A Small Thing

[matril]

It would be a long flight to Coruscant. Most of the ship's passengers were using the time to get some much needed rest. The only formal sleeping quarters on the ship were reserved for the queen, but that wouldn't be a problem. Part of a Jedi's training was learning to do without the usual comforts. Obi-Wan could probably sleep standing up if he needed to.

Instead, he found a promising seat in the empty communications room, and settled down in it, wrapping himself in his cloak. The Naboo seemed to like a rather cool temperature for their environmental controls. Perhaps, he thought with a smirk, it was to accommodate the extravagant, many-layered fashions of the royal wardrobe.

He was just beginning to drift off when his Master's quiet voice roused him. “You can rest later, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, straightened, and tried not to scowl.

“What do you sense?” Qui-Gon asked, sitting beside him.

A great deal of weariness, surrounding a certain Jedi apprentice. Obi-Wan stifled the thought and focused on the Force. After some concentration, he felt a faint niggling. “A small thing,” he said. “Perhaps a slight deviation in our course? Something to complicate our mission?”

Qui-Gon did not respond immediately. His gaze had gone to the window, intent on the swirls and streaks of hyperspace. “I sense an absence,” he said at last.

“An absence?” Obi-Wan repeated, curious. “Something? Or someone?”

“I don't know.”

On the surface Qui-Gon appeared as serene as ever, but Obi-Wan recognized the subtleties in his face. He was troubled, far more than Obi-Wan would have expected. Uncertainly Obi-Wan said, “Should we inform the queen, or her captain?”

“No. It does not concern them. Or, if it does, there is nothing they can do about it.” Of this at least Qui-Gon appeared quite certain. Obi-Wan could only guess how he knew any of this from one vague sense of the Force.

“Is there anything that we can do?” he wondered.

Qui-Gon shook his head slowly. “I'll have to think on it. As should you, Obi-Wan. When we arrive at Coruscant I will discuss it with the Council.”

This did not exactly satisfy Obi-Wan, knowing how seldom the Council ever took seriously Qui-Gon's unusual impressions, but he didn't suppose there was anything else to be done. “I will think on it too, Master. And perhaps it's better not to disturb the queen after all. She ought to get some sleep to prepare for her dealings with the Senate.”

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows as he stood up. “Do you really think the queen is sleeping now?” he said.

What was he talking about now? Obi-Wan felt like he ought to know, but was too slow. He glanced toward the doorway of the communications room, where one of the queen's handmaidens was passing by on her way down the hall, her head down as if in mourning.

“I suppose no one from Naboo could be resting very well right now,” he realized.

Qui-Gon just shrugged and clapped his shoulder. “Rest as well as you can. And remember what we have spoken of.”

“Yes, Master.”
--
The house was empty.

Anakin walked through each room, calling out for Mom, but he already knew he wouldn't find her. As soon as he stepped inside the front doorway he had felt it. Mom was gone. His fear had taken on an entirely different feeling, this one much worse than in the hanger. He felt sick and dizzy and lost, and a strange new need was rising up, the need to find a battle droid and smash it to bits.

Mistress Surali put her hand softly on Anakin's shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she whispered.

“She's okay,” Anakin said in a louder voice than he meant to. “She's okay.” And he knew, somehow, that she was okay, that she wasn't dead...yet...but she wasn't exactly safe either.

In his room, he found Threepio crumpled in a corner, deactivated. He flicked the switch at his neck, and the lights flashed in his eyes. “Oh, Master Anakin!” the droid said, flinging his arms up and trying to stand. He and Mistress Surali helped the droid up.

“What happened?” Anakin said in a voice that wouldn't be steady.

“Oh, my,” Threepio said with an electronic shudder. “I'm afraid I don't know much. I believe it was those dreadful battle droids. They were entering every house in the square; I could see them through the window.” His arm jerked up and down. “There was a noise at the door, and I went out to see, but I heard a shout, and everything went black.”

“They must have shot you,” Anakin said grimly. “I see, right there.” His eyes had found the blaster mark in the wiring on the droid's arm; it must have caused the deactivation. It would also explain why he was having difficulty controlling his arm movements. “Here; I'll take care of it.” Absently he searched through his tool drawer and began applying himself to the wiring. It felt better to be fixing something; he didn't have to think about other things. “If you had your coverings the damage wouldn't have been so bad. I'm sorry I haven't been able to do it yet.”

“It's perfectly all right, Master Anakin,” Threepio said earnestly.

Mistress Surali shook her head as if she were amazed. “What you're already done is extraordinary. You had mentioned putting together a droid, but I've never had the chance to see your work until now. I wish it were under happier circumstances....still, I'm very impressed.”

Anakin didn't say anything. Making a droid was one thing. No one depended on Threepio for their safety. But the backup shield generator, that was another matter. His teacher's praise just now had made him recall that when the queen – Padmé? - flew out of that hanger with the Jedi and everyone else on the ship, they were relying on his work to protect them. What if it didn't work? Worse, what if it malfunctioned and made the whole ship stop working? Why had it been today, of all days?

He sat down at his worktable, slumping. The queen in terrible danger, his mother herded off by battledroids...how could any of this turn out right?

In class, his teacher always had the answer. But now Mistress Surali had no more answers than he did.
--
Padmé had no appetite whatsoever, but she was attempting at least a few bites of a meal packet from the ship's stores. Rabé and Eirtaé, sitting around the small table with her, were doing the same, and having about as much success. They couldn't speak openly at the moment, since one of the pilots was loitering about the food stores, sorting through the food packets with little enthusiasm.

“I hope the queen is holding up well,” Rabé said quietly, with a pointed look at Padmé. “It is important for her to keep up her strength.”

Padmé frowned. “That's true. Still, it must be hard for her to think of anything but the suffering of her people.”

“Her compassion is admirable,” Eirtaé replied, “but sometimes it's possible that self-sacrifice can be taken too far.”

Too much self-sacrifice! Hadn't she allowed Sabé to pose as the queen, letting her take on all of the danger? She could hardly be less self-sacrificing; it was sheer cowardice.

But Rabé was nodding, agreeing with Eirtaé. “The Naboo need a strong queen, one who hasn't allowed her self-denial to take away all her sense.”

That was a bit forward. Padmé raised her eyebrows at Rabé, who flushed a little. She mouthed an apology.

“But she's right,” Eirtaé muttered. “Worrying yourself –” Rabé nudged her violently. “Worrying herself sick won't help anyone.”

The pilot was eying them curiously. Padmé grimaced, wishing he would just go away.

“There you are.” It was Panaka, entering the room, his eyes significantly on Padmé. “We're receiving a transmission from Naboo. One of you had better wake the queen and let her know.”

A transmission from home? Padmé recalled Qui-Gon's warning uneasily. “No one has sent any replies, have they?” she asked sharply, without thinking. “If they do – ”

“No,” Panaka said. “I agree that it would not be wise. But that is a decision the queen must make herself.”

“Of course,” Padmé said, angry with herself. “I will bring word to the queen,” she muttered, and rose from the table.

The queen's quarters on the ship weren't particularly spacious, but they were quite comfortable, with a soft bed, a number of cozy chairs, thick carpeting underfoot. Sabé was clearly not enjoying any of it. She opened the door at Padmé's request and let her in with a ruefully apologetic look.

“Your Highness,” she said as soon as the door shut again. “Believe me, if it didn't raise suspicion, you would be the one sleeping in here.”

“I wouldn't be sleeping,” Padmé said. “I'd just be alone with my worries. Which is what you have been, now that I think of it.” Rabé and Eirtaé's pointed hints were beginning to make sense to her now. “I'm sorry. But never mind all that. We've received a transmission from Naboo. You'll be expected to see it.”

Sabé's face reflected Padmé's alarm. “What is it? Are we expected to reply? The Jedi said it was too dangerous –”

“I haven't see it yet myself,” Padmé said as they hurried out of the queen's quarters. No one else was in the hallway, so she quickly said, “The Jedi's advice is wise. No replies. No matter what's in the transmission.”

It was far harder to remain firm on this point after she had seen the message.

Sio Bibble's face was tight with desperation; he spoke of the Federation's cruelty, of the suffering of innocents, of catastrophic death tolls. He asked – pleaded for a reply. When Sabé gave her a brief glance to seek her guidance, Padmé almost signaled a change of plans. But a phrase her advisor had used made her pause. Bow to their wishes. Sio Bibble would never suggest such a thing, certainly never say it in such servile, cowardly terms. She could scarcely imagine the words coming from his mouth, in spite of witnessing it with her own eyes and ears. Somehow, the transmission had been tampered with, or perhaps fabricated entirely.

Sabé was requesting the Jedi Master's opinion, but Padmé already knew what he would say. “As I said before, it would be very unwise to send a reply,” he affirmed. “I sense some sort of deception regarding this transmission. We will arrive at Coruscant soon enough, and you will be able to fully address the concerns of your people in the Senate.”

Padmé had no second thoughts about the decision. Any contact with a Federation-occupied Naboo was too risky. But that didn't keep Sio Bibble's desperate face from plaguing her thoughts all the rest of the way to the capital.

Comments

[lazypadawan.livejournal.com]

Nice chapter!

[malabud.livejournal.com]

I am continuing to follow this and am enjoying it very much. It is interesting that Qui-Gon is astute enough in the Force to know that someone is missing. Will Anakin make it to Coruscant somehow? Or will something else happen? Keep up the great writing!