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Obi-Wan Kenobi halted in the empty corridor of the Senate building, standing still as he searched outwards within the Force for any sign of someone else nearby. This area was quiet at this hour, the bureaucrats whose offices were situated here having left for the day – the fact that the anonymous message he’d received asking to meet him had been so particular about this rendezvous spot was highly suspicious. He had felt sure it must be a trap, but if so, whoever had planned it had declined to show. He could sense nothing so far. Or certainly, nothing worse than the vague sense of an oppressive future that seemed to hang over him constantly these last few years.
“How disappointing,” he murmured. He could have done with something to do while Anakin was at the Temple, enduring some routine tests. Jedi did not worry, precisely, of course, and last time Anakin had attended everything had gone smoothly. It was merely that the time before that had been a disaster involving several broken windows and some stern talking to for both master and apprentice. The more usual sort of trouble in the meantime would have come as a welcome distraction.
Sensing movement at last, he turned to find only Senator Amidala heading towards him, wearing a long grey dress that was nevertheless positively restrained for the representative from Naboo.
“Senator,” he said, giving a small bow. How odd. He had felt so certain it was a trap, but Padmé Amidala would never be behind such a thing. Sending anonymous messages didn’t seem like her style either, though. “You wished to see me?”
She stopped in front of him. “I believe it was you who asked to see me, Master Kenobi. Why did you not simply say so? What is it that required such secrecy? I thought perhaps it was a trap when I received the message.”
“Oh, no,” said Obi-Wan, becoming watchful again. Then he glanced back at her with a frown. “And yet you came anyway, and alone?”
Padmé shook her head. “Captain Typho sent two of his people with me. They’re close by.” She gestured towards the further end of their section of the corridor, where it rounded a corner.
“Not any more,” said Obi-Wan softly, catching at her arm, sensing first their presence and then their sudden, cut-off silence. “It is a trap. Senator – duck!”
Someone rolled a globe down the corridor, a sonic blast knocking them off their feet even as part of the floor gave way, and they fell through into a cavity beneath; the force of the explosion causing even Obi-Wan to catch his breath, disoriented for one moment too long. Above them, the floor snapped back into place, leaving them locked in a box-like space beneath it.
“Yes, definitely a trap,” said Padmé from beside him in the dark. Her arm brushed against his as she tried to shift position. “And yet you still turned up – alone.”
“I am a Jedi,” he murmured, focusing on his surroundings. They were not encouraging. “It seemed like the best way to find out what it was about.”
He frowned, pressing his fingers up against the underside of the floor – or not the floor, a durasteel trapdoor, sealing them in this space, which must be part of the inner workings of the building. No one could have built such a thing unnoticed here.
“I think we may be in an overflow tank, from the old heating system,” said Padmé.
“Yes, that makes sense. And someone has adapted it for their own purposes.” He turned his head towards her, even though he couldn’t see her. “How did you –?”
“I’m a Senator. Sometimes I have to read reports from the building repairs committee, complete with budget breakdown and plans. Unlike the Jedi.”
Obi-Wan laughed. “You might be surprised. But I don’t think we should stay down here.”
He held up his hand, trying to slide the door open, but it gave him unexpected resistance. He frowned and tried again. He almost felt something give, but he couldn’t quite work out what was stopping him. He concentrated, trying to follow the feeling, whatever it was that had almost, but not quite, turned…
“Before or after someone comes back?” asked Padmé, after nothing continued to happen.
Obi-Wan tried again. Again, that feeling of almost, of it catching on something and locking into place. It was made to spring shut and stay that way, he felt, but he wasn’t used to struggling with a mere door, and now didn’t seem like a good time to start. “Give me a few more minutes. If I can’t, it’s not our attacker we need to worry about.”
“Oh,” said Padmé, understanding immediately. “It’s airtight?”
“Yes. But I will get us out, I promise.”
She didn’t panic, she merely stilled herself, lying flat beside him, slowing her breathing. If she was afraid, her fear was under close enough control that he couldn’t detect it. He turned all his focus onto the door, following the energy in the power lines, feeling his way to the locking mechanism, and found it at last, but even so, he could sense that it wasn’t going to stay open long enough to get them both out.
“Senator,” he murmured, turning his head back towards Padmé. “Stay where you are.” He moved his hand, and the door slid back, even the gloom of the ill-lit corridor above light enough to make them both blink in contrast. He leapt out, and landed, standing, on the floor. He turned his focus on the door again as it snapped shut after him, tracing it’s the power lines in it back to the control, carefully hidden under the floor. He released the catch, and it finally opened fully. Obi-Wan leant forward, stretching a hand down to help Padmé out. As joined him, kneeling on the floor beside him, she gave a brief nod and smile in acknowledgement; her relief a tangible thing to him.
The corridor was empty, however, with no sign of whoever had been behind the attack.
“I’ll escort you to your quarters, just in case,” said Obi-Wan, as Padmé rose to her feet, dusting herself down. “Come on. There should be time before our attacker returns. I’ll find out who they are and what they want, I assure you.”
Padmé stood, as Obi-Wan closed the trap door. “Oh, you think they’ll wait till we’ve run out of air and then –” She let her voice trail away. “Yes, I see. Which should give me plenty of time to get there and back. You’re right. I need to change.”
“No. Senator, be sensible –”
She turned a wide-eyed gaze on him. “Master Kenobi, are you telling me that a fully trained Jedi knight is insufficient protection to guarantee my safety within the Senate building?”
And that sort of thing, thought Obi-Wan, conceding a silent defeat on the issue, was why he hated having to deal with politicians.
“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” he said, as they settled inside an alcove back in the corridor. “I’d be much less likely to attract attention alone. In any case, we may have to wait here for some time, and I’m sure you will have other appointments to keep.”
Padmé shrugged. “I happen to think you waiting down here alone for someone who’s trying to kill us is an even worse idea. I’ve already lost two people today. Besides, it’s too late; I’m here now.”
Ah, he thought, and understood. It might sometimes be easier to sacrifice yourself than to accept others sacrificing themselves for you. The knowledge did not make him any happier about her presence here, however.
“If our attacker never turns up,” whispered Padmé after an hour and a half had passed, “this could be awkward to explain to everyone else, couldn’t it?”
Obi-Wan turned, raising an eyebrow.
“I know, I know; it was my idea,” she said, and then stopped as Obi-Wan held up a hand, sensing someone – or something – coming their way. Unlike the other passers-by, this one was definitely heading towards them with a purpose. He frowned, feeling almost nothing else from it, which was odd, unless –
“Senator, run!” he said, jumping out of the alcove, lightsaber in hand.
Padmé, behind him, darted across the corridor, only making it to the far side before blaster fire hit the spot where they’d been hiding, and a lone figure in heavy armour approached.
Padmé poked her head around the nearest pillar. “Why don’t you explain what this is about? Perhaps we can sort it all out peacefully instead!”
The figure fired, hitting the side of the pillar only a second after Padmé had moved, not apparently into diplomatic negotiations.
“It’s a droid,” said Obi-Wan, deflecting its fire with his lightsaber, and making a careful advance towards it. “I doubt we’ll get answers from it. Or am I wrong?” he added, turning back to face it. “Perhaps you have got something to say for yourself?”
A light glowed under the helmet. “I am requested to deliver you to my master, alive or dead. Alive preferred, but my calculations suggest dead equals a 34% increased rate of success over alive.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Obi-Wan, and then frowned. “Only 34%?”
He ran at it, avoiding the blaster fire, but coiled extensions shot out from its sides. He dodged one of them but the other caught his wrist, sharp points on the end of it biting into him. He brought the lightsaber down instantly, severing it from the machine and scrabbling back. The small wounds on his wrist stung, more than they should. Had the points been coated with something? Poison? “Oh, no,” he murmured under his breath. That would be inconvenient.
He pulled himself up and threw the lightsaber forward, aiming at its centre where he could feel the droid’s source of power. It swung away, the blade cracking the armour at that side and falling to the ground.
“Senator,” he called, picking himself up again, holding out his hand to summon the lightsaber, and stopping in sudden pain as he failed. “Some assistance might be in order!”
Padmé was busy firing at it from behind the pillar. “What’s wrong?”
“I meant, go and fetch some – oh, never mind,” he muttered, managing to run back against the opposite wall, despite the slight disorientation. “Fire at it – dead centre, or the break in the armour.” He pressed his injured hand against himself. It was not getting better. He ducked to avoid another shot, and then as he looked up, its coils whipped out again, and caught around his throat, and though he tried to pull it loose again, the world was beginning inorexably to darken.
Padmé ran out from behind the pillar, shooting at the droid, sparks flying off where they hit its coils. She steadied herself as it turned, heading towards her with a metallic thunking steps, waiting until it was closer than she liked, then took a deep breath and fired dead centre. The bolt went home. She closed her eyes, ducking, her arms up over her face as it faltered, swayed and then exploded, finally releasing Obi-Wan, who dropped back onto the floor.
Padmé sagged with relief at the sight of the armoured figure in pieces on the floor before her, and let herself breathe again, her heart still racing. Smoke rose up from it, causing alarms to start sounding a belated and unwanted warning – a Senate fire drill wasn’t going to help them any.
“I did it,” she said, almost to herself more than Obi-Wan, and then when he didn’t respond, she turned to see him lying where he had fallen. “Oh, no! Master Kenobi – Obi-Wan, are you okay?”
She hurried over, crouching down beside him, but he still didn’t move. She put a hand to his shoulder. “Obi-Wan? I thought a Jedi could get right back up after a little thing like that.” He stirred, struggling to open his eyes. “I’ll go get help,” she said, but he caught at her wrist.
“Behind you,” he managed to get out.
Padmé turned too late.
Things were unclear for an indeterminate length of time after that until she opened her eyes in gloom that smelt of engine oil and smuggled spice, the distant rattle of engines ever-present, and understood that she must be in the cargo hold of a ship. She tried instinctively to pull herself up and found her hands had been cuffed and that she was half lying on top of another body – Obi-Wan. She hastily rolled away onto the metal grille of the flooring, and pulled herself into a sitting position against the side.
“Obi-Wan,” she said, giving his arm a nudge with her foot. “Master Kenobi?”
When there was no reply, she closed her eyes and pressed her head back against the metal. What if he was dead already? She’d heard what that droid had said. “Will you wake up?” she said, trying again more insistently, but he didn’t respond, and she glared at his inert form. “Some Jedi protector you are.”
She breathed in and out, steadying herself, and then worked on getting the cuffs undone with a pick kept in her belt. She might be a politician and not a Jedi, but she’d been fending off assassination attempts since she was fourteen, and she hadn’t walked into this unprepared. Having got her own hands free, she turned to look at Obi-Wan.
He was breathing, thank goodness, but his forehead was warmer to her touch than she liked. Something must be wrong, but what? She hadn’t seen him get hit by any blaster fire, and she was pretty sure he should have thrown off that choke hold once the droid had released him. She bit back an uneasy sigh, and set to work on his cuffs. As she pulled them off, she stopped, her fingers closing round his wrist, where there were a series of tiny wounds, livid red, and burning. She drew in her breath, and pulled at the neck of his tunic, revealing more of the same marks there.
“Oh, no,” she said aloud, lifting her head to look around the hold for anything that might help.
There wasn’t much else there besides them; she could see that now her eyes had adjusted – a pile of empty metal crates, some of them broken, a scattering of bolts and broken parts in the corners, and beside her, Obi-Wan’s cloak, which someone must have thrown in after them.
Padmé carefully replaced the now-ineffective cuffs around her own wrists and then Obi-Wan’s before standing up. There was no need to give away her one advantage unnecessarily.
“Hello?” she called out. “Hello, can you hear me out there? I hear we’re worth more to you alive – and my friend isn’t going to be for much longer if you don’t do something. You can at least bring us water.”
She waited, listening for any crackle of a comms unit, or any sound from outside. Maybe they couldn’t hear her anyway. Maybe whoever it was had stunned her in the corridor and managed to drag them out her was only another droid, who’d made the same calculation as the one in the corridor and wouldn’t be moved by pleas or promises.
Padmé kicked at the inner hatch and then slid down to a sitting position on the floor beside Obi-Wan. She shrugged off her cuffs again, and put her hand on his arm. “Don’t you dare go and die on me.”
She wiped useless tears angrily away with the back of her hand. She thought of Captain Typho’s men earlier, and of handmaids who’d risked danger for her sake in the past, and hated it. She understood why it was, of course, and she accepted it as part of her duty, but it didn’t mean she had to like it.
She shook herself. Self-pity wasn’t any use. She picked up Obi-Wan’s cloak and shoved it under his head as a makeshift pillow. It wasn’t exactly much, but at least it felt like doing something. And he was a Jedi; he’d probably come round any time now and prove all her worrying a waste. She swallowed, feeling the coldness of the hold creeping into her. She really hoped he would.
There wasn’t much else to do, so she sat there, listening to the sounds of the ship; the creaks and groans of it evidently elderly frame, the faint whirr of the air supply and the more distant rattle of the engines. She sighed, her gaze straying down to Obi-Wan, still obstinately unconscious.
She hadn’t seen him all that much since he’d been on Naboo with Qui-Gon, but she’d been at meetings where he’d given reports about a mission or an investigation, and sometimes even at state functions, although that usually only meant that someone was trying to assassinate someone else and it’d be safer to keep near a handy pillar just in case. If there wasn’t any apparent assassinating going on, he tended to vanish as soon as possible, while she had to remain and be diplomatic for as long as it took. She would have liked it to be otherwise, but they both had busy lives.
Sometimes she heard other people talking about him. As a Jedi Knight who’d defeated a Sith Lord before he’d even taken his trials, he had a reputation that was so entirely at odds with what she knew of him that it amused her. She hadn’t seen the fight, only Obi-Wan grieving in the palace after with Anakin. She certainly didn’t want to see him die in front of her now. She didn’t think the Republic could afford to lose him, either.
The ship flew on, and nothing much changed. Padmé leant against the wall, watching Obi-Wan through half-closed eyes, too uncomfortable to sleep, the movements of the ship jolting her out of it even if she almost dozed anyway. It took her nearly a moment too long to register movement outside the inner door, and a slow scraping sound as it slid half open. She only just slipped the cuffs back on in time to turn and blink in a dim orange light as someone kicked a tray in beside her.
“Food. Water,” said a stocky man, stepping away again. “And don’t give us any trouble, or you’ll be sorry.”
Padmé raised her head. “My friend is sick. Food and water isn’t going to be enough to keep him alive. He needs medical treatment.”
“Well, that’s the thing,” he said. “We’re having a disagreement about that. I reckon the boss’ll be mad enough about losing that droid of his that we need to get you both to him, keep him sweet, but the pilot says better off playing it safe and bringing him the bodies. Says he doesn’t want any Jedi on board his ship. So, shut up and play nice, or he’ll win for sure.”
Padmé was careful to make no move that could alarm him. “There is another possibility.”
“Oh?” he said.
She gave a shrug. “If you turn round and take us back, the Senate will reward you – and no doubt pay more again if you gave information on this boss of yours.”
“You haven’t met him,” the man said, his hand going up; to the door control panel presumably.
“My friend is a Jedi. You’d have their protection.”
“Yeah, and that’s worked out so well for the pair of you, hasn’t it?” He disappeared and the door slid shut, with marginally less protest this time.
Padmé sighed, and glanced over at Obi-Wan. “They have a point, unfortunately,” she told him, before turning to examine the contents of the tray, which consisted of two cups of water, more or less clean, and two dried out protein bars that looked past their best – not much use for feeding an unconscious Jedi. Water was something, however. She took a sip out of hers, and then set about the more awkward task of getting Obi-Wan to swallow some.
Water might be better than nothing, but Obi-Wan was definitely getting worse. Padmé, falling into a half-waking nightmare was jolted out of it by Obi-Wan trying to pull himself up beside her. She caught at his arm, her moment of hope at this sign of life fading swiftly, as he didn’t seem to register her presence, only muttering something about Anakin and the Council and needing to go, and maybe something about windows; all of it incoherent. He nevertheless got himself up into a semi-sitting position against the wall and shifted again, as if trying to move further.
“No,” said Padmé, tightening her hold on him. He might be sick, but he was still a Jedi. She didn’t want him doing something impossible in his delirium like opening the outer hatch into space and killing them both, thinking he could escape. “Obi-Wan. Anakin’s fine, I promise. He’s safe on Coruscant. You’re supposed to be with me now – Senator Amidala – protecting me. That’s your assignment, and I’m ordering you to stay where you are.”
She didn’t know whether he actually understood or not, but he slumped back down, and she closed her eyes, breathing out in relief. She’d have had no way to stop him if he’d turned on her in his confusion. Then she leant forward, putting her hand to his face. He was burning up now.
“Oh, come on,” she said under her breath. “Come on. Surely you can beat this thing. I could really use some help.”
He frowned and then looked up, seeming to focus on her clearly for the first time. “Senator?” he said, in vague confusion, but the moment passed, and then he turned, retching.
Padmé leapt up and began kicking and hammering at the door. “Hey!” she yelled. “You out there – I know you can hear me. My friend needs medical attention now! If you don’t help us, I promise you’ll regret it!” She kept up her assault on the door, determined not to stop until someone responded. At the moment it was all bluster, but, she thought, if Obi-Wan died in here, then she’d find some way to fulfil that promise.
Of course, that was as long as their captors didn’t just shoot them both to shut her up.
“I told you, no trouble,” said the same man as before, after the door repeated its slow and painful efforts at opening. “Shut up and sit down. We’ve got no fancy medbay on this piece of junk anyway. Best I can offer you is this.” He thrust in a small droid, its metal darkened with age. “Sort of kill or cure. One way of settling the argument, I suppose.”
Padmé stared as the door closed and then slowly looked down at the battered, obloid droid now wobbling about beside her.
“Oh, well,” she said, and bent down. It had to be worth a try. “Hello there. I’m Padmé Amidala, and it looks like you’re my only hope. Can you help my friend?”
There was a delay before the droid’s head slowly swivelled round, and lights flashed in its head as it registered her question. “Hello. I am M1-M36. Call me Mim. Before we begin diagnosis procedures I must remind you that I am ten years past my recommended last operating date. For the safety of the patient, you should purchase the new M1-M18 or similar.”
“Not an option right now,” said Padmé. It wasn’t exactly encouraging, but lack of treatment didn’t seem to be doing Obi-Wan any good either. “I have every confidence in you, Mim. Can you take a look at my friend? He’s a Jedi, and I think he’s been poisoned.”
Mim trundled after her at a painfully slow speed, sparks flying out of its left arm. “Wait. Is there a power conduit? I’m running low on – oh yes,” it said, and a cable snaked across, past Padmé and attached itself into the wall. “That’s better. Oh. Ship is saying that I really need to update my databanks, but last time we tried I shut down for a month in the attempt, so if your case is urgent –”
“It is,” said Padmé hastily. She tried to avoid thinking about what Obi-Wan was going to say about this if – when – he recovered. She bit her lip. “Can you do something?”
“First we should move him to the emergency medbay. This isn’t a suitable environment.”
Padmé put a hand to her mouth. “Well, it’s all we’ve got. You and me, here –” She stopped, because Mim was pumping out a sanitising fluid that dissolved any dirt around them, and she had a very strong feeling that that substance had been banned about fifteen years ago. She was pretty sure she remembered someone mentioning it during a Senate debate over something similar. Hadn’t it proved to corrode away ship interiors on repeated usage? She pushed the thought away. She didn’t much care about this ship anyway.
Mim now moved over to Obi-Wan, a light unfolding out of its head as it proceeded to examine him in what was a more conventional med-droid approach, even if painfully slow. Padmé found herself tensing and holding her breath.
“Bear with me,” said Mim, drawing back. “It will take a few moments to complete the analysis.”
Padmé gripped Obi-Wan’s hand. He had gone very quiet now. She didn’t think that was a good sign.
Mim eventually stopped making whirring noises as green and yellow lights flashed across its head. “Diagnosis results show the toxin liyal in the patient’s bloodstream. It’s very rare, only found in one or two systems near the Unknown Regions, such as Selvaris, but its effects are usually mild if unpleasant. I don’t understand why he’s having such an extreme reaction. Is your friend Force sensitive?”
“He’s a Jedi,” said Padmé. “I did say.”
“Oh. I have been having some issues with my short-term memory circuits.” Mim paused, making the whirring sound as it processed the further information. “That’s not good.”
Padmé schooled herself not to betray any impatience, as if humouring a particularly difficult ambassador. “Is there an antidote?”
“Not currently in my databanks. Shall I update them?”
“I really don’t think we’ve got a month. What are the other options? You must be able to do something.”
“Yes. I could administer a general –” Mim abruptly cut out into total silence, lights off, and its metal joints hanging down limply.
Padmé moved forward. “Mim?”
Sparks flew out of the droid’s head and its lights came back on, while it turned itself round in a full circle. “Hello. I am M1-M36. Call me Mim. Before we begin diagnosis procedures I must remind you –”
“Mim,” said Padmé. “We’ve already been through this, and I don’t think we have time to do it again. You diagnosed my friend here and you were advising treatment when you cut out.”
“I cannot treat a patient without –”
Padmé shook her head. “I can’t risk you breaking down before you’re done. You said that he’s been poisoned by a rare substance called liyal and it’s affecting him so badly because he’s a Jedi. If that were the case, how would you go about treating him? Hypothetically.”
“Hypothetically?”
Padmé nodded. “Yes, how would you do it?”
“I would administer a general immuno-booster to aid his system in counteracting the toxin. If he is a Jedi knight, then it should enable his accelerated healing to reassert itself.”
Padmé glanced over at Obi-Wan. “Good. Then that’s what you need to do.”
“Yes, but I cannot administer a treatment to a patient without –”
“I’m ordering you,” said Padmé. “It’s an emergency. You’re a med-droid – preserving life is your first priority, not protocols, no matter how run-down you are. Now, can you do it?”
Mim’s lights flashed and a loud engine-like sound began in its inner workings. More sparks flew off its casings, and after what seemed like ages, a phial containing a golden-tinged green liquid dropped out of a slot. Padmé watched in wary fascination. Kill or cure, their captor had said. How old was its supply of drugs?
Mim went offline again, reanimating shortly after. “Oh. I seem to have produced a general immuno-booster. Do you know why?”
“It’s for your patient,” said Padmé. “Please, give it to him before you break down again.”
“I don’t know, it’s very irregular.”
Padmé sat back down. “Yes. But I take complete responsibility for this. Okay?” Yes, she thought, if they killed Obi-Wan between them by means of archaic medical treatment, it would be entirely her fault. She rubbed her forehead. “I’m commanding you to do it.”
“Understood,” said Mim, administering the treatment before trundling back and falling over in a shower of sparks. A small explosion followed, smoking trailing out of the top of its head.
Padmé winced. “Mim? Mim, you okay?”
“Systems overloaded,” it said and its lights went off, followed by another tiny, half-hearted explosion from somewhere within.
Padmé turned back to Obi-Wan, who showed no sign of any improvement, but the drug didn’t seem to have had any noticeable negative impact, either. If he died, it was probably going to be because of their assassin, and not her inept attempts at treating him. Whether or not that was really much of a relief, though, was debatable. She put her head in her hands, feeling the weight of her exhaustion catching up with her. All she could do was wait.
Later, though, she found that his temperature had dropped, and not long after that, he opened his eyes, looking up at her in vague bemusement.
She smiled, blinking away tears. “Welcome back, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
“Senator?” he said in confusion, before falling silent, and when he glanced up at her again, his expression was wry. “Ah,” he said. “Yes. Well, I see they didn’t kill us.”
“We’re worth more alive, apparently,” said Padmé, “but there is a bit of a debate on the subject, so don’t hold your breath. I’ve tried diplomacy, but not to any noticeable effect.”
He tried to pull himself up, then stopped, looking down at his cuffed hands, before casting an amused glance up at her and slipping them off. “You have been busy.”
“I had to do something to pass the time.”
Obi-Wan pushed himself into a sitting position. “Yes, I do apologise – I seem to have been a very tiresome travelling companion. I promise to do better.”
“I’m counting on it,” said Padmé with a smile. “For now, how about you eat something?" She passed across the remaining protein bar.
Obi-Wan picked it up, turning it over with curious distaste. “Does this actually qualify as food?”
“It’s all we’ve got,” she said, and while he made short work of it, she told him what she knew so far of their situation. “I think there are only two of them,” she said, “and I think that droid that attacked us was the brains and the muscle of the operation.”
Obi-Wan paused for a moment. “Two feels right, but I’m not sure.” He put a hand up to his head. “I will be myself again presently.”
“As long as you’re alive,” she said. “Maybe get some rest.”
He smiled. “I thought you disapproved of the Jedi.”
“Maybe, in some ways,” said Padmé. “But I wouldn’t let you die, whatever my opinions are.”
“I won’t take it personally, then,” he said. “But thank you. I see I may have to review my opinion of politicians, or at least one of them.”
She laughed. “Maybe you’ll trouble yourself to speak to me at functions in future.”
“I’m always polite,” he said, frowning in vague affront.
Padmé shook her head. “No, I mean speak to me! Properly. It surely shouldn’t take someone kidnapping us before we can have a sensible conversation.”
“I didn’t realise –” he said, more quietly, and she saw that he really wasn’t okay yet, fading a little already. He put a hand to his head, and brushed away whatever else he might have said, adding instead, lightly, “But then, state functions, you know how it is, someone’s always trying to kill someone else, and I am supposed to stop them.”
Padmé grinned. “For you, maybe. I go to the boring ones as well. I mean, the more productive, civilised –”
“I heard you say boring,” he pointed out. “And if you don’t mind, I believe you’re right. I should rest. Do excuse me.”
Padmé turned her head to respond, and saw that he’d gone straight to sleep, despite the discomfort of their surroundings. She supposed it must be another Jedi trait, a very annoying one. She sighed, but then leant back against the wall again, relaxing into a smile, because the most important thing was that he seemed to be all right.
She must have dozed off for a few moments eventually, because she started awake again, and blinked in confusion, before turning to look at Obi-Wan. She could somehow feel him watching her. He put a finger to his lips, sitting up, alert, and listening for things she couldn’t hear. She bit back any questions until he spoke.
“I think,” he said, leaning back against the wall, “that now isn’t the right moment.” He sounded much more himself, crisper and clearer, and her spirits rose immediately.
Padmé shook her head in bemusement. “For what?”
“You want to get out of here, don’t you?”
She didn’t bother to answer that, only asking instead, “So, when will be the right moment?”
“Not now,” he informed her with a smile. “We’ll have to wait a little longer. So . . . tell me, why do you disapprove of the Jedi?”
Padmé laughed. “I don’t think it’s the right moment for ethical debates, either.”
“We have time for a conversation for once,” he pointed out, “and a few more minutes or so before someone starts trying to kill us again. I could give you my opinions concerning politicians, if you prefer.”
She pressed her head back against the metal wall of the hold. She appreciated him trying to cheer her up, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to be teased yet. “I’m not telling you what I think so that you can laugh at me, Master Jedi.”
“I wasn’t planning on laughing,” said Obi-Wan. “It was a question. After all, we’re here to serve the Republic, and the Senate. And you’re a Senator.”
Padmé shrugged. “True, but you’re a threat, too. You make people uneasy, the Senate as much as anyone else. And I don’t know – I wonder sometimes if the way you have to live, if that’s more than we have a right to ask of anyone. I think I’d replace you with something with something much more prosaic and ordinary, that’s all.”
“Would you?” Despite his earlier assurance not to laugh at her, there was an amused lift in his voice.
Padmé had to bite back a laugh herself, because while it might be true in general, as regards Obi-Wan in particular it was definitely a lie. “I know it’s more complicated than that.”
“There is also the Sith. Your prosaic keepers of the peace wouldn’t be able to deal with anything of that nature should it arise.”
She sobered instantly, remembering he had first-hand knowledge of that. “I guess it’s only that in an ideal version of the galaxy, we wouldn’t need you. I’d like to see that be a reality, but I know, I know, that’s nonsensical dreaming.”
“Idealism’s not a bad thing.”
She put her hand to his arm. “No. I agree. But it’s also – you’re isolated from everyone else. There’s a lot of fear, like I said, and exaggerated stories. It’s not good for any of us. I can’t approve of the way you take children so young, either. It was bad enough at home with the Youth Legislative Program. Looking back, I’m not sure I was ready. I grew up much too fast – and you must have been out on missions with Qui-Gon when you were even younger. I can’t imagine they were all completely safe.”
“Not completely, no. But we have a choice in the matter, you know. We can leave.”
Padmé turned her head. “How old were you when they took you?”
“Older than some,” he said. “Not so old that I can remember anything from before. But it isn’t wrong, is it, to try and give a child the best chance for them? I wouldn’t change anything, even if I could, not for myself.”
“How would you know?” Padmé hugged her arms, holding back a frustration that she couldn’t entirely justify to herself. She did understand the value of the Jedi, most of the time, and Obi-Wan’s life was his business, not hers. And yet she wanted to make him see it the way she did, if only for a minute, to shake him out of – what? She pushed down the thought.
Obi-Wan folded his arms. “I have been to a great many places, met any number of people from all over the galaxy. It’s not as if I’ve got no comparison.” He gave her a small smile. “Besides, it is easier – safer – for everyone. I’ve seen, these last few years, how much harder it is for Anakin to adjust than it is for the others.”
“It’s still harsh. You might be fine with it, but what about your family?”
He said lightly, “That I can’t tell you. But the Jedi don’t steal children! I believe they send reports back if they’re wanted.”
“I’m not sure that isn’t worse,” said Padmé. She wasn’t a mother, but she was an aunt, and she could imagine how much heartache must be involved. You’d do whatever was best for the child, yes, that was true, perhaps even if it meant giving them up. But you wouldn’t forget, not ever.
He gave a faint frown. “There really is no need to feel sorry for me.”
“I’m not,” she said, shaking her head at how badly he’d misread her. “It’s more your mother I was thinking of.”
“Well, there’s no point in that. I might not have one. You don’t know.”
“But you should,” she said. And she thought: older than most, he’d said, but too young to remember. Two, three? There had been someone, then. Jedi training might change things, but even so, there was no way that he hadn’t come from a place of love in the beginning. She caught herself at that. She didn’t know anything about it, after all – she only felt that he ought to. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be personal. But is it necessary.”
“We have powerful abilities,” he said, more quietly after a pause. “Those must be kept under complete control. There are rules and checks on the powers of you Senators, too – and you can’t kill your opponent in a debate with a misjudged thought. And that isn’t enough even then, is it? Corrupt Senators work their way around them all too easily.”
Padmé nodded. “I know. But –”
“How many members of the Senate do you trust?” he asked.
She thought that over. “Several, thank you. How many Jedi do you trust?”
“All those I know,” said Obi-Wan. “All of them, perhaps. We would sense if something were that badly wrong with any of us, even confused as things have been of late.”
“That’s –” Padmé stopped, because maybe saying horribly naïve might be going too far. “I guess I’ll concede the point.” She thought about the Jedi, living in their own enclosed world – wedded to the Force, with their intensive training to be disciplined, selfless, not ruled by each passing emotion. She wondered suddenly, how they saw everyone else – ambitious, greedy, uncontrolled, selfish, noisy, grasping, uncivilised? She found she hated the idea that Obi-Wan might be concealing an innate distaste of her. “But –” She stumbled over how to begin to ask that. “Is that how – what you think of the rest of us?”
“No!” he said, cutting in before she could finish. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, no.”
“Are you reading my mind?”
“Only your reaction. You’re forgetting the Force. It surrounds and is within everything – all life, not only the Jedi. You think of our life as austere, but it’s not, truly.”
Padmé nodded, relieved, but frustrated again. It wasn’t a fair argument when a vital element was unseen and unknowable to her, and everything to him. She pushed that thought aside. “Maybe I’m as guilty as anyone else of being prejudiced only because I don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and they exchanged a sudden, uncertain smile of truce, as if their uneven debate had come to a pre-agreed end. “We will have to discuss this again somewhere more congenial.”
She laughed, and leant her head against his shoulder. “I’d like that. And I really would like to understand.” She waved a hand, shifting the conversation towards something less divisive. “Tell me. What do you see that I can’t?”
“In here?” he said. “It isn’t very inspiring. It’s old, this ship, probably patched up from something marked for decommission. Much of the structure is beginning to deteriorate at the extremities. I can detect hypermatter particles in the air that shouldn’t be there, which suggests that the air filtering system is failing. Nothing we have to worry about,” he added, when she gave him an alarmed look. He continued: “Several creatures moving about in the inner workings and the lower hold. I think there are parasites in the fuel system, too.”
Padmé wrinkled her nose. “You’re right. That’s really not very inspiring.”
“One of the many reasons I hate flying,” he said. “And, of course, there are currently four sentient beings on board. Two in the cockpit, both humanoid – with a great deal of fear and anger between them. Then there’s you,” he said, turning to look at her, his voice lifting, “and you’re not afraid at all. Why is that?”
She closed her eyes, stifling a smile; relieved that even a Jedi couldn’t tell that it was mainly because he was with her. “I’m too tired,” she said, with a shrug. She thought maybe she might finally get some sleep at last, but Obi-Wan grew abruptly still beside her, and she raised her head even before he laid his hand on her arm.
“I think,” he murmured, leaning nearer, “that your diplomacy might have had more effect than you realised.”
He got to his feet in one swift movement, pulling her up after him, and keeping a steadying hand on her arm as the sound of the ship’s engines altered, along with its angle of flight. They were beginning their descent down to a planet.
“I sense trouble,” Obi-Wan said, leaning against the wall as he gestured, using his powers to open the door, which slid back with the same reluctant, juddering movement as before. As he stepped on through it, she heard the sound of shouting from elsewhere – and then blaster fire.
“They did say they were having a debate,” said Padmé, following Obi-Wan out into the corridor.
“Not a very civilised one.”
He picked up his pace, Padmé hurrying after. The ship was moving erratically, throwing her back against the inner hull. She scrabbled to her feet, and ran on, before another jolt and sharp change of direction nearly sent her falling back down the now-vertical corridor behind her. Obi-Wan, pressed back into the wall with a tight hold on some of the piping, caught her even as it righted itself again, landing her hard against him.
“Somebody’s doing our job for us,” he said, hanging onto her. “A little too well!”
They heard the sounds of more blaster fire from ahead. Padmé flinched. Obi-Wan let go of her and stepped forward, and she waited behind, holding onto the piping, but at the glimpse she got past him into the cock-pit, she stumbled forward to join him. He pushed her back sharply, even as the ship’s main control panel at the front burst into flames, the pilot caught in the blast with a yell, past helping even before he hit the wall.
The man she’d seen before was slumped in the chair next to the pilot, a smouldering blaster wound in his chest. Beyond them, through the viewscreen, she saw a forested planet came into rapidly closer view beneath them.
“Can we get the ship under control?” Padmé shouted over the noise. She avoided looking at the two dead men. There wasn’t time for anything other than staying alive.
Obi-Wan moved forward, heedless of the flames, causing Padmé to stifle an instinctive, alarmed protest. He pulled back almost immediately, taking her arm and ushering her out into the corridor. “No, it’s too far gone. Quickly, this way!”
He tugged her back down the corridor and into the cargo hold, before turning towards the outer hatch and raising his hand.
“Oh, no,” said Padmé, realising what he intended. “You’re not going to –” She stopped, swallowing back any further protests. If it had to be done, then it had to be done, and the only other option seemed to be going down with the ship, which was even less appealing.
Obi-Wan pulled her nearer with a grin. “Just trust me, Senator – and hang on!”
“I’ll try,” said Padmé, her heart pounding in her ears. “But after this, you’d better stop calling me Senator!”
She caught hold of him, shutting her eyes, but she could still hear the outer hatch opening, and feel the air pressure pulling at her as the junk around them scuttered across the floor, rolling on out ahead of them, and then as Obi-Wan said, “Now,” in her ear, she drew in her breath and they jumped.
Tall, large-leaved trees below slowed their fall. Obi-Wan caught hold of a passing branch, bringing them to temporary, precarious swaying halt, while Padmé hung onto him tightly, digging her fingers into his tunic and struggling not to yell as he swung out and released his hold on the tree, letting go in a directed fall. Padmé lost her grip on him at the last minute, crying out as she fell free – straight into a large pool of water beneath. She gasped at the impact and the chill, before plunging on under, kicking and struggling to make it back to the surface before Obi-Wan hauled her up, one arm around her, keeping them afloat as she spluttered and coughed.
“Well done,” he said, and then gave her a bright smile. “We survived. And I don’t know about you, but I needed a wash anyway.” He looked over towards the shore, not much more than a couple of arms’ lengths away, his tone sobering. “Can you make it?”
She nodded, swimming forwards, before walking the last few steps as the water grew shallower, weighted down by her sodden clothes. Obi-Wan reached the side ahead of her, climbing out, and turning back to offer her his hand. About to take it, Padmé stopped still knee-deep, spotting Mim out of the corner of her eye, caught in some nearby weeds. “Hang on,” she said, doing an about turn and swimming away towards the droid.
“Padmé?” Obi-Wan watched her progress from the bank. “What are you doing? Come back!”
She reached Mim and tugged it free, finding it hard now to keep her teeth from chattering. The water was cold and this wasn’t sensible. It just seemed so ungrateful to leave the poor droid to sink and rust. She tugged again, and it gave, propelling her backwards – and then felt something alive moving in the water under her. She yelled and sank momentarily in panic, before breaking the surface again, struggling to keep hold of the droid and stay afloat. She couldn’t see Obi-Wan in front of her any more, either.
“Obi-Wan?” She turned in the water.
He had moved further round the pool, keeping level with her progress. “Over here,” he said. “The water’s not so deep here. And, whatever that is, I think it’s more scared than you are. Just move towards me – slowly.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said, but followed his instructions, reaching the side of the pool with relief. She passed Mim up to him and then let him drag her out onto the long grass around the water. She coughed again, shivering at her sodden state despite twin suns shining down through the break in the trees around the pool. There didn’t seem to be all that much warmth in them.
Obi-Wan helped her to her feet, taking both her hands, as he frowned at her. “What possessed you? What use is this antiquated heap of junk to anyone?”
Padmé smiled, despite her shivering. “Hey. That’s what saved your life. You could show a little gratitude.”
His look of complete horror almost made everything worthwhile.
Obi-Wan surveyed the view from the top of the tree to which he’d climbed both for that purpose and to retrieve his cloak, which he’d spotted tangled in its topmost branches. The forest stretched out on all sides. To the left, far off, there was a mountain range on the horizon, but no sign of civilisation. Ahead, where a column of smoke rose up from the ship’s crash site, in a line beyond it, a grey tower rose above the greenery, built of stone and durasteel, with large darkened windows on every level. Presumably that had been their original destination. It was also the only viable source of shelter in sight.
As he watched, a small ship took off from a landing bay halfway up, passing on overhead, and then onwards, up into the atmosphere. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, tightening his grip on the tree branch as the trees bent and shook in the thunder of its wake. Had someone assumed that the ruined ship had been attacked – a pursuer close on its tail, perhaps? It was possible, but it would be unwise to jump to conclusions. Master Yoda would certainly say so.
Whatever the case, the tower was emptier than it had been before, and that helped even out their unfavourable odds. He climbed back downwards, dropping out of the tree to land lightly besides Padmé. She was walking about, trying to keep warm, although not with much success. She was still shivering in her wet clothes. He could compensate for that through the Force, but she couldn’t.
Obi-Wan reached her side. “Here,” he said, putting his cloak around her shoulders. He gave her a smile. “Would you rather have the good news or the bad news?”
She gave him a wary look, cold fingers curled around the edges of the thick, plain material at her throat. “W-what?”
“There is shelter nearby, but it doesn’t look very welcoming – and, judging by our craft’s flight path, it was probably where we were being taken in the first place. On the other hand, it may have now been abandoned – and it could provide us with some much needed answers.”
Padmé shivered again. “Wonderful. Are we proposing we walk into another trap?”
“It is the best policy,” he said, with an apologetic smile, and then leant forward to tug the cloak more firmly into place around her, before raising his hand to her face. “May I?” he murmured, and when she nodded, he touched her cheek, trying to ease her of the cold, even if he could do very little for the exhaustion he could also sense so clearly. She drew in her breath and looked up with a smile, catching him a little off-guard, not quite as careful as he should have been. He kissed her forehead and drew back.
“I will keep you safe, I promise,” he said, one hand on her arm.
She nodded, but then threw him a look. “I don’t know – you say that, Master Jedi, and I’d like to believe you, but you just threw me out of a moving spaceship.”
“Well, you let that archaic thing have a shot at killing me,” he said, waving a hand towards the defunct med-droid on the ground beside them.
“You’d have died if I hadn’t.”
“I’m not sure I would,” Obi-Wan responded, after considering the matter. It was hard to be sure, because his memory of it was unclear, but on balance, he thought not. He picked up the droid and gave her another smile. “However, you undoubtedly did save my life, so thank you.” Had she not found treatment for him, they would either have died when the ship crashed or been brought to this tower with him an extremely weakened state and that, he feared, might even have been worse. He patted her arm. “Come on. It isn’t very far. I’ll help all I can.”
Padmé straightened herself. “I’m all right.”
“You’re not,” he said mildly, as they set off, side by side through the forest. “I can feel it.” He took her hand and led her onwards.
By the time they reached the tower, Padmé was ready to collapse, despite a steely determination Obi-Wan could also sense in her; a taut line through the fog of coldness and exhaustion.
“Wait here, and keep out of sight,” he said, dropping the wretched droid beside her – or what was left of it, since pieces had kept falling off it as they walked. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
He circled the tower, his senses on the alert for life. He could feel only emptiness within, the shape of vast, dusty, unlived-in rooms – if also a darkness that confused matters. He sensed the presence of many busy small creatures in its walls, floors, and roof, while trailing vines forced their way in on one side, but he could feel no indication of any larger or more intelligent life. He declined to use the word safe for this place – it did not feel safe – but he would go so far as to say that whatever else lay within, it was devoid of threatening life-forms.
Completing the circuit brought him back to Padmé, who got to her feet as he approached.
“I think we’re alone,” he informed her. “If you will wait out here, I will go in and make sure.”
Padmé gave a small, tired smile. “If we’re going to head into a trap again, we might as well do it together. I want to know what’s going on as much as you do.”
“If you insist,” he said, and led the way to the main entrance. It had a large, arched door that had not been raised in years. Its opening mechanism was clogged with dirt and badly eroded, protesting as he concentrated on getting it to move, succeeding only with an effort of will. Whoever had been hiding out here had not entered this way – perhaps they used only the shuttle bay as a means of getting in and out of the place.
The open doorway revealed a gloomy hall with high ceilings. He turned back to Padmé. She gave a brief nod, and Obi-Wan stepped inside before hearing the sound of objects shifting and grinding, and feeling the weight of the air changing above them. He grabbed Padmé and leapt forward, landing them both in a heap on the floor against a pillar as masonry and metal debris fell behind them, blocking the doorway.
“Not very welcoming,” he said, looking down at Padmé as she pulled herself back onto her hands and knees beside him.
She brushed a stray hair back from her face and coughed as the dust settled around them. “Maybe we should have stayed out in the forest.”
“Let’s hope for the best,” he said, and frowned, searching outwards with the Force, although not seeing as clearly or as far as he would have liked. “Come on. I saw a ship leaving, so some part of the building must be habitable.”
He was beginning to wonder if he was mistaken about that as they wandered on through the tower, up through the levels, finding only chambers full of dust-laden furniture and hangings that rotted away at the touch. This place hadn’t just been shut up for a few years, it had apparently been deserted for a century or more.
Reaching the fifth level, where he estimated the landing bay must be, Padmé turned right and he left, entering into a set of rooms that had clearly been in use until a few hours ago. There was a kitchen, a comms room, a corridor that promised to lead through to the landing bay judging by the draft blowing down it, and marks on the floor where other items had evidently been placed and then removed. He turned back to call out to Padmé, before stopping to examine the comms panel.
Whoever had left so abruptly had tried to disable it: there was one, large but neat burn mark, uncomfortably like to that which might be left by a lightsaber. Impossible as that should have been, it would also be consistent with the damage he sensed within. A tiny plume of smoke still rose from the top of it. He opened it up, smothering the smouldering section with his sleeve ends, and then studied it with a frown. It was not completely irreparable, but it would take some time. And while it certainly looked as if their enemy wasn’t planning on returning, he couldn’t rule it out.
“Will it work?” said Padmé from behind him.
Obi-Wan turned. “Good question, although I am currently trying to be optimistic.”
“Well, it’s something,” she said. “It’s better than what I found.”
He glanced towards her in concern.
“Nothing dangerous,” she said. “Not any more, anyway. What else is in here?”
They made their way down the corridor to the landing bay, emerging out into the cold air to find it empty barring some tools and a broken down space shuttle that looked as ancient as the rest of the building.
“The only way that’s getting off the ground,” said Obi-Wan, with resigned regret, “is if I levitate it.” He looked at Padmé. “Of course, if Anakin were here –”
“I’ve got a little R2 unit –” she said at the same moment.
They laughed.
“But, then, I’m not sure that’s even a whole ship,” Padmé said. She caught hold of his arm. “I think you’re right – it’d take a miracle to get that going. I’d better show you what I found.”
The door Padmé had taken led to a gallery, looking down over several levels below, with a staircase leading upwards at the end. Obi-Wan felt a sense of unease grow in him as he neared the edge of the gallery.
Padmé leant over the ornate railings, level with her shoulders, and said, “Down there. Do you see? And the smell –” She drew back, her hand over her mouth. “That was how I spotted it.”
Down below, Obi-Wan could see fuel tanks, part of the power system for the building, one of which was open – and there was a corpse floating in it. An elderly woman, dead for quite some time. He frowned further, sensing something else that didn’t belong in there with her, displacing the fuel – a droid, perhaps?
“I think she must have lived here,” said Padmé. “There are habitable rooms above, although it looks like some of them were shut up, too. Just not as bad as the rest of the place. I guess she was the last of the family, or the organisation. Whatever this place was. Poor thing. And look at how high these railings are. She couldn’t possibly have fallen.”
Obi-Wan nodded. Whoever had brought them here, had evidently taken over this isolated place with no regard for its unfortunate original owner. He stepped away from the railings. That in itself wasn’t surprising, but the sabotage of the comms system by what could so easily have been a lightsaber was fresh in his mind and the oppressive feeling left behind by this murder clung to him, leading him to worryingly dark conclusions.
“She must have been pushed,” Padmé was saying. She paused and frowned at him. “Obi-Wan, are you okay?”
“Or thrown,” he said distantly. If he turned on Padmé where she stood now and thrust her over using the Force, the trajectory would be about right. He’d have liked to tell himself he was jumping to conclusions, that the supposed lightsaber burn had made him unreasonably jittery, but he knew it wasn’t true. He could almost see it happening. “Oh, I have a bad feeling about this.”
Padmé watched him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I hope,” he said. “Or at least no more than we already knew. You go on up again, see what you can find that’s of any use – you should change,” he added, reminded of her current state. “And rest, for that matter. I shall go down and get her out of there.”
She moved nearer. “If there is something wrong, not telling me isn’t protecting me. I’d prefer to know, thanks.”
“Yes,” he said, turning his head. “I do understand. But I’m not at my best, and I may be wrong. I sense no immediate danger here – we are alone, I’m sure of it. I won’t be long.”
Removing the corpse from the tank proved more awkward than he had anticipated, and by the time he climbed the stairs to join Padmé on the floor above, she had had time to wash and change. She poked her head round the door on hearing his approach and then stopped, blinking at his appearance.
“What happened to you?”
He glanced down at his tunic, now stained with blue and orange gunk from the unfamiliar fuel tanks and then held up a hand. “Don’t ask.”
Padmé pulled a face and emerged out of the room, nearly tripping over the voluminous lilac robes she had borrowed. She’d tried tying them up round the waist in an unflattering sack-like effect, but not to any great effect. Obi-Wan put a hand to his mouth, unable to help laughing at the unexpected sight.
“We’re lucky to have found anything,” she said, raising her chin. “You couldn’t expect it to fit as well.”
He crossed the hallway to join her. “I suppose not.”
“Did you find anything more down there?”
Obi-Wan shook his head. “Nothing but a deep-fried droid. I shall try to fix the comms unit. Why don’t you get some rest? I don’t believe you’ve slept properly in days.”
“I was going to look for food first. Did you find any downstairs? There was some sort of preparation area, wasn’t there?”
Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, but – can you make it downstairs in that?”
“I shall be all right,” said Padmé. “I’ve navigated my way around in far more awkward outfits, trust me. Just go and get that horrible stuff off – you stink!”
“Thank you, my lady,” he said, in not entirely mock-affront, and went away to take her advice.
Midway through repairing the comms unit, Obi-Wan drew back, closing his eyes and focusing on its workings – the way that everything should connect, the direction in which the energy should be flowing, before setting to work again. The damage had been considerable, but he ought to be able to bypass the burnt panel and get it operational. There was a risk it might short out permanently after, but any successful signal was better than nothing. It was the only way they were going get off this planet any time soon, especially since there was no indication their captor intended to return, and no reason to believe this planet was near any of the major space routes.
He bit back a wry smile at the idea of the two of them trying to settle down in this appalling tower, and then surprised himself with a small pang of something at the idea of staying here with Padmé. He shook the thought away, and blamed it on the borrowed blue tunic, clothes that had belonged to someone who had, for reasons of their own, chosen to live here once, years before. Best to get on with the repairs.
Obi-Wan twined two wires together and started when a voice spoke above his head before cutting out again. Raising his head, he saw a holo image of a hooded figure playing. “Lord Tyr–” it said and then the image disintegrated into hopeless flickering and cut out.
It brought him back to his earlier, unwelcome suspicion – if someone had been using a lightsaber here and abusing the Force, then it could not be a Jedi; it had to be a Sith lord.
“Oh, no,” he said, under his breath, trying to find out how to make the wretched thing play the full message. “Not good. Come on!” The comms panel only replayed the same fragment, over too quickly to fully identify anyone, and when he tried to freeze it, the image flickered too wildly to be of any use.
He stopped and, still sitting on the floor, leant back against the side of the panel. He must be calm. It was disturbing, but he had every reason to believe that whoever had been hiding here, whatever they were, had gone and was not coming back. The sabotage he was trying to fix was testament to that. There was no more or less danger here, only a greater need to return Padmé safely to Coruscant and put this before the Council as soon as possible.
That was when he felt it; at first only a prickling feeling down his spine, the hairs rising on the back of his neck, and then a sense of darkness that seeped into the room, the chill in the air stinging his lungs and depriving him of breath. And underneath it, the sense of something worse that he had not felt since he was on Naboo – some lingering sense of the Dark Side. For a moment he had a too-vivid flash of memory, of Maul’s face in front of him, and Qui-Gon falling to the ground –
Fear that he was unaccustomed to feeling flowed through him. He felt cold pain; ice in his veins and saw worse visions – ash falling everywhere in and around a broken and burning Jedi Temple. Death all about him, and the stars fell from the sky one by one –
He shut his eyes and focused on his breathing. There was nothing truly here. This was some last shadow of something that had been here, that was all. He must not allow it to affect him. He breathed, analysed – he was weakened and this temporary smothering of the Force around him was having more effect than it should. But that was all.
Obi-Wan pulled himself up, leaning against the control panel, breathless at the effort.
The ragged edges of the darkness clung to him: the ice remained, now there was also fire. Burning rage swept over him, but it was easier to keep that at a distance. Breathe. There is no emotion, only peace. There is no anger, there is no fear. In his mind’s eye, he raised a lightsaber and brought it down –
“Enough,” he said aloud, gathering strength while the darkness began to slide away as silently as it had come. “Enough.”
And then he lifted his head sharply, sensing movement above him before he heard the cry.
“Padmé,” he said, and ran.
She was sitting upright on the bed in one of the chambers above, waves of purple fabric spread out about her, as she hugged her knees to her, struggling for breath.
“Padmé,” Obi-Wan said, reaching her and taking hold of her hands, feeling the rigidity of her posture ease at his touch. “Just breathe. It’s all right. It’s gone now. You’re safe.” He cast her a worried glance despite his reassuring words. Her presence in the Force had grown so faint that for a moment he feared she had stopped breathing. He rubbed his fingers around her wrists. “Look at me.”
She drew in a ragged breath at last and raised her head slowly, brown eyes wide and dark, before she blinked and seemed to fully register his presence. He felt her life force grow stronger again, warming him in turn; clear and bright in this dark place.
“What – what happened?” she asked, her voice a whisper. She was cold under his touch and her heart rate was still too rapid. “I had a dream, I think, but –”
Obi-Wan shook his head. “It’s best to let it go, whatever it was. Only an echo of something, I think. Concentrate on breathing –”
“I’m not a Jedi,” she said.
Amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I know. Nevertheless, it will help.”
“I’m cold,” she said, after a few moments of trying his suggestion. “I don’t understand.” She shifted her hold on his arms. “You’re cold too.”
He nodded. “I had a similar experience downstairs.” He could still feel splinters of ice within, unwarmed by tiny arrows of dark fire. “An overwhelming sense of darkness, but whatever it was, it’s only a remnant of something that was here. It has gone.”
They exchanged another glance, the pretence that they were not connected impossible to maintain against unspoken understanding. Padmé gripped his arms and he kissed her temple.
“Please, don’t just sit there,” she said, and he pulled her in nearer, holding her close against him until the chill in both of them had begun to ease. There wasn’t enough light and warmth remaining not to share in each other’s. It was perfectly sensible, perfectly appropriate in the circumstances, so he told himself. She put her arms around him tightly, resting her head against his shoulder for a moment before she raised it again to look at him, and he followed his heart, trusted his feelings – and kissed her.
He remembered small, passing things, so easily put aside before – a sense of compassion at Theed – shared secret amusement across a crowded room – a familiar and welcoming presence in a room full of hostile politicians –
Padmé had her hands in his hair, kissing him in return, the here and now overwriting the past. He could feel the cold fading out of both of them even as the barriers of their roles also melted away. He always had felt they were connected in some way, their fates intertwined, but he hadn’t quite imagined this: Padmé’s warmth against him through the borrowed robes, her lips parting under his, how in the Force she shone with an inner truth that should have been strange for a Senator, and her heart open to him. To refuse to respond would be ungenerous, impossible.
It was not only the immediate sense of darkness that retreated. For the first time in an age, the constant smothering cloud of an unwanted future lifted from him. And this, he thought, in sudden and unexpected surety in the Force, felt right; the realisation of how much startling him into pulling back and breaking the spell.
After a long moment, Padmé drew in a breath and raised her head, attempting to recover some sort of senatorial dignity that couldn’t deceive him when he could feel her unsteadiness and the confusion of joy and dismay in her that spoke for them both.
“Have you had much luck with the comms unit?” she said, keeping her tone carefully professional.
“I –” Obi-Wan cleared his throat, knowing that he should address the underlying question and not the one she had asked, but after all, it was vital that they got away from this place, whatever else they did. “I believe so. I should finish – and next I need to find a way to figure out exactly where we are.”
Padmé gave a laugh, pressing her hand over her mouth.
“Why is that funny?”
She let her hand fall again. “You – you’re a Jedi Master and you don’t even know what planet we’re on?”
“The circumstances aren’t usual,” he said, and felt the tension ease between them, although he wasn’t sure that was a good thing. He ought to explain what it was that had stopped him, but he wasn’t sure he understood it himself yet, or could trust a feeling that complied so exactly with his immediate wishes. “And I believe I know how to find out.”
He moved away, but hesitated, turning back to catch squeeze her hand briefly before leaving.
Padmé made her way back down to the level below, holding up the long robe as she descended. She had waited upstairs for long enough wondering what she was supposed to make of what had happened between them and had only concluded that it had better wait until they were away from here.
Except, she thought, as she made her way along the corridor towards the landing bay, hearing faint noises from that direction that indicated that was where she would find Obi-Wan, they would both most likely be swept back into missions and debates and it would be easy to avoid the topic and each other, as it always had been before. She raised her head. Well, now she had allowed herself to own that perhaps she had feelings for one of the most unobtainable beings in the galaxy – a Jedi knight – and she could move on. And she at least had the consolation of one moment more than had ever seemed likely. That would have to do. It would be for the best.
The light was failing outside, the stars beginning to be visible in the sky as dusk stole away into night and Padmé crossed the landing bay to join Obi-Wan at the edge of it. He was sitting, legs crossed, beside the med-droid she’d rescued, a cable from it to the wall trailing past him on the floor.
“I thought you didn’t see the value in antiquated junk?” she said and gave him a smile when he turned his head.
He pressed a button on the droid and a holo image of a sector of the galaxy appeared between them. “It turns out that this droid is of a similar vintage to that –” He gestured towards the remains of the space craft in the hangar. “So, I removed the navigation charts from it and cannibalised your droid for an energy source. Now we just have to pinpoint where we are.”
“Poor Mim,” said Padmé, feeling an illogical twinge of pity.
Obi-Wan’s attention was on the chart. “We can rule out anything too far from Coruscant, but that leaves a lot of star systems.”
“There is something,” said Padmé, the sight of the droid sparking a memory. “Mim said that poison they used on you was rare and only came from sectors near to the Unknown Region. We could try that direction first.”
Obi-Wan put a hand to his chin, considering. “It is somewhere to start, I suppose.”
“I guess,” said Padmé. “Mim said Selvaris, I think. Where’s that?”
Obi-Wan requested the chart to display the night sky from Selvaris. The holo image froze and flickered and then gradually, with painful slowness, began to display the new details. “Remind me next time to get captured by someone with up to date technology.”
“Hmm,” said Padmé, her mind falling back to the state of affairs between them. It had to be addressed, and better sooner rather than later. She bit her lip, finding it hard to summon up any of her customary eloquence. “I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I know what I said earlier, about the Jedi, but I’d never mean to disrespect your vows.”
He turned his attention from the stars to her in surprise. “I’m sorry?”
“That’s what I was saying,” she said, with a half-smile, trying to batten down on any sadness or regret in case he sensed it. “Upstairs. I’m sorry if it was inappropriate.”
Obi-Wan took her hand, his expression softening, and he shook his head. “No, no. Please don’t apologise. I would never call that inappropriate, and I didn’t break any vows. Besides, it was a perfectly natural response to the situation.”
“Oh,” said Padmé and let him continue to hold her hand, although she wasn’t sure his detached kindness wasn’t worse. At least reproach would have meant it really did matter to him. She’d felt so sure that it must have done, and now – not. She stared out across an endless sea of trees under the darkening sky of an unknown world and blinked away foolish tears.
“You know,” said Obi-Wan, in a different tone, pulling her attention back to the chart, “you might be right. Even given the outdated astronomical data, Selvaris looks like a plausible match.” He met her gaze. “Do you see?”
And between them, they sat hand in hand and studied the stars beside them and above, and that was also more than she had schooled herself to expect. It was something.
“I thought you said you’d fixed it,” said Padmé leaning over the comms panel with Obi-Wan. The star charts had aligned too well with the night sky above to be ignored. The brief additional data contained in the ship’s navigational info also suggested it was a possibility – Selvaris had two suns and was heavily forested. After trying several other possibilities, they’d both agreed that the balance of probability was in its favour.
Obi-Wan adjusted several of the settings. “I have, but it doesn’t have sufficient range to reach Coruscant. And I don’t want to send out a broader distress signal when the only ship we know to be in the vicinity is precisely the one we don’t want alerted to our presence here.”
“Try my code,” she suggested. “My people must be looking for me, and they might be nearer.”
Obi-Wan stood back, and waved her towards the controls. “Be my guest.”
Padmé entered the code and sent out the message, keeping it brief, mainly stating that they were unharmed and on Selvaris, in need of a ride home.
“Now,” said Obi-Wan, “we wait.”
Padmé nodded, but even as she straightened up, the lights flashed, indicating a response. She leant over again, pressing the nearest panel and a holo image appeared in front of her.
“My lady,” said Captain Typho’s ghostly blue image. “Are you unharmed?”
“Yes,” she said, throwing a quick, triumphant grin at Obi-Wan before answering the captain. “I’m okay and so is Master Kenobi. He’s here with me.”
Typho nodded. “I’m relieved to hear it. We feared the worst – all I found at the scene of the incident was his lightsaber and blaster marks on the walls. There was even a rumour on the holonets you’d taken off together, although how they got hold of these things, I don’t know. My lady, I must remind you –”
“I’m fully aware of my responsibilities, Captain,” Padmé said. “The vital thing is to return to Coruscant as soon as possible. Can you follow our signal here?”
“Of course,” he said. “We’ll be as quick as we can.”
Obi-Wan leant forward. “Captain, can you send a message on to the Jedi Council for me? I need to speak with them as soon as I return – and I would be very grateful if someone will ensure that Anakin knows I’m safe.”
“Of course, Master Kenobi.”
“Thank you,” said Obi-Wan, drawing back as the transmission ended.
Padmé smiled at him; relief at the prospect of rescue flooding through her. “Now all we have to do is wait.”
“Yes,” he said, but he was looking past her, arms folded, apparently lost in thought.
Padmé watched him. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no, only I’d rather there hadn’t been holonet rumours of that kind.”
Padmé raised her eyebrows. “That hardly seems worth worrying over. It’s not the sort of thing anyone pays attention to. And,” she added, unable to help hurt bleeding into her voice, “it is a little hypocritical, Master Kenobi.”
“Oh,” he said, turning to look at her properly, “no, you mistake me. It was only – well, I don’t suppose they will, but I would rather that the Council didn’t ask me anything of that nature until I knew what I wanted to say myself.”
She pressed her hand to her mouth, lowering her gaze, but failing to stifle a sudden flare of hope. “I’d assumed from what you told me, that there wasn’t anything to say.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, taking her hands in his. “I can’t quite explain it – I had, well, I had a good feeling about it.”
Padmé studied him, not having expected that. “Isn’t that . . . usual?”
“I,” said Obi-Wan and stopped, giving her a reproachful look. “I don’t know how to explain. It felt right. I’m not sure I understand myself yet. But I certainly didn’t intend to give you the opposite impression.”
She shifted her hold on him, tightening fingers around his wrist. “I always thought that Jedi, well, didn’t do this kind of thing at all.” She felt her cheeks heat at even raising the topic more directly.
“Serious attachments are forbidden,” he said. “But, as I said, we have nothing to worry about, not as regards what happened earlier. Even had we gone further, there would have been nothing to trouble the Council in that.”
Padmé reflected that she was maybe as guilty as anyone of listening to stories about Jedi without always checking up on the facts. And this, right now, was a very important fact.
“Of course, there is an attachment between us already, or certainly the potential for one, but even so –” He shrugged. “As long as we did not persist. But if we did, that should be wrong, and yet that wasn’t what I felt – that was quite different.”
She would probably need to try and understand exactly what he was trying to say, but it was about the future and unseen matters of the Force, the state of the Republic grew ever more uncertain. Padmé wasn’t sure she wanted to think about the future too much these days. Her mind was still on what he’d said before. It might make all the difference to them now.
“Obi-Wan,” she said, interrupting him and moving in nearer, “wait. Are you telling me that if something did happen between us while we were sitting here waiting for rescue, that would be fine? There would be nothing wrong with that at all?”
He looked at her. “No, not as such. But –” Despite the implied objection, he put his hand to her face, leaning in nearer.
“Then I’d like that,” she said, finding her courage again. “I don’t know about anything that is or isn’t going to happen, but this much would be okay. It would be something. If you wanted, I mean.”
He gave a short laugh, and pulled her into his arms. “I’m not sure it’s the best idea, but, yes.”
“You could try being more romantic,” she said, smoothing down the front of his tunic. “Here we, in our own private hideaway, in the middle of an unspoilt forest, far away from the Senate and the Council –”
“Yes, our very own gloomy fortress, complete with a corpse in the fuel tank, rotting furniture, and remnants of the Dark Side floating about. I take your point, Senator. I’ll try to do better.”
She raised her head in time to catch the gleam of amusement in his eyes, and laughed. “That’s exactly what I meant.”
Obi-Wan bent his head to kiss her but drew back, his expression more serious even as he stroked her hair. “What if this is only another trap?”
“Well,” said Padmé, pretending to consider the matter carefully, biting back happiness that couldn’t truly be contained, and seeing him smile as he sensed it, “I’m not sure that’s very romantic, either, but when it comes to traps, isn’t your usual policy to walk straight in?”