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The girl in the white dress had her mother’s brain and her father’s heart, and a spark that was entirely her own.
Sheev Palpatine read over the taxation bill for the last time. Officially, it was the first time he’d seen it, and so he took care to make it look like he was reading deeply into the document.
No one ever saw his true face, the pure anger that burned in him. But they might, someday.
Obi-Wan Kenobi did not like politicians. It was nothing personal. To be honest, he didn’t know that many politicians, and those he did know were generally decent to him, even though he was only a Padawan. The problem was that politicians wrote so many things down, and then Obi-Wan had to read them, because his master had a feeling that something was coming. Qui-Gon had a deeply annoying habit of being correct about this sort of thing, which was one of the reasons Obi-Wan hadn’t mutinied. Well, that and because he’d tried something very like mutiny once, and it hadn’t gone well.
“At least that means we’ll be less likely to get involved in local labor disputes,” Obi-Wan said. “Or kick-start unlikely romances with the local nobility.” The rebuke in Qui-Gon’s tone for Obi-Wan’s choice of wording was unmistakable: some things were too serious to be understated.
In a factory on Geonosis, a very large order was registered in the central computer. The furnaces flared under the desert sun, and a river of molten metal began its journey. The production line clanked to life.
“Rabé,” Rabene said. “Your wardrobe mistress, I think.”
“Yané,” said Suyan. “I’ll be in charge of liaising with the palace staff and droids.”
“Eirtaé,” Eirtama said. “Communications.”
“Saché. The lowly page.”
“I will be everyone’s assistant,” Tsabin said.
“Sabé.”
Chancellor Valorum did not enjoy meetings with the Trade Federation. He was not allowed to admit it in public, but he harbored a vague distaste for senators who represented corporations, not planets.
No other humans had ever competed in a podrace, and Anakin’s dubious record was in jeopardy every time he waited at the start line. But she could do nothing. She couldn’t protest or argue, couldn’t barter or trade. She had nothing of her own to give.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Anakin said. “I’m always going to be with you.”
“Questions not fit for the others, you have?” Yoda asked as Windu took a seat on the grass beside him. “Embarrassing, are they?”
He had never responded well to Yoda’s particular brand of humor, even as a youngling. It was one of the reasons Yoda kept it up.
The light surrounded him, the dark a comfortable distance from the limits of his perception. And yet there was something; rather, there was nothing. And it eluded him completely.
“You want to tear apart a priceless antique and plant a blaster in it?” Amidala demanded.
He hadn’t thought that Queen Amidala could muster that sort of achievement in the short time since her election. It would be the last time he underestimated her. Even if she succeeded in uniting the system, he could still play it to his advantage.
“Your Highness,” said the figure. “I am Viceroy Nute Gunray of the Trade Federation. I require you to sign a treaty.” “Viceroy, this is highly unorthodox,” Amidala said. “We are not in the habit of signing treaties with people we have only just met.”
The treaty was, in Sio Bibble’s professional opinion, a pile of shaak shit. Naboo would be indenturing itself to the Trade Federation’s whims and stood to gain absolutely nothing from the arrangement. They couldn’t possibly expect the Queen to sign it.
“We must put our faith in the ambassadors,” Amidala said.
They all trooped into the throne room to wait, and passed the time by organizing ration plans. When two hours had gone by, Padmé sent a message to Nute Gunray, reminding him that she knew the ambassadors were due. The viceroy seemed too smug.
Senator Palpatine was available, but his image flickered out before they could have any real discussion. Bibble immediately declared what everyone was thinking: invasion was nigh. Panaka and the governor quibbled about how to respond, and before they could make any real decision, it was made for them: the Trade Federation ships were already landing.
Jar Jar Binks was having a terrible afternoon. Disaster had always plagued him, it was true, but today the galaxy seemed to be taking it to extremes.
“We are brave, Your Highness.” The Jedi’s choice was a hard one, and everything inside Padmé screamed to stay with their people. She wasn’t entirely sure she trusted Qui-Gon Jinn yet, but she knew Panaka would probably get himself killed if they stayed, and Governor Bibble seemed to think that going to Palpatine was their best chance now that they’d been overrun, and Padmé agreed with him.
On a dusty world with two bright suns, a little boy looked up from his work and saw an angel.
What did matter to him was the series of corridors that led from the hangar down to the power generation facilities. There were two Jedi, which meant they had the advantage of attacking him from multiple directions at the same time. He wanted a way to remove some of those directions, and the maze of catwalks and unguarded pathways in the generator area was perfect for that. He would always know where they were coming from.
The Jedi were gone, and Anakin Skywalker had gone with them. Most of Naboo would never know what he had done for them, but those who did know would never forget.
