negotiations. Qui-Gon simply gave a long-suffering smile.
Then they split up and prepared for a surreptitious flight to the planet's surface.
---
Anakin peered around a doorway, then drew back quickly as another group of people ran by with clattering footsteps and urgent frowns. He looked back at Mistress Surali, whose
face was white. “What's going on?” he asked her, wishing his voice wouldn't shake quite so much.
“I don't know,” she said. “Something bad.” Her hands were very unsteady as she straightened her skirt. “I'm afraid this was the wrong time to be in the palace, Anakin.”
Something bad. Anakin was afraid, and he didn't like how it felt. His heart seemed like it was in his throat; he couldn't seem to move as easily as usual. Why had today been the day the palace officials finally gave them clearance to come to the hanger and install the backup shield generators?
“Is it something to do with the Trade Federation?” he said, thinking maybe he could keep away the fear by talking calmly about things.
Mistress Surali bit her lip. Was she going to cry? He had never seen a grownup cry before, except when he and Mom and been freed, and Mom's tears had been happy then. “Yes, probably. Anakin, I know I'm your teacher, and you trust me. But right now, I don't know any more than you do. If there's danger here – and I'm afraid there will be – I can't do much to protect you. I'm an engineer, not a fighter.”
The answer came to him very simply. “Then I guess we should hide,” he said. “It's the only way to be safe, if danger comes.”
“Hide?” Mistress Surali seemed older than she ever had before, with deep lines all across her face. But her voice was almost like a little girl's. “Where?”
He took her hand. “Let's start looking.”
--
Negotiations, Padmé thought in disgust. Sio Bibble had been right. You couldn't negotiate with Neimoidians. She had tried to communicate peaceably; she had tried to speak reasonably; and then, bolstered by the Chancellor's promises, she had forcibly demanded that they end the blockade. The Federation had responded by filling the streets of Theed with battle droids.
She was angry because anger was easier to deal with than horror. The sight of her beloved city, polluted with the machines of war, had awakened a sick dread that she could only stave off with an active rage. She tore through her clothing compartments, seeking the most imposing outfit she could pull together, something that would speak her defiance, her refusal to be manipulated by the Federation. Fearful thoughts lunged, meanwhile, at her angry barriers. Fear for her people, her family, for the Skywalkers, whose home might at this very moment be surrounded by battle droids -
“Your Highness?”
Padmé turned. It was Sabé, standing at the door with a drawn and anxious face.
“Have they reached the palace doors?” Padmé asked grimly, her grip tightening on the feathered headdress in her hands.
“Not yet.” Sabé seemed to be steeling herself. “Your Highness, you can't go out there.”
“What do you suggest? Hiding under my bed?”
Sabé didn't smile, not that Padmé was really attempting to be humorous. “I meant that you can't go out there as queen.”
Padmé felt the dress drop from her hands. “Do you mean –”
“It was situations like this that I was trained for,” Sabé said somberly. “We all were. That's why it was so important that we have a resemblance to you.”
“But my people need me,” Padmé said fiercely. “I can't hide away from my place as queen. It would be more cowardly than hiding under the bed.”
“Captain Panaka feels – and so do I – that you would serve Naboo much better if you stayed in one piece.” Sabé stooped and retrieved the dress from the ground, her eyes filled with a frightful determination. “Your Highness, for your own safety, and for the good of the people...”
Padmé saw, in those determined eyes, the real possibility that Sabé would lose her life protecting her. And she was ready to do it. Her own eyes clouded. “All right,” she whispered. “But I hate it.”
So it was that when she left her chambers and was soon after confronted by battle droids, she did not present herself as a bold picture of royal defiance. That was Sabé. Instead, she was a mild, cowed handmaiden, who could only watch in silence as her queen was marched down the stairs like a common prisoner.
--
After nearly getting their heads blasted off by battle droids, dealing with a hapless, inarticulate life form who ludicrously called himself Jar Jar, wheedling their way out of an alien court of law and fleeing mountain-sized fish through the core of a planet, Obi-Wan could only stare at Qui-Gon when he said mildly, “I sense a disturbance in the Force.”
Oh, really? he wanted to say. Something just slightly amiss, is there? But he was too grumpy to say anything eloquent. Scowling, he scanned the plaza that stretched out beneath them, looking for the queen and her captured party.
“Focus your mind,” Qui-Gon said chidingly. Chidingly!
Obi-Wan frowned, searched his feelings grudgingly, and found that he understood what his master was speaking of. It had nothing to do with Neimoidians or Gungans; it did not revolve around the blockade or anything associated with the Federation's plots. Something was...rippling the Force. Causing change, new events. “I feel it also, Master,” he said thoughtfully.
Crouched behind them on the elevated walkway, the Gungan let out a noise, perhaps of exasperation. “Wesa talking of feelings? Wesa gonna die!”
He wouldn't have admitted it, but at the moment Obi-Wan was close to agreeing with Jar Jar. Now was not the time to be pondering the mysteries of the Force, not when they had to rescue the queen and get her to safety before the Federation could go through with their plans, whatever they were. Qui-Gon gave a tight smile.
“You aren't going to die, Jar Jar, not if I have anything to do with it. Now keep down and keep quiet.”
Jar Jar just let out a strangled moan and covered his mouth. Rolling his eyes, Obi-Wan pulled out his lightsaber.
The sound of multiple footsteps below; some human, some metallic. Qui-Gon nodded at his Padawan, and they both leaped to the ground. The battle droids were easily taken care of, and they had hurried the queen and her entourage out of sight before Jar Jar had the chance to even regain his balance. Why they continued to bring him along when he only caused trouble, Obi-Wan could not guess. If Qui-Gon had a good reason for it, he hadn't taken the trouble to explain it to him.
He was startled to see how young the queen was. No wonder the Federation had assumed they could take advantage of her. But most of her advisors were older. One of them, a white-bearded man with cynicism all over his face, observed sarcastically that their negotiations must have failed. Despite having had some very similar thoughts himself, Obi-Wan was ruffled and took an immediate dislike to him. Qui-Gon, ever calm, ignored the jibe and inquired how they could get in touch with the Chancellor.
The peculiar sense of rippling in the Force increased as they entered the main hanger. Qui-Gon was keenly aware of it, his eyes traveling all over the hanger walls, going from ship to ship. But he said nothing of it, focusing instead on the immediacy of the mission. After some brief persuasion – bolstered, oddly, not by her elder advisors but by one of her young attendants – the queen decided to go with them to Coruscant. After turning a few more battle droids into scrap metal, they were on their way, leaving the Force disturbance, whatever it was, behind them.
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no subject
Date: 2008-08-30 12:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-31 01:39 am (UTC)See, this is the problem with being out of it for a while and then catching up on my reading - when I hit the point where I have to wait for more, I get impatient. *grin*
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Date: 2008-08-31 02:38 pm (UTC)