The time of a passionate kiss, separated from each other by millions of light-years, treacherously came to an end. Offering the most sincere smile a woman could possibly manage, Padmé Amidala ended the intense—if brief—comms session. The holographic image of the man she loved flickered, and a second later it went dark, leaving the senator alone to wait for the next time.
She was left with mixed feelings. Inside her, a fierce struggle unfolded between the woman who wanted simple family happiness and the responsible politician who carried upon her fragile shoulders the hopes and dreams of millions of the people of Naboo and countless trillions of the Republic's citizens.
She was a senator of the Galactic Republic, the elected representative of Naboo, one of the key speakers of the pacifist faction that wanted, at last, to bring this drawn-out civil war to an end. Anakin was a Jedi Knight, a guardian of order in the Galaxy, a monk whose Code commanded him to renounce attachments like family or a loved one. Finally, he was a general in the very war she opposed so fiercely, which meant their secret relationship made her a hypocrite—at least in her own eyes.
Anakin was considerably younger than she was. Usually, such a gap becomes a stumbling block in a serious relationship, but Naberrie felt good with him. Padmé had never had a childhood in the usual sense of the word. While her peers lived through their first loves, she—Queen of Naboo—handled crises on a planetary scale, saving her homeworld from occupation by the Trade Federation. Behind the outer shell of an experienced politician, a girl was hidden—one who dreamed of being an ordinary teenager, if only for a little while.
In a sense, her dream came true ten years later, when Amidala, on duty, arrived on Coruscant, the Republic's capital, and met the now-grown "boy from Tatooine" again. Secret, brief but no less fiery meetings and dates; playing spies hiding from the whole world. All of it, against cold logic, stirred the blood of that girl who had once dreamed of a normal childhood. At last, they married in secret from everyone, and…
Each of them belonged to different worlds; both, buried under the weight of others' expectations and responsibility, did not belong to themselves. How many times Padmé had scolded herself for a whole bouquet of faults. She should have taken the initiative into her own hands and pushed him away, but each time, touching him, Padmé gave in to weakness, wanting to stretch that moment of pleasure—wanting it to last just a little longer.
But now her personal selfishness no longer mattered. The woman ran a hand over her belly, which had already begun to take on a rounded shape beneath layers of clothing. Twins. Yes—Padmé Amidala carried the fruits of their shared love beneath her heart. At first, the very thought of pregnancy scared the senator half to death. A whole swarm of questions churned in her mind. What about their status, their shared secret… what kind of life would await the children? Did she have the right to bring children into a world torn by a bloody civil war? What would she do if the Separatists killed Anakin—their father?!
With all these contradictions piling up, the senator's head regularly ached. But now the time for doubt was long past. Even though the little ones had not yet been born, she had already come to love them with all her heart. The only problem left was Anakin. Most of the most talented Jedi, the war's most successful heroes, had been recalled to the Outer Rim to fight the Separatists. The future father did not yet even suspect his happiness, and Padmé once again did not have the courage to tell him.
"Padmé, come back down to earth." A familiar, gentle female voice pulled the senator out of the chaos of her thoughts.
It was Naberrie's friend and longtime ally, Senator Mon Mothma, the representative from the Bormea sector. Her bright red hair burned in the sunset light, and her face showed the deepest concern for her dear friend's health.
"Sorry, it must be exhaustion," Amidala tried to reassure the Chandrilan. "I'll be fine. Really."
A lie. Sour-tasting pricks of guilt made Naberrie look away.
"Oh, what am I going to do with you…" Mon Mothma sighed wearily. "Come on—there'll be a Senate session soon on humanitarian shipments. Bail is waiting for us."
***
The mind-clouding veil of rage began to recede little by little, returning the Jedi Knight's ability to think clearly. At Anakin's feet lay the body of the Separatist commander he had mercilessly killed. The arachnid-like Admiral Trench had long earned a reputation as a serious pain in the neck for the Grand Army of the Republic. An experienced naval commander, he had harried the Republic fleet with raid attacks, and now he had even carried out a daring strike on the Core Worlds!
Anaxes—a strategically important shipyard world of the Republic, located in the Axum sector—had been taken under siege, while CIS ground forces assaulted Fort Anaxes, a fortified Republic military base. The appearance of a Separatist fleet deep in the Grand Army's rear scared the entire leadership half to death. Three of the most proven Jedi Generals were dispatched to defend the system at once: Mace Windu, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Anakin Skywalker.
Anakin cast a brief glance at the cooling corpse of the oversized spider. Trench, deprived of his weapon and most of his augmentics, had been utterly helpless before the defender of peace. Skywalker could have taken him prisoner. That was what a true Jedi should have done. "Take a life only when necessity is absolute." Master Yoda's words flashed through his mind—only to be replaced by the image of the mangled Echo, a clone commando of the 501st Legion twisted by the Separatists, whom everyone had believed dead for a long time.
Could the young Jedi Knight have left Trench alive? That piece of filth clearly deserved no mercy, but still… Gunray's capture and escape, the second landing on Geonosis, Count Dooku's escapes turning into a maddening routine. If the Clone Wars had taught Skywalker anything, it was that enemies should be eliminated when the opportunity presents itself.
Anakin clenched his teeth, trying to suppress another surge of anger. That spider's ability to claw his way out alive from situations that were guaranteed to be fatal could rival Darth Maul's—an old enemy of his dear teacher and friend, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Several times, Trench had been blown up along with his own flagship, yet the arachnid simply refused to die, continuing to torment the Republic Army's forces even after half his body had been replaced with cybernetic implants.
Right… make sure that spider would never again disturb the peace of the Republic's citizens. There was not a drop of regret, pity, or remorse in the Jedi's eyes. Trench was an enemy, and Anakin had removed that enemy. That was his duty to the Order, to the Republic, to the Chancellor…