A Small Thing (finally!)
Oct. 10th, 2008 03:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
matrilWell, it wasn't exactly writer's block...it was partly the distraction of moving to a new place, and partly feeling like so much of this Episode I-era stuff is filler, biding time until the interesting stuff. ;P But I think I've gotten somewhat back into the flow, and should be reaching the first climax soon...
“No, it's out of the question.”
Anakin should have expected the rejection, but he found that he was very disappointed. The people putting up a resistance to the Trade Fedearation were desperate, with very few numbers. They needed all the help they could get. Apparently that didn't include nine-year-old boys who were still in pilot school.
“Are you sure there isn't any way I can help?” he said, still holding onto hope. But all he got was a frown from the resistance leader, a stern man who made Manu – the serious-faced one who had found him in the streets – seem pleasant and friendly.
“This is serious business,” he said, waving a hand to dismiss him. “The most helpful thing you can do is hide, and keep out of danger.”
So that was that. Manu led Anakin out of the cramped, dimly-lit room where the resistance leaders met and made all their important decisions. “He's right,” he said, though he seemed almost apologetic. “I should have known it wouldn't have been any use. I'll take you to the other children.”
Anakin perked up a little at that. He was curious to see any other boy and girls who had managed to escape getting taken into camps. How had they done it? Did they have special skills, like he did?
They walked down the narrow, shadowy hallway. He had heard a few of the grownups joke about how their resistance movement was literally underground, but he wasn't sure what they were laughing about. Of course it was underground, in the secret passages beneath the palace. How else could they keep hidden from the battle droids, who roamed everywhere above ground?
Not for the first time, Anakin felt that awful twinge as he thought of Mistress Surali, left alone in his home. She was probably in a camp by now. And she wouldn't be, if only he had thought to go back and get her after he met Manu. He had been too excited at finding out about the resistance movement, and then it had been too late. Manu wouldn't let him go back and look for her; he said it was too dangerous. He was probably right. He was probably also right that looking for Mom and trying to free her was too dangerous, but Anakin thought of doing it every day, and wished he could come up with a plan to make it work.
Maybe some of the other children wanted to do something too, and were tired of hiding. They had reached another big metal door in the dirt-packed walls, and Manu stopped and entered a code into the panel. The door opened.
The first thing he heard was crying, lots of crying. Anakin's heart sank. That didn't sound bored. It sounded scared.
He followed Manu into the room. Maybe ten or twelve children, and most of them younger than Anakin. They probably hadn't done anything clever or brave to escape the battle droids; they probably had clever and brave parents. He felt sorry for them, especially the little ones, but he had to admit he was disappointed.
“This is Anakin,” Manu said, in that high voice that grownups used around little children. “He's going to be staying with you now.”
“He take care of us?” asked a girl who was about half Anakin's size.
“Sure,” he said. If this was the only thing he could do, he'd do it.
“Well...” Manu looked at Anakin dubiously. “I guess he can help out.”
He was a pilot, not a babysitter! But Anakin swallowed his annoyance, because the children's crying seemed to have lessened, and maybe it was because of him. He glanced around the room. It wasn't very comfortable – a few crates in the back showed that it was normally used for storage – but the grownups had done what they could, spreading out blankets and placing lights all around the shelves on the walls so it was bright and warm.
“Let us know if you need anything,” Manu said. “We'll be bringing you something to eat in about an hour.”
They ended up spending that time pretending to fly in a starship to a faraway planet with trees that had candy flowers, and no bad people at all. It seemed to make the children happy, and even Anakin felt a little better, though it would do nothing to help the real problems Naboo was facing.
After an hour had passed, Manu didn't come. He didn't after two hours either. After two and half, Anakin decided to go looking for him.
--
The Senate session was a complete disaster. Their pleas for help went unheard; the Federation's representatives had the gall to claim that Amidala had no proof of their invasion. Did they suppose she would have had time, while escaping battle droids, to record a holo of their ranks swarming the streets of Theed? It was absurd, anyone with reason could see that. But reason had left the chambers of the Senate long ago.
Most painful of all was her decision to call for Valorum's removal from the Chancellorship. It was hardly better than a betrayal, when he had supported her cause so staunchly. She had said as much to Palpatine's suggestion, before the session, that she call for a vote of no confidence. Yet here Padmé was mere hours later, staring morosely out the window of her Senator's chambers, having to acknowledge the fact that she was primarily responsible for Valorum's dismissal from the Senate. It may benefit the Republic in the long term, but it did nothing to further their present cause, and meanwhile she had deeply wounded her only advocate.
Coming to Coruscant had been a waste of time. She writhed with guilt, sitting cozily on cushions in heated chambers, while her people shivered in camps, likely half-starved and frightened out of their minds. They deserved better than this from their queen.
She should go back. She would most likely die by doing so, but at least she would die with her people instead of hiding here like a coward. She had no options left.
In a haze of misery, Padmé scarcely noticed the sound of soft footsteps on the carpeted floor behind her. Then an awkward voice said, “Isa it all right if mesa sit here...Yousa Highness?”
She turned. It was the Gungan, Jar Jar, who had come along with the Queen's retinue because there was no where else for him to go. Padmé felt a brief wash of pity for him, so utterly misplaced. “Sit, please,” she said quietly. “I hope you have been treated well.”
He ducked his head. “Oh, no reason to worry about mesa. Too much else to worry about, mesa thinks.”
“If we can't take care of one,” Padmé said soberly, “how can we hope to take care of a planet of people?”
He sat down with a doleful shrug. “Wesa Gungans take care of ourselves.”
But hadn't the Jedi Master mentioned that Jar Jar's own people had exiled him? Was that how they '”took care” of their own? Her mouth twisted in disgust, but the feeling didn't last long. She didn't have the energy for sustained outrage. “I'm afraid that there's little anyone can do for our home,” she said, and her despair choked her.
Jar Jar bowed his head. “Yousa think yousa people gonna die?”
“I don't know,” she murmured.
Dolefully he wondered if his own people were doomed as well.
“I hope not.”
And then Jar Jar surprised her, his voice rising in defiance strength. Padmé found her heartbeat oddly quickening as he spoke of the Gungans' “grand army.” Was she mad to clutch at such a desperate hope? It would depend on so much; if they failed, their defeat would be all the more bitter for trying.
But she had to try.
--
“Master, do not defy the Council.” Obi-Wan was practically resorting to begging. “Not again.”
Qui-Gon merely smiled. “I shall do what I must.”
Obi-Wan could easily imagine. Guided by his peculiar interpretation of the will of the Force, his master would gladly ignore all the mandates of the Council and journey to a Federation-occupied planet to search for an undefined surge in the Force that may or may not be a person who may or may not be the Chosen One....He shook his head in a mixture of admiration and bemusement. Qui-Gon's notions were odd, appallingly so at times, but no one could doubt his dedication to the Force. “If you would just follow the Code you would be on the Council.” Deserved to be, really.
But Qui-Gon shrugged. Such things were meaningless to him. “You have much to learn, my young Padawan.”
“Master.” Their conversation had brought Obi-Wan to a question that had been niggling in his mind, though he hesitated to voice it. “If you do find the Chosen One,” by some incredible miracle, “they'll need to be trained. I suppose....you intend to do it yourself?”
Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan sympathetically. “You fear to lose your master to an unknown upstart?”
Put that way, it sounded childish. Obi-Wan looked down, but his master clapped his shoulder. “Your training is nearly complete. You will be ready to pass the trials before long. I will see you through to the end, my Padawan. As for the Chosen One, should such a person be found – who knows who will train them? I will leave that decision up to the Council.”
Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. That didn't sound like Qui-Gon.
“And if I happen to mention that with my current Padawan about to achieve knighthood, I am ready and willing to accept a new apprentice...” Qui-Gon shrugged, his eyes twinkling.
That sounded like Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan managed a grin.
Shortly after, they were summoned to the Council Chamber. Obi-Wan trailed behind his master, apprehensive, though he wasn't altogether sure what he wanted or dreaded to hear. Qui-Gon held himself in his usual serene pose, but Obi-Wan could sense the anticipation building behind his countenance.
Master Windu gave the pronouncement. “The Council has determined that this suspected existence of the Chosen One is not sufficient enough to warrant a dangerous mission to a planet entangled in political disputes. It would imperil two Jedi Knights, and it would risk putting a breech between the Jedi Order and the Senate.”
Qui-Gon frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Master Windu wasn't done. “However, there is a further complication. Queen Amidala is returning to Naboo.”
Obi-Wan started. He hadn't had much time to judge her character, but during his brief observation of her he never would have thought her so rash and reckless. What could she hope to achieve –?
He forced his attention back to the Council. Apparently they believed that the queen's return may draw out the mysterious attacker. “We will be sending you to protect the queen,” Master Windu declared. “Find out who is behind these attacks. We must know if the Sith have returned.”
Obi-Wan looked to his master, who had a gleam in his eye. Master Yoda appeared to perceive this and said, “Protect the queen and discover her attacker, you must. Not search for this vergeance in the Force. If find it, you do, that is well. But not at the cost of your mission.”
“I understand,” Qui-Gon said, bowing. Obi-Wan followed suit, all the way wondering how his master would manage to bend the Council's mandate without actually disobeying. To be on Naboo and not search for the Chosen One – no, he knew Qui-Gon better than to think he would ever do that.
Sighing inwardly, he followed his master out of the Council chamber and into what would inevitably be chaos.
“No, it's out of the question.”
Anakin should have expected the rejection, but he found that he was very disappointed. The people putting up a resistance to the Trade Fedearation were desperate, with very few numbers. They needed all the help they could get. Apparently that didn't include nine-year-old boys who were still in pilot school.
“Are you sure there isn't any way I can help?” he said, still holding onto hope. But all he got was a frown from the resistance leader, a stern man who made Manu – the serious-faced one who had found him in the streets – seem pleasant and friendly.
“This is serious business,” he said, waving a hand to dismiss him. “The most helpful thing you can do is hide, and keep out of danger.”
So that was that. Manu led Anakin out of the cramped, dimly-lit room where the resistance leaders met and made all their important decisions. “He's right,” he said, though he seemed almost apologetic. “I should have known it wouldn't have been any use. I'll take you to the other children.”
Anakin perked up a little at that. He was curious to see any other boy and girls who had managed to escape getting taken into camps. How had they done it? Did they have special skills, like he did?
They walked down the narrow, shadowy hallway. He had heard a few of the grownups joke about how their resistance movement was literally underground, but he wasn't sure what they were laughing about. Of course it was underground, in the secret passages beneath the palace. How else could they keep hidden from the battle droids, who roamed everywhere above ground?
Not for the first time, Anakin felt that awful twinge as he thought of Mistress Surali, left alone in his home. She was probably in a camp by now. And she wouldn't be, if only he had thought to go back and get her after he met Manu. He had been too excited at finding out about the resistance movement, and then it had been too late. Manu wouldn't let him go back and look for her; he said it was too dangerous. He was probably right. He was probably also right that looking for Mom and trying to free her was too dangerous, but Anakin thought of doing it every day, and wished he could come up with a plan to make it work.
Maybe some of the other children wanted to do something too, and were tired of hiding. They had reached another big metal door in the dirt-packed walls, and Manu stopped and entered a code into the panel. The door opened.
The first thing he heard was crying, lots of crying. Anakin's heart sank. That didn't sound bored. It sounded scared.
He followed Manu into the room. Maybe ten or twelve children, and most of them younger than Anakin. They probably hadn't done anything clever or brave to escape the battle droids; they probably had clever and brave parents. He felt sorry for them, especially the little ones, but he had to admit he was disappointed.
“This is Anakin,” Manu said, in that high voice that grownups used around little children. “He's going to be staying with you now.”
“He take care of us?” asked a girl who was about half Anakin's size.
“Sure,” he said. If this was the only thing he could do, he'd do it.
“Well...” Manu looked at Anakin dubiously. “I guess he can help out.”
He was a pilot, not a babysitter! But Anakin swallowed his annoyance, because the children's crying seemed to have lessened, and maybe it was because of him. He glanced around the room. It wasn't very comfortable – a few crates in the back showed that it was normally used for storage – but the grownups had done what they could, spreading out blankets and placing lights all around the shelves on the walls so it was bright and warm.
“Let us know if you need anything,” Manu said. “We'll be bringing you something to eat in about an hour.”
They ended up spending that time pretending to fly in a starship to a faraway planet with trees that had candy flowers, and no bad people at all. It seemed to make the children happy, and even Anakin felt a little better, though it would do nothing to help the real problems Naboo was facing.
After an hour had passed, Manu didn't come. He didn't after two hours either. After two and half, Anakin decided to go looking for him.
--
The Senate session was a complete disaster. Their pleas for help went unheard; the Federation's representatives had the gall to claim that Amidala had no proof of their invasion. Did they suppose she would have had time, while escaping battle droids, to record a holo of their ranks swarming the streets of Theed? It was absurd, anyone with reason could see that. But reason had left the chambers of the Senate long ago.
Most painful of all was her decision to call for Valorum's removal from the Chancellorship. It was hardly better than a betrayal, when he had supported her cause so staunchly. She had said as much to Palpatine's suggestion, before the session, that she call for a vote of no confidence. Yet here Padmé was mere hours later, staring morosely out the window of her Senator's chambers, having to acknowledge the fact that she was primarily responsible for Valorum's dismissal from the Senate. It may benefit the Republic in the long term, but it did nothing to further their present cause, and meanwhile she had deeply wounded her only advocate.
Coming to Coruscant had been a waste of time. She writhed with guilt, sitting cozily on cushions in heated chambers, while her people shivered in camps, likely half-starved and frightened out of their minds. They deserved better than this from their queen.
She should go back. She would most likely die by doing so, but at least she would die with her people instead of hiding here like a coward. She had no options left.
In a haze of misery, Padmé scarcely noticed the sound of soft footsteps on the carpeted floor behind her. Then an awkward voice said, “Isa it all right if mesa sit here...Yousa Highness?”
She turned. It was the Gungan, Jar Jar, who had come along with the Queen's retinue because there was no where else for him to go. Padmé felt a brief wash of pity for him, so utterly misplaced. “Sit, please,” she said quietly. “I hope you have been treated well.”
He ducked his head. “Oh, no reason to worry about mesa. Too much else to worry about, mesa thinks.”
“If we can't take care of one,” Padmé said soberly, “how can we hope to take care of a planet of people?”
He sat down with a doleful shrug. “Wesa Gungans take care of ourselves.”
But hadn't the Jedi Master mentioned that Jar Jar's own people had exiled him? Was that how they '”took care” of their own? Her mouth twisted in disgust, but the feeling didn't last long. She didn't have the energy for sustained outrage. “I'm afraid that there's little anyone can do for our home,” she said, and her despair choked her.
Jar Jar bowed his head. “Yousa think yousa people gonna die?”
“I don't know,” she murmured.
Dolefully he wondered if his own people were doomed as well.
“I hope not.”
And then Jar Jar surprised her, his voice rising in defiance strength. Padmé found her heartbeat oddly quickening as he spoke of the Gungans' “grand army.” Was she mad to clutch at such a desperate hope? It would depend on so much; if they failed, their defeat would be all the more bitter for trying.
But she had to try.
--
“Master, do not defy the Council.” Obi-Wan was practically resorting to begging. “Not again.”
Qui-Gon merely smiled. “I shall do what I must.”
Obi-Wan could easily imagine. Guided by his peculiar interpretation of the will of the Force, his master would gladly ignore all the mandates of the Council and journey to a Federation-occupied planet to search for an undefined surge in the Force that may or may not be a person who may or may not be the Chosen One....He shook his head in a mixture of admiration and bemusement. Qui-Gon's notions were odd, appallingly so at times, but no one could doubt his dedication to the Force. “If you would just follow the Code you would be on the Council.” Deserved to be, really.
But Qui-Gon shrugged. Such things were meaningless to him. “You have much to learn, my young Padawan.”
“Master.” Their conversation had brought Obi-Wan to a question that had been niggling in his mind, though he hesitated to voice it. “If you do find the Chosen One,” by some incredible miracle, “they'll need to be trained. I suppose....you intend to do it yourself?”
Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan sympathetically. “You fear to lose your master to an unknown upstart?”
Put that way, it sounded childish. Obi-Wan looked down, but his master clapped his shoulder. “Your training is nearly complete. You will be ready to pass the trials before long. I will see you through to the end, my Padawan. As for the Chosen One, should such a person be found – who knows who will train them? I will leave that decision up to the Council.”
Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. That didn't sound like Qui-Gon.
“And if I happen to mention that with my current Padawan about to achieve knighthood, I am ready and willing to accept a new apprentice...” Qui-Gon shrugged, his eyes twinkling.
That sounded like Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan managed a grin.
Shortly after, they were summoned to the Council Chamber. Obi-Wan trailed behind his master, apprehensive, though he wasn't altogether sure what he wanted or dreaded to hear. Qui-Gon held himself in his usual serene pose, but Obi-Wan could sense the anticipation building behind his countenance.
Master Windu gave the pronouncement. “The Council has determined that this suspected existence of the Chosen One is not sufficient enough to warrant a dangerous mission to a planet entangled in political disputes. It would imperil two Jedi Knights, and it would risk putting a breech between the Jedi Order and the Senate.”
Qui-Gon frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Master Windu wasn't done. “However, there is a further complication. Queen Amidala is returning to Naboo.”
Obi-Wan started. He hadn't had much time to judge her character, but during his brief observation of her he never would have thought her so rash and reckless. What could she hope to achieve –?
He forced his attention back to the Council. Apparently they believed that the queen's return may draw out the mysterious attacker. “We will be sending you to protect the queen,” Master Windu declared. “Find out who is behind these attacks. We must know if the Sith have returned.”
Obi-Wan looked to his master, who had a gleam in his eye. Master Yoda appeared to perceive this and said, “Protect the queen and discover her attacker, you must. Not search for this vergeance in the Force. If find it, you do, that is well. But not at the cost of your mission.”
“I understand,” Qui-Gon said, bowing. Obi-Wan followed suit, all the way wondering how his master would manage to bend the Council's mandate without actually disobeying. To be on Naboo and not search for the Chosen One – no, he knew Qui-Gon better than to think he would ever do that.
Sighing inwardly, he followed his master out of the Council chamber and into what would inevitably be chaos.
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Date: 2008-10-23 04:11 pm (UTC)One small suggestion: You should tag your fic entries so if people want to read from the beginning, they can.