wombat1138 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wombat1138) wrote2005-01-04 04:30 am
wombat1138) wrote2005-01-04 04:30 am
Entry tags:
Arcadia, intro and chapter 1
Okay, I think I've figured out this lj-cut thing. Mostly. It's going to be a pain to reformat the line-spacing without them handy Word macros, but I'll probably just keep updating this entry chapter by chapter to keep everything sequential.
Acknowledgements and ground rules:
"In thy orisons, be all my sins remembered." Hamlet
The "Arcadia" files are chapters of a novella cumulatively archived as each is completed or occasionally revised. All comments, flamage, pokes to hurry up and finish, and so forth may be directed to me at <wombat1138@yahoo.com>.
Some older drafts are available on paper at the Corellian Archives (Ming Wathne, librarian; 437 Via Roma Dr., Santa Barbara CA 93110; send her a large SASE for complete lending list and guidelines). A partial draft of the final chapter (projected as part 9) was posted to rec.arts.sf.starwars in July 1992 and appeared in the fanzine Imperium 4 (Arwen Rosenbaum, editor; 109 W. 85th St, NY NY 10024) without my prior notification or consent. I have since accepted an apology and a contributor's copy of the 'zine. If you would like to redistribute hard copies of this story en masse, I would strongly prefer to be told beforehand.
"Arcadia" is based on characters and concepts created by George Lucas and over which he holds all ultimate rights. Other primary inspirations are listed below; any exclusion of copyright acknowledgement is the result of my own forgetfulness and sloth, and not a deliberate attempt to claim origination of others' material. Any material not covered by previous copyrights is presumably mine. (* legal weaseling mode off *)
The Alderaani succession vendettas first came to my attention in Dark Force Rising, by Timothy Zahn. The relationship of House Antilles to House Organa was alluded to in Rusty Miller's Jedi Master's Handbook. Otherwise, I heed or ignore apocryphal material (IMHO, any licensed material that isn't confirmed by the movies themselves) as I feel like it, especially West End Games' specious family history of Wedge Antilles.
I owe more thanks than I can give to Vian Lawson for editing and wombats; and to the wombat-consort for his constant support (with only a tiny bit of sarcasm) in exchange for the occasional chocolate wombat. Aaron Romanowsky got me back on track in chapter 2. Bruno Michalski's feedback was instrumental in the existence of chapter 8.
Since the above credits are not in the novella chapters themselves, this file must be retained with them whenever they are transferred, printed, or otherwise dispersed. Any attempt to distribute them for profit violates the aforementioned copyrights and my wishes.
"Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood."
Sonnet 19
Chapter 1: Mademoiselle d'Alderaan, parlez-vous?
------------------------------------------
In the morning light, the wide Alderaani forests were tipped with gold. Danah Antilles, Dowager Princess of Alderaan, surveyed the dappled pelt of gilt leaves and shadow from high above. She sat at her breakfast table as if enthroned. On the other side of the prismed tower chamber, her son nodded to the servant droids, dismissing them.
Danah turned away from the view, waiting for the drone of the elevator shaft to fall silent. "Well," she said at last, "What is the news from the Senate?"
"Bothersome," Bail Organa said. He took a sip of tisane. "Nearly half now support Palpatine's proposal, and many of the rest are whispering secession. I don't know which party alarms me more."
"Unfortunately, Palpatine is right. If we do not present a unified defense, we may soon have nothing to defend. Alderaan was much like that before you were born. If external arbitration had not intervened, the noble houses would have torn one another apart. Imagine what would have happened if invaders had come from outside, as the Republic now faces." She shook out her napkin with a sharp snap and laid it over her gown.
"You were hardly innocent of the vendettas, Mother."
"I never said I was." A predator's smile leapt across her features, vanishing as she bent to examine the fruit. "But I knew when to halt and make peace, unlike Helice. She never did accept my alliance with your father; she went to her death accusing me of having betrayed our house. A pity, really. She and her daughter might have been useful to us." Selecting a piece, she opened it with a silver knife.
"Yes, well, at present, we have more pressing concerns. Have you been able to gauge the mood here at court? How do the people stand on the war?"
"Which party would they prefer to be in, do you mean? Our people have an easier decision than most; since Alderaan itself no longer has armed forces nor legal weapons, they need not fear death, only taxes. Without the threat of conscription, they seem willing enough to forward aid to the front, if it proves necessary. Part of the sector fleet should suffice." She watched Bail bite into another spiced bun. "So, shall you declare a necessity?"
"As little as I like to, we may have no choice. The Nechti have retaken Gefras and are advancing toward the Ikatya system."
"Truly?" She put her fruit rind and knife down on her plate. "I think this might be an opportune time for me to inquire about Castra's health."
Setting down his half-eaten bun, he wiped his hands on his napkin. "No, she is not pregnant yet. We've only been married a year, you know. Isn't one of Liane's children at Academy in this sector?"
"He graduated this year. His contingent of the fleet is being forwarded to Ikatya if the vote passes the Senate; that seems inevitable, from what you say. I had understood the combat front had drawn back from there. I thought he might enjoy seeing his sister again, but perhaps now I should recall one of them." Her voice was devoid of enthusiasm.
"Only one?"
"Very well; both if you insist. I would just as rather leave them there, but for the moment, they're all we have. Unless, of course, you wish Alderaan to dissolve into civic feuding again. I doubt the Senate will have the patience to spare us more arbitrators so soon.
"It is a pity about those two, really." Danah chose a small pastry and daubed it with yeast-spread as she spoke. "I do hope you and Castra will provide an heir soon so I can put Liane's children out of the way."
Bail paused cautiously. "The vendettas are over, Mother. Assassination as a preventive measure is no longer considered good domestic policy."
"Scarcely domestic. They'd be five sectors away." She poured more tisane into Bail's empty cup, then into her own. Before he could retort again, she said, "I take it you have forgotten Liane's maneuvering, then."
"She paid the price for her treason. I see no reason why her children should be forced to as well."
"Your father said the same of Helice's daughter."
Bail gazed out through the glass-paned walls, his cup of tisane in hand. On the sunward side, the panes were automatically darkening in a latticed arabesque, screening out daylight as it intensified. Without looking at his mother, he said, "I know you've been monitoring Liane's children. Is there anything you wish to tell me about them?"
"Not yet. The older one, Arcadia, has been a little mouse of a healer ever since she emerged from Jedi training. I doubt much danger from her alone. But her brother is of an age to be delighted with intrigues and secret plans, and if he recruits her into his schemes, she may become capable of dangerous subtleties."
"And is he scheming?"
"He may be. I've instructed General Kenobi to keep them out of trouble. If matters progress... unwisely, perhaps I will ask him to put them into trouble.
Dipping a spoon into a lapis bowl, she dusted her poached melon with nut-powder. "If the Organa line should fail, the Viceregency will very likely fall to House Antilles-- but not without some dispute, and the vendettas would begin all over again. I tried to merge the two claims by wedding your father, but Helice disagreed with me."
Bail fiercely turned toward her. "Helice has nothing to do with this. If there is no evidence against them, why even consider their deaths? You know they're my presumptive heirs."
"Yes, I do. And so do they."
* * *
Arcadia looked up as the two men entered Ikatya medical quarters. She nodded at them, but did not rise from the cadet she was tending. Her fingers continued to hover over the unconscious girl's shoulder, where charred flesh was buckling and flaking away. As fragments tumbled onto the cot, the hollows left behind filled with new skin, smoothly flowing up like water in a spring.
Finally, she signaled a medical droid to monitor the cadet and joined the uniform-clad newcomers in the antechamber. The droid closed the door to working quarters behind her as she unfastened her healer's robes at the throat. "Well," she murmured, "no permanent damage this time. General Kenobi, is this the officer who's been sending me these casualties?"
The man stepped forward before Kenobi could speak. "Commander Anakin Skywalker at your service. Is Rouvel badly hurt?"
Skywalker's broad shoulders towered over both of them; he stood only a head taller than Kenobi, but Arcadia found herself confronting his chest at eye level. She had to move away several paces to look at him without craning straight up. "She was. I've reconstructed her arm, but can't yet test nerve function. She should revive in a day or two. Are you aware that she collapsed a few meters out of training bay and was found in the corridor?"
His dark hair accentuated his pallor. "She said it was a minor wound. I took her word for it. I came as soon as I'd finished training session with the rest of my cadets."
"Blaster fire can ricochet inside thermal armor so quickly that the victim never feels it. In the future, I suggest you discourage her from deflecting bolts off her épauliere, unless she's quite sure the angle's tangential. But after this, she may not need a reminder." Arcadia stepped past the officers to a wall console, where she keyed in a short code. "Commander, I regret meeting you in these circumstances. Could you tell me what you see on this display screen?"
"Medical record headings." He studied them. "They're all from my squadron since the start of this year-- from all three rotations so far, in fact."
"Would you name another squadron leader for me?" When he produced a name, she pressed another sequence of keys, bringing another, much shorter list beside the first. "This is Commander Baria's casualty list for the same period. Over the past five months, nineteen serious injuries have been reported from your squadron, three of them fatal. Baria had eight casualties, all of whom survived."
"Baria fusses over his pilots like a mother Nebbit."
"Then name two others," Kenobi countered. The first new list contained four names; the second, nine. Only the last of these comparative lists also contained death's red notation. "These injury rates are typical for every squadron in this division, except for yours."
"Are you saying I deliberately injure my charges? Come on, Obi-Wan, you know me better than that. I'm just trying to teach them everything I know."
"We've had this discussion before." Kenobi shook his head. "Some things cannot be taught. For example, not everyone can sense the angle of enemy fire quickly enough to react. Perhaps you can, but you must respect others' limits.
"I'm giving you a month's leave from your duties as squadron leader." As the younger man's expression shifted from shock to anger, Kenobi continued, "I'm doing this for your own good, Anakin. Believe me, the Republic needs your skills as a pilot and leader. But if it comes down to a question of losing other pilots because of you--"
"My squad won't stand for this. They're proud to serve under me; they know I have higher standards than the others-- "
"And you make them pay dearly for it. Remember Ismar Kevvat? He survived the battle of Gefras, and died in one of your training drills. Or Asde Varine-- she was killed in combat attempting an evasion tactic you taught her, when a less... spectacular move could have saved her life." The General pronounced the adjective with distaste.
Arcadia moved away as if balancing on a narrow ledge beside the wall, and began to add Cadet Marit Rouvel to the casualty lists. Her usual measures to screen out sensory input were not working; Anakin Skywalker's anger slashed through the haze like icy sleet through fog. "Are you asking me to resign my commission?" he said in dangerously calm tones.
"I'm asking you to reconsider your methods. When the month is over, I'll return your command to you, but if you continue to maim and kill good warriors at this rate...."
Skywalker said nothing. "Very well," Kenobi said at last. "Lady Arcadia, my apologies for our disruption. Anakin, would you care to dine with me?"
"I would not."
"Then you may tell me your plans tomorrow." The outer door panels slid together in Kenobi's wake.
* * *
Arcadia completed the record entry and glanced up at Skywalker. He was gazing at the lists still on the screen, and the new entry flashing at the bottom. His anger began to fade from her senses as he traced a hand down the display. As he neared the end of his squadron's list, he asked, "Did you treat all of my wounded?"
"Some of them. There are three other Jedi healers on base, and medical droids and technicians for lighter injuries."
"Did you bring this to Obi-Wan's attention, or did he already know?"
"General Kenobi reviews casualty reports on a regular basis." She began to key up random file headings, biting her lip.
"Yes, I know, but I didn't think it was time for review yet. Or has he halved his review period?" He was regarding her with a cryptic half-smile now, like that of an ancient mask. Arcadia noticed uneasily that he was resting his right hand very near his blaster.
"Oh, truly now," he responded. "Do you really think I'd shoot a healer? I'm simply curious why you might've informed on me-- unless you haven't."
Switching off the record display, she turned to look directly at him. "My brother has been assigned to this base. General Kenobi is a friend of the family, and gave him a choice of squadrons to join. Denis chose yours."
"How protective of you." Skywalker paused, evidently considering his squadron roster. "This would be Cadet Denis Colton?"
"Or Antilles. Our naming conventions can be confusing."
"Antilles?" His face sharpened. "Denis is coming in from Aldea sector, as I recall. Surely you're not related to the Alderaani Princess-Dowager Danah Antilles?"
"She's my mother's aunt."
"I see." He began to stroll around the perimeter of the room. "You knew about my squadron's casualty rates before now, but weren't disturbed by them until your brother thought to join me? The Alderaani noble houses train their children well in politics."
"We're no longer a noble house."
"Not even Danah?"
"She was the only one of House Antilles to salvage any power from the ascendancy dispute. You heard General Kenobi call me 'Lady Arcadia,' but Denis and I have no influence behind our titles. Danah made certain of that." She looked away.
"We have no hopes on Alderaan, and the General has helped us secure positions. I understand he's done the same for you."
"The two of you appear to be helping me out of my position at present."
"I didn't want Denis' death on your hands."
"I don't kill my pilots," he snapped. "I train them to be the best squadron in the Republic. And if you think I--"
The outer door slid open again. "Arcadia, has Anakin--" General Kenobi began, then stopped. Anakin compressed his mouth tightly. "Perhaps," Kenobi resumed, "it might be advisable for you to dine with me instead, Arcadia." He turned back to Anakin and studied him carefully. "Or have you changed your mind yet?"
Anakin lingered only long enough to outstare Kenobi before moving toward the door.
"Perhaps not. I'll expect to hear from you tomorrow," Kenobi said at the closing panels. "Arcadia, are you off duty now?"
* * *
The officers' mess was nearly deserted at this hour. Arcadia had stayed on duty late, and so service for the evening meal was nearly finished. She and Kenobi ate quickly, more from a desire to get it over with than from any real enthusiasm. Most of the food was the same nondescript dun color as the general's hair.
Taking a second bite of the crushed-fruit paste, Kenobi reconfirmed his opinion of the first bite. He did not venture a third. Without looking at Arcadia, he asked, "Have you reconsidered my offer?"
"I gave it more thought. But I haven't changed my mind."
"So what do you think of him?"
She regarded Kenobi warily. "Commander Skywalker? In what sense? You weren't matchmaking again, were you?"
"Again? Heavens, no." His tone of wounded astonishment was marred only by his grin. Both were abandoned as he leaned closer. "You felt his strength in the Force, didn't you? He isn't aware of it himself, but it's part of what makes him a brilliant pilot."
"Is he? I wasn't certain where his balance lay between truth and pride."
"He's the best warrior I've ever known," Kenobi said quietly. "Almost impossibly proficient, courageous to the point of recklessness-- if he learned to keep a better watch on himself, there would be no limit to his career.
"But he is not aware how strong a role the Force has had in his success. Many of his combat stratagems are only possible with the help of the Force. I've been reviewing his squadron's records again, and those members who have prospered under his leadership have all tested well for Force-sensitivity."
"And those who cannot sense the Force have died." Arcadia pushed her own plate aside. "How can he not know? And have you told him this?"
The general's pale eyes were uneasy. "His home system had no place for Jedi. Not only has he never been formally tested, but he knows almost nothing of us. At this level, testing is scarcely necessary; I know he has the strength. But if I tell him of his powers, he'll ask for training as a Jedi Knight. Now, if you'd been willing, I could have sent you to Millat to train with Master Tegie or Mistress Tamra.
"But as for Anakin--" He broke off, shaking his head. "I can't transfer him to another base while he has teaching duties himself, and there are no full Jedi Masters here. I'm not certain I can keep him under rein, but I fear his actions should I refuse. His pride would drive him to seek training from another, and he may not choose wisely.
"But if I tell him nothing, his casualty rates will continue at their present rate. Neither alternative is ideal."
"I see," said Arcadia, although she was not certain she did. She picked up an eating utensil and briefly fiddled with it. "But why tell me this? There's no advice I can give to you."
"Not to me, no. To him. Anakin does not like to be instructed by superiors. I thought that you might be better suited to lend him moderation."
At the far end of the hall, a few more late stragglers arrived and disappeared into the meal service corridor. Arcadia absently watched their progress while considering his words. "But we scarcely know one another. Why should he listen to me? Why not use one of his subordinates as your vehicle?"
"Perhaps I should adjust my earlier statement." Kenobi grimaced. "Anakin listens to no one, except in cases of military necessity. He has been known to ignore combat orders, although I must admit his alternate methods have succeeded so far. But that's irrelevant for now.
"I would like you to befriend him. He knows and likes me, but I doubt he'll take my advice in this matter. But he might heed you. You're not a fighter pilot, so he'll feel no sense of rivalry with you. Your military ranks are approximately equal, so he won't engage in snobbery in either direction--"
She shook her head. "He asked about my family. He didn't like what he heard, even though I told him about...."
"About the ruin of House Antilles?"
"Except for Princess Danah." The name was imbued with a soft weariness that surpassed malice. "She could have rescinded our family's attainder, once she and the Viceroy had an heir for House Organa. And that condition was fulfilled nearly forty years past."
"You must admit she had some cause for vengeance. Helice was a savage adversary during the Alderaani vendettas, and your mother--" He surveyed Arcadia's features as he considered his words. "Liane had certain disputes with House Organa as well."
"If Danah had been more lenient--" With an effort, Arcadia moved her gaze from her tightly clasped hands to an indefinite distance behind Kenobi. Blanking her face, she said, "It seems that your friend Skywalker has decided to join us after all."
"Good. I rather thought he might." Kenobi's expression had undertones that disquieted her: a fractionally raised eyebrow, a twist to his smile. She suddenly realized how her appearance had changed since her last encounter with Anakin Skywalker. She had left her voluminous healer's robes in medical quarters, revealing the narrow tunic and leggings she wore beneath them, and she had freed her hair from its coiled plait. In a quick, nervous gesture, she gathered her hair at one side of her neck and began to twist it into a loose citrine skein.
Meanwhile, Kenobi had turned about. "Anakin?"
Anakin presented Arcadia with a smile that was astonishingly sweet and guileless, considering that he was completely ignoring Kenobi. "I owe you an apology for my earlier remarks, my lady. How may I best express it?"
Kenobi merely shrugged and resumed eating. After a moment, Arcadia relinquished her grasp on the rope of her hair, which promptly unwound again. "Why this change of heart? Did you consult the records files to corroborate me?"
"Well, perhaps so--"
With admirable economy of motion, she shoved her hair back over her shoulder, pushed her chair away, and rose. "I decline your apology. I am sorry you cannot trust my word." She left the table and the hall. Anakin was on the verge of following her when Kenobi tapped his sleeve.
"What is it?"
"Forget the quarrel with me for a moment. Do you agree with what I said of her?"
"No. She'd never make a pilot; she doesn't have the right bearing for it. May I go now?"
"I haven't formally dismissed you, Skywalker. Now sit down."
The younger man's posture seemed to crystallize, bristling with razored edges and angles at every side. "I wasn't aware I was in parade formation, sir."
"Just sit."
Anakin sat. "Well, sir, I'm afraid your exact words slipped my mind, sir. But if you weren't speaking of piloting skills, sir, I don't think I have much to say, sir."
"Oh, stop it," Kenobi said mildly. "Don't try this with other superior officers, or they'll have your head. I'm sorely tempted to, despite the fact you're my protegé."
"I don't feel particularly protected."
"Do you know what would have happened if your casualty lists had gone unreviewed until the end of the year? They'd be that much longer, and I'm not the only one who inspects them. High casualty rates are bad enough, but in your first year as squadron leader? You'd receive a formal reprimand, and possibly be demoted. As difficult as it may be for you to believe now, Arcadia and I have done you a favor."
After a moment, Anakin dropped his gaze into Arcadia's abandoned cup. He lifted it and idly tasted the rim. "One month. What am I supposed to do for a month? And who'll take over my command while I'm away?"
"Aren't any senior cadets in your squad fit to lead yet? I thought you were training them, not taking them nut-gathering."
The return smile was automatic, but like its accompanying words, it seemed to lack Anakin's full attention. "Oh, Anset might do, or maybe Damesta." He surveyed the cup in his hand again before draining it. "So what did you have in mind for Lady Arcadia? It looks like I'll have to apologize to her by proxy."
"I was appraising her for retraining as a combatant."
"If not a pilot, what sort? She doesn't have the physique for armored shock troops, and I don't know whether healers have enough experience with machinery to handle combat walkers."
"Actually, I was considering her as a potential Jedi Knight."
Anakin slowly put the cup down. It made a hollow clink as it met the table surface. "A Jedi Knight."
"Yes, I said that."
He leaned over the table, pushing the cup aside. "Obi-Wan, you're an intelligent man, aren't you?"
With a wry smile, Kenobi said, "I like to think so. Why do you ask?"
"You don't really believe in all this Force nonsense, do you?"
The smile peeled away. "I take it that you don't."
Anakin snorted indulgently. "I've seen this sort of thing before. The system where I grew up-- there weren't any Jedi, but there was a priesthood with total authority. The temples had the most ridiculous rules about keeping this or that goddess happy-- what colors you can wear, how many times to chew your food, what you can't do with your sister-- but all of them were just ways of controlling people who don't know any better.
"I got off-planet as soon as I could. The sweetest sight I ever saw was Leucothea disappearing down that hyperspace funnel, and I hope I never see that place again. But the entire Jedi organization reminds me of that priesthood-- a lot of talk about the supernatural, and not much to show for it except a lot of rules."
The older man set his utensils down and closed his eyes. Arcadia's cup popped into the air and hovered in front of Anakin. He shrugged and flicked the cup with a finger, setting it spinning, then pulled it down.
Impatiently, he said, "Yes, I know. But I don't see why you Jedi make so much fuss about a little psychokinesis. All that talk about center and balance makes it sound like a circus routine. Why should it make any difference to the universe whether you pick something up with your hand or your mind?"
Kenobi had opened his eyes and was steadily gazing at Anakin. "It doesn't, much. But the Force flows through all life and all matter, and the mind is both. When you use the Force, your intent can be as important as your actions."
"You're spouting dogma, Obi-Wan." Anakin leaned back. "And get out of my mind, will you? I thought we could talk frankly."
"Aren't we?"
"I was thinking about what you said earlier. I never thought my senses were different from anyone else's, or that other people can't feel some of the things I can. But it's the Force, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Well, I was hoping you could teach me how to use it without stuffing me full of religious propaganda."
Dropping his gaze, Kenobi began to collect utensils on his empty tray. "Do you know, I was going to ask you to train as a Jedi? But if you don't want to learn about the Force itself, I don't think we should speak of this matter any further."
"Oh, come on, Obi-Wan. You really believe the Jedi doctrines?"
"They're not just doctrines. I'm not a Master, and I don't know much about Force theory, but I can feel the way it works."
"You mean you've been told they work."
Kenobi stood up, tray in hand. "I don't think we should discuss this any more. Ask Arcadia about the Force. Maybe she can convince you." Tardily, Anakin began to gather up Arcadia's tray, preparing to follow, but Kenobi sharply motioned him back. "No. If you're ready to listen tomorrow, come back. But no more talk tonight."
* * *
"But Dia, why shouldn't I come to Ikatya now? Father's family is ending my stipend next year, so I should start a career before House Colton cuts me off entirely. Even if Commander Skywalker is taking leave, I can still use the time to settle on base."
Seated before the comm panel in her private quarters, Arcadia closed her eyes and tipped her head back against her chair. "Denis, it's not too late to change training assignments. Are you certain you want to join Crescent Squadron? I'll admit it has the best combat record on this base, but there are starship assignments with similar records-- the Ravage, the Frenzy..."
When she opened her eyes again, her brother's hand-sized holo image was shaking its head. Although both siblings had the fine-boned Alderaani build, only Denis had the dark hair of the Antilles. He brushed this out of his eyes as he answered. "I think Ikatya base is the only real option. Both you and General Kenobi are there, and...." He tilted his head, considering, then shrugged. "Well, our dear Aunt Danah- -"
"Great-aunt, twice maternal."
"Whatever. She's made it known that she'd appreciate the two of us staying in a single location, so as to both be monitored with less effort."
"Denis!"
"Well, we both know that Danah's been keeping watch on us, and she certainly knows it. So," he took on unnaturally emphatic tones, "I doubt this news will come as a surprise to her when she reviews this tapped transmission."
"Don't bait her. We're living on her sufferance."
"And that's why I have to train at Ikatya, unless you want to be on a medical frigate at the battle frontiers." He paused uncertainly. "Is something wrong with Crescent Squadron? Or with Commander Skywalker?"
"There was some... statistical irregularity. General Kenobi is smoothing things out. As for the commander, I only met him today, and that by accident. He's self-assured, but I don't know anything about his real skills." Arcadia glanced at the small state portrait beside the comm panel. "But why has Princess Danah tightened security?"
As Denis made a vague response, he blinked in a familiar message-pattern: one blink, two. One blink, two. I'll tell you the truth when we can speak in private.
Arcadia sighed. "In private" meant in person, in a location too public or too distant from Alderaan to be tapped by its royal house. In this case, it would have to be both. "So when do you arrive at Ikatya?"
This time, his reply was undercut by chime-tones from Arcadia's apartments. "The convoy leaves tomorrow," Denis said. "But someone's at your door. Should I sign off?"
She frowned. "No; I'm not expecting anyone. This should only take a moment." She stood, lightly stretched, and crossed the chamber to the entrance portal.
As it slid open, Anakin Skywalker chuckled. "You step away every time we meet. May I come in?"
"You already have. I'm sorry, but I'm otherwise occupied at the moment. If I could contact you later--"
Denis could hear the tension in her voice, but was unable to see anything but the chair on the comm transmission tile. "Dia, is something wrong?"
"'Dia'? A family nickname, I take it-- is that your famed brother Denis?" When she reluctantly nodded, Skywalker moved to the transmission tile, leaning on the back of Arcadia's chair. "Hello there. Your sister has told me so much about you."
The boy's voice nearly cracked. "Commander Skywalker? Is that really you?" With visible effort, he pulled himself into a semblance of military posture. "I mean, it's an honor to meet you, sir. I hadn't expected it until I got to base-- but are you really going on leave for a month?"
Skywalker cast a sideways glance at Arcadia, who had seated herself with a data pad on a wall-mounted bench. She looked up at him, then back down to the pad as he sat down in her chair. "I will soon, but I may stay on base. Next training rotation doesn't start for a month anyway, so you'll only have your first few weeks with my replacement. Your academy records are quite good, by the way. Do all cadets start multiplanar tactics that early now?"
"A lot do, ever since you used them at Raek Starfall. How did you ever..." Arcadia closed her eyes again, stifling a yawn as Denis continued effusing. She had worked long hours today, and her evening meal, although not especially good, had been filling. Denis's and Skywalker's voices blurred into alternating washes of sound.
* * *
Anakin grinned foolishly as he powered down the comm panel. Even after several years, he still had not lost the thrill of being a hero. His flight and fighting performance in his first battle, the siege of Ysdaa, had propelled him into the notice of General Kenobi, who had been coordinating planetary and fleet maneuvers there. His squadron's strategy at Raek Starfall had become legendary. His success was so spectacular that Kenobi transferred him out of danger to a training position, in hopes of teaching his skills to other pilots.
Leaning back, he steepled his fingertips, still smiling. When Obi-Wan had made him a trainer, he had resisted fiercely, resentful of being pulled from combat. But he had since learned the advantages of this post. Granted, it lacked the electric delirium of real warfare, but he enjoyed shaping the reflexes of his students. Some were cadets just out of the first-level academies; others were already veterans of several campaigns. All of them looked to him as a master of the craft.
His reverie was broken by a small noise behind him. He had half-forgotten Arcadia; when he turned to look, he saw the data pad finish slipping from her hand. She lay curled on her side, her feet still shod and hanging off the bench toward the floor.
She woke after he had already carried her around the room once, and was considering another circuit. Without moving, she tried to decipher her situation-- she was bunched up in the air, her hair smeared across her face. When she opened her eyes, she could see a broad uniform-clad chest pressed against her nose. She remembered that vantage point from earlier in the day. "What are you doing?"
He nearly dropped her. "Oh-- you're awake. I was going to put you to bed, but the only other door I found goes into medical. Where are you hiding them?"
"Put me to bed?"
"I couldn't leave you sleeping on that bench."
"I've only this one room; there are no other doors. And that is my bed."
He looked at the bench again. It still looked like a bench, cloth-surfaced and unpadded. "How can you sleep on that thing?"
"Usually quite soundly. May I request that you put me down somewhere?" He placed her on the bench again, in a half-seated position from which she immediately slid down the wall onto her side again. With an effort, she levered herself back up. "Thank you for your concern, really, but--"
"It's nothing," he said modestly. "But as long as we're exchanging courtesies, would you like me to apologize for this afternoon now or tomorrow?"
"Whichever more pleases you."
"In that case, it can wait 'til tomorrow. I'll need a few more hours to get into a properly groveling state anyway." He saluted, pivoted with military precision, and left.
She watched the door owlishly for a while, to make certain he wasn't coming back in. With a sigh, she pulled a mantle from a wall hook behind her, and lay down wrapped in it. After a moment, nearly asleep again, she nudged her shoes off.
On his way back to his own quarters, Anakin whistled softly to himself, carefully considering what he had learned from Denis.
* * *
"...And if it requires a war to bring the Republic back to its former glory, then perhaps we should be grateful for war." Palpatine ignored the shock around him in the Senate, raising his resonant voice to drown out dissent. "We have spent the last century bickering and feuding amongst ourselves. Before the Nechti came to our borders, each system fought against its neighbor, in armed combat or with economic strangulation. The galaxy wasted many lives and credits in these struggles for petty advantage.
"But since the arrival of the Nechti, we have ceased our internal quarrels. If we can retain this solidarity after the Nechti are defeated, our combined power will be greater than ever before."
A gaunt woman near the front said bitterly, "You are quite blithe about the Nechti. You would be less so if you had seen the border systems: Avisa stripped to magma; Martelle reft of its atmosphere-- my diplomatic suite and I are all that remain of the people of Erenat."
Senator Palpatine lowered his eyes. Knife-edged crescents of gold gleamed from beneath his lids. "I do not wish us to forget the many innocents who have lost their homes, their families, or their lives to the Nechti. But think of all the similar losses our internal battles have claimed. If we can eliminate such sad waste from our Republic by remaining united, then the Nechtian victims will not have died in vain.
"But let us forget the future for now. We must deal with the present. It is true that relatively few systems have met with the enemy to date, but is there any doubt we must unite now to drive them out?"
Castra Gatou yawned flamboyantly. She was a tawny-haired young woman with pale green eyes; seated in Bail Organa's empty chair, she was in the first tier, in excellent view of the council. Almost as an afterthought, she lifted one languid hand to conceal her mouth. "Why?" she asked.
The Erenatese senator lunged to her feet. "Why? You've seen the holos sent by the Nechti, and you ask why?"
"Why not?"
Palpatine turned a speculative eye on the princess, while waving the Erenatese back. "Your Highness of Alderaan, do your people have so little compassion on those less fortunate than themselves?"
Castra smiled, showing all her teeth. "Less fortunate? The border systems brought this war upon themselves. Avisa and Martelle were the planets that first met with the Nechti; they made secret trade agreements with them for their technology. They willfully violated the laws of the Senate and the Republic by keeping knowledge of the Nechti civilization a secret. And you of Erenat--" she gestured at the livid ambassador-- "in fact, your very family signed the Nechti pact with full intention to violate it.
"And once you did... well, small wonder that the Nechti sought revenge on you. What concern are your border squabbles to the rest of the Republic?"
"The Nechti have advanced far past the border by now," Palpatine began, but Castra flicked her nails at him.
"Past the borders of your own summer planet, you mean. My own opinions aside, you can hardly expect my people to support armed intervention in your internal affairs. If you can't maintain civil relations with your neighbors, why should we enforce them for you?"
"Civil relations?" Palpatine elevated one eyebrow, smiling warmly. "Oh yes, Alderaan has always been known for its peaceful self-government, especially as carried out by its web of noble kinsmen who are all--" his smile attained angelic proportions-- "terribly civil to one another."
"Enough of this squabbling!" In the open center of the chamber, the President of the Senate lashed the rostrum with her gavel. She was a stately Twi'lek, whose cranial appendages were shifting like cats' tails under their wrapping of silk. "Senator Palpatine, the Alderaani vendettas are not the subject of this debate. And if I may say so, Your Highness of Alderaan, the diplomatic failings of the border systems are irrelevant as well. Avisa and Martelle have
already been destroyed."
"And Erenat," the gaunt woman whispered.
"And Erenat. Whatever their complicity may have been, the Nechti have surely taken vengeance. But now other systems are being attacked, ones with no prior involvement whatsoever. These are the peoples whose aid we are determining. The period for debate has ended. May we call the vote?"
As the Senators drew together in small groups, Palpatine stepped down from the central dais. A Senate page with two bowls of pebbles passed through the chamber, giving every Senator a stone from each bowl, one black and one white. Leaning on the rail near Castra's seat, Palpatine jounced the pair of stones in his hand. "Which one do you plan to cast at me?" he asked her.
"Surely you're planning to cast yours first."
"It's the President who gets to throw the first stone of the season, my dear." They watched a second page approach the Twi'lek with a tall, opaque urn, into which she inserted her hand wrist-deep to conceal the pebble she released. The remaining pebble was dropped into a disposal chute beneath the rostrum, for later collection from a common receptacle. "Purely symbolic, of course, but then so much of politics depends on visible symbolism."
As the page passed by, they dropped their respective pebbles into the urn, then the chute in Castra's desk. The remote comm camera in the corner lingered on Castra and Palpatine after the page had moved on. In a leisurely fashion, she spat in her hand and slapped him.
"Your Highness, desist," the Twi'lek snapped. "I will not permit physical assault of other Senators. If you should become President, you may change policy to suit yourself. But as long as I hold office, I will not allow it."
Palpatine dismissed the guards who had hurried to him from the Coruscanti suite. "I doubt intervention is necessary, unless Her Highness plans to escalate. Have you any objects sharper than your tongue? A brace of whips, perhaps?"
"Regrettably, no." Castra rose, gathering her train over one arm. "But you may yet persuade me to give a different answer." Tracked by the comm recorder, she left the Senate chamber before the tally was complete.
* * *
In his private apartments, Palpatine keyed the holoprojector to replay the day's events. He leaned back and watched himself complete his speech. "...But let us forget the future for now. We must deal with the present. It is true that relatively few systems have met with the enemy to date, but is there any doubt we must unite now to drive them out?"
His companion touched her goblet to his. "Marvelous arm gesture. Think it'll catch on?"
"I hope to gain followers for more than a gesture." After a few sips, he relinquished his wine for a wafer of mycotal pate. "How do you think the rebuttal was received?"
They watched Castra flick her nails. "If you can't maintain civil relations with your neighbors, why should we enforce them for you?"
"It seems to have polarized your opposition." She streaked a dab of pate down his throat, then began to remove it with small motions of her tongue. Between licks, she said, "Only a few systems agree with that argument, and those are wealthy and stable. But the rest realize that if they have famine or civil war, and have already voted against centralization, they'll have little help from the Senate."
"So it broke the tie in the Senate by turning the balance in my favour," Palpatine said, dabbing pate elsewhere.
She slid her hand down his opened robes. "Astonishing, isn't it?"
On the projector, Castra slapped Palpatine and left. Behind her, the collected pebbles were tallied by colour. The Twi'lek said, "The measure to ally against the Nechti has passed. This session of the Senate being concluded, I resign my office as President, unless my name is again chosen by lot at the next session." As the data tape ended, the projector clicked off.
Palpatine lifted his mouth from bare skin. "I've always thought that was a strange way to select a leader."
"I take it you've a better idea? Don't you dare tear this gown."
With exaggerated care, he gathered the skirts into a fine foam of lace over her thighs. "I think highly of it. But then, it is my idea."
"Naturally." A burst of breath escaped her, and she muffled the sound against his shoulder. "But don't you think we've had enough of political debates for today?"
Palpatine pressed her deeper into the cushions, watching her green eyes darken to match the jade velvet. "Have we?" he murmured.
"I should think so," breathed Castra Gatou.
Acknowledgements and ground rules:
"In thy orisons, be all my sins remembered." Hamlet
The "Arcadia" files are chapters of a novella cumulatively archived as each is completed or occasionally revised. All comments, flamage, pokes to hurry up and finish, and so forth may be directed to me at <wombat1138@yahoo.com>.
Some older drafts are available on paper at the Corellian Archives (Ming Wathne, librarian; 437 Via Roma Dr., Santa Barbara CA 93110; send her a large SASE for complete lending list and guidelines). A partial draft of the final chapter (projected as part 9) was posted to rec.arts.sf.starwars in July 1992 and appeared in the fanzine Imperium 4 (Arwen Rosenbaum, editor; 109 W. 85th St, NY NY 10024) without my prior notification or consent. I have since accepted an apology and a contributor's copy of the 'zine. If you would like to redistribute hard copies of this story en masse, I would strongly prefer to be told beforehand.
"Arcadia" is based on characters and concepts created by George Lucas and over which he holds all ultimate rights. Other primary inspirations are listed below; any exclusion of copyright acknowledgement is the result of my own forgetfulness and sloth, and not a deliberate attempt to claim origination of others' material. Any material not covered by previous copyrights is presumably mine. (* legal weaseling mode off *)
The Alderaani succession vendettas first came to my attention in Dark Force Rising, by Timothy Zahn. The relationship of House Antilles to House Organa was alluded to in Rusty Miller's Jedi Master's Handbook. Otherwise, I heed or ignore apocryphal material (IMHO, any licensed material that isn't confirmed by the movies themselves) as I feel like it, especially West End Games' specious family history of Wedge Antilles.
I owe more thanks than I can give to Vian Lawson for editing and wombats; and to the wombat-consort for his constant support (with only a tiny bit of sarcasm) in exchange for the occasional chocolate wombat. Aaron Romanowsky got me back on track in chapter 2. Bruno Michalski's feedback was instrumental in the existence of chapter 8.
Since the above credits are not in the novella chapters themselves, this file must be retained with them whenever they are transferred, printed, or otherwise dispersed. Any attempt to distribute them for profit violates the aforementioned copyrights and my wishes.
"Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood."
Sonnet 19
Chapter 1: Mademoiselle d'Alderaan, parlez-vous?
------------------------------------------
In the morning light, the wide Alderaani forests were tipped with gold. Danah Antilles, Dowager Princess of Alderaan, surveyed the dappled pelt of gilt leaves and shadow from high above. She sat at her breakfast table as if enthroned. On the other side of the prismed tower chamber, her son nodded to the servant droids, dismissing them.
Danah turned away from the view, waiting for the drone of the elevator shaft to fall silent. "Well," she said at last, "What is the news from the Senate?"
"Bothersome," Bail Organa said. He took a sip of tisane. "Nearly half now support Palpatine's proposal, and many of the rest are whispering secession. I don't know which party alarms me more."
"Unfortunately, Palpatine is right. If we do not present a unified defense, we may soon have nothing to defend. Alderaan was much like that before you were born. If external arbitration had not intervened, the noble houses would have torn one another apart. Imagine what would have happened if invaders had come from outside, as the Republic now faces." She shook out her napkin with a sharp snap and laid it over her gown.
"You were hardly innocent of the vendettas, Mother."
"I never said I was." A predator's smile leapt across her features, vanishing as she bent to examine the fruit. "But I knew when to halt and make peace, unlike Helice. She never did accept my alliance with your father; she went to her death accusing me of having betrayed our house. A pity, really. She and her daughter might have been useful to us." Selecting a piece, she opened it with a silver knife.
"Yes, well, at present, we have more pressing concerns. Have you been able to gauge the mood here at court? How do the people stand on the war?"
"Which party would they prefer to be in, do you mean? Our people have an easier decision than most; since Alderaan itself no longer has armed forces nor legal weapons, they need not fear death, only taxes. Without the threat of conscription, they seem willing enough to forward aid to the front, if it proves necessary. Part of the sector fleet should suffice." She watched Bail bite into another spiced bun. "So, shall you declare a necessity?"
"As little as I like to, we may have no choice. The Nechti have retaken Gefras and are advancing toward the Ikatya system."
"Truly?" She put her fruit rind and knife down on her plate. "I think this might be an opportune time for me to inquire about Castra's health."
Setting down his half-eaten bun, he wiped his hands on his napkin. "No, she is not pregnant yet. We've only been married a year, you know. Isn't one of Liane's children at Academy in this sector?"
"He graduated this year. His contingent of the fleet is being forwarded to Ikatya if the vote passes the Senate; that seems inevitable, from what you say. I had understood the combat front had drawn back from there. I thought he might enjoy seeing his sister again, but perhaps now I should recall one of them." Her voice was devoid of enthusiasm.
"Only one?"
"Very well; both if you insist. I would just as rather leave them there, but for the moment, they're all we have. Unless, of course, you wish Alderaan to dissolve into civic feuding again. I doubt the Senate will have the patience to spare us more arbitrators so soon.
"It is a pity about those two, really." Danah chose a small pastry and daubed it with yeast-spread as she spoke. "I do hope you and Castra will provide an heir soon so I can put Liane's children out of the way."
Bail paused cautiously. "The vendettas are over, Mother. Assassination as a preventive measure is no longer considered good domestic policy."
"Scarcely domestic. They'd be five sectors away." She poured more tisane into Bail's empty cup, then into her own. Before he could retort again, she said, "I take it you have forgotten Liane's maneuvering, then."
"She paid the price for her treason. I see no reason why her children should be forced to as well."
"Your father said the same of Helice's daughter."
Bail gazed out through the glass-paned walls, his cup of tisane in hand. On the sunward side, the panes were automatically darkening in a latticed arabesque, screening out daylight as it intensified. Without looking at his mother, he said, "I know you've been monitoring Liane's children. Is there anything you wish to tell me about them?"
"Not yet. The older one, Arcadia, has been a little mouse of a healer ever since she emerged from Jedi training. I doubt much danger from her alone. But her brother is of an age to be delighted with intrigues and secret plans, and if he recruits her into his schemes, she may become capable of dangerous subtleties."
"And is he scheming?"
"He may be. I've instructed General Kenobi to keep them out of trouble. If matters progress... unwisely, perhaps I will ask him to put them into trouble.
Dipping a spoon into a lapis bowl, she dusted her poached melon with nut-powder. "If the Organa line should fail, the Viceregency will very likely fall to House Antilles-- but not without some dispute, and the vendettas would begin all over again. I tried to merge the two claims by wedding your father, but Helice disagreed with me."
Bail fiercely turned toward her. "Helice has nothing to do with this. If there is no evidence against them, why even consider their deaths? You know they're my presumptive heirs."
"Yes, I do. And so do they."
* * *
Arcadia looked up as the two men entered Ikatya medical quarters. She nodded at them, but did not rise from the cadet she was tending. Her fingers continued to hover over the unconscious girl's shoulder, where charred flesh was buckling and flaking away. As fragments tumbled onto the cot, the hollows left behind filled with new skin, smoothly flowing up like water in a spring.
Finally, she signaled a medical droid to monitor the cadet and joined the uniform-clad newcomers in the antechamber. The droid closed the door to working quarters behind her as she unfastened her healer's robes at the throat. "Well," she murmured, "no permanent damage this time. General Kenobi, is this the officer who's been sending me these casualties?"
The man stepped forward before Kenobi could speak. "Commander Anakin Skywalker at your service. Is Rouvel badly hurt?"
Skywalker's broad shoulders towered over both of them; he stood only a head taller than Kenobi, but Arcadia found herself confronting his chest at eye level. She had to move away several paces to look at him without craning straight up. "She was. I've reconstructed her arm, but can't yet test nerve function. She should revive in a day or two. Are you aware that she collapsed a few meters out of training bay and was found in the corridor?"
His dark hair accentuated his pallor. "She said it was a minor wound. I took her word for it. I came as soon as I'd finished training session with the rest of my cadets."
"Blaster fire can ricochet inside thermal armor so quickly that the victim never feels it. In the future, I suggest you discourage her from deflecting bolts off her épauliere, unless she's quite sure the angle's tangential. But after this, she may not need a reminder." Arcadia stepped past the officers to a wall console, where she keyed in a short code. "Commander, I regret meeting you in these circumstances. Could you tell me what you see on this display screen?"
"Medical record headings." He studied them. "They're all from my squadron since the start of this year-- from all three rotations so far, in fact."
"Would you name another squadron leader for me?" When he produced a name, she pressed another sequence of keys, bringing another, much shorter list beside the first. "This is Commander Baria's casualty list for the same period. Over the past five months, nineteen serious injuries have been reported from your squadron, three of them fatal. Baria had eight casualties, all of whom survived."
"Baria fusses over his pilots like a mother Nebbit."
"Then name two others," Kenobi countered. The first new list contained four names; the second, nine. Only the last of these comparative lists also contained death's red notation. "These injury rates are typical for every squadron in this division, except for yours."
"Are you saying I deliberately injure my charges? Come on, Obi-Wan, you know me better than that. I'm just trying to teach them everything I know."
"We've had this discussion before." Kenobi shook his head. "Some things cannot be taught. For example, not everyone can sense the angle of enemy fire quickly enough to react. Perhaps you can, but you must respect others' limits.
"I'm giving you a month's leave from your duties as squadron leader." As the younger man's expression shifted from shock to anger, Kenobi continued, "I'm doing this for your own good, Anakin. Believe me, the Republic needs your skills as a pilot and leader. But if it comes down to a question of losing other pilots because of you--"
"My squad won't stand for this. They're proud to serve under me; they know I have higher standards than the others-- "
"And you make them pay dearly for it. Remember Ismar Kevvat? He survived the battle of Gefras, and died in one of your training drills. Or Asde Varine-- she was killed in combat attempting an evasion tactic you taught her, when a less... spectacular move could have saved her life." The General pronounced the adjective with distaste.
Arcadia moved away as if balancing on a narrow ledge beside the wall, and began to add Cadet Marit Rouvel to the casualty lists. Her usual measures to screen out sensory input were not working; Anakin Skywalker's anger slashed through the haze like icy sleet through fog. "Are you asking me to resign my commission?" he said in dangerously calm tones.
"I'm asking you to reconsider your methods. When the month is over, I'll return your command to you, but if you continue to maim and kill good warriors at this rate...."
Skywalker said nothing. "Very well," Kenobi said at last. "Lady Arcadia, my apologies for our disruption. Anakin, would you care to dine with me?"
"I would not."
"Then you may tell me your plans tomorrow." The outer door panels slid together in Kenobi's wake.
* * *
Arcadia completed the record entry and glanced up at Skywalker. He was gazing at the lists still on the screen, and the new entry flashing at the bottom. His anger began to fade from her senses as he traced a hand down the display. As he neared the end of his squadron's list, he asked, "Did you treat all of my wounded?"
"Some of them. There are three other Jedi healers on base, and medical droids and technicians for lighter injuries."
"Did you bring this to Obi-Wan's attention, or did he already know?"
"General Kenobi reviews casualty reports on a regular basis." She began to key up random file headings, biting her lip.
"Yes, I know, but I didn't think it was time for review yet. Or has he halved his review period?" He was regarding her with a cryptic half-smile now, like that of an ancient mask. Arcadia noticed uneasily that he was resting his right hand very near his blaster.
"Oh, truly now," he responded. "Do you really think I'd shoot a healer? I'm simply curious why you might've informed on me-- unless you haven't."
Switching off the record display, she turned to look directly at him. "My brother has been assigned to this base. General Kenobi is a friend of the family, and gave him a choice of squadrons to join. Denis chose yours."
"How protective of you." Skywalker paused, evidently considering his squadron roster. "This would be Cadet Denis Colton?"
"Or Antilles. Our naming conventions can be confusing."
"Antilles?" His face sharpened. "Denis is coming in from Aldea sector, as I recall. Surely you're not related to the Alderaani Princess-Dowager Danah Antilles?"
"She's my mother's aunt."
"I see." He began to stroll around the perimeter of the room. "You knew about my squadron's casualty rates before now, but weren't disturbed by them until your brother thought to join me? The Alderaani noble houses train their children well in politics."
"We're no longer a noble house."
"Not even Danah?"
"She was the only one of House Antilles to salvage any power from the ascendancy dispute. You heard General Kenobi call me 'Lady Arcadia,' but Denis and I have no influence behind our titles. Danah made certain of that." She looked away.
"We have no hopes on Alderaan, and the General has helped us secure positions. I understand he's done the same for you."
"The two of you appear to be helping me out of my position at present."
"I didn't want Denis' death on your hands."
"I don't kill my pilots," he snapped. "I train them to be the best squadron in the Republic. And if you think I--"
The outer door slid open again. "Arcadia, has Anakin--" General Kenobi began, then stopped. Anakin compressed his mouth tightly. "Perhaps," Kenobi resumed, "it might be advisable for you to dine with me instead, Arcadia." He turned back to Anakin and studied him carefully. "Or have you changed your mind yet?"
Anakin lingered only long enough to outstare Kenobi before moving toward the door.
"Perhaps not. I'll expect to hear from you tomorrow," Kenobi said at the closing panels. "Arcadia, are you off duty now?"
* * *
The officers' mess was nearly deserted at this hour. Arcadia had stayed on duty late, and so service for the evening meal was nearly finished. She and Kenobi ate quickly, more from a desire to get it over with than from any real enthusiasm. Most of the food was the same nondescript dun color as the general's hair.
Taking a second bite of the crushed-fruit paste, Kenobi reconfirmed his opinion of the first bite. He did not venture a third. Without looking at Arcadia, he asked, "Have you reconsidered my offer?"
"I gave it more thought. But I haven't changed my mind."
"So what do you think of him?"
She regarded Kenobi warily. "Commander Skywalker? In what sense? You weren't matchmaking again, were you?"
"Again? Heavens, no." His tone of wounded astonishment was marred only by his grin. Both were abandoned as he leaned closer. "You felt his strength in the Force, didn't you? He isn't aware of it himself, but it's part of what makes him a brilliant pilot."
"Is he? I wasn't certain where his balance lay between truth and pride."
"He's the best warrior I've ever known," Kenobi said quietly. "Almost impossibly proficient, courageous to the point of recklessness-- if he learned to keep a better watch on himself, there would be no limit to his career.
"But he is not aware how strong a role the Force has had in his success. Many of his combat stratagems are only possible with the help of the Force. I've been reviewing his squadron's records again, and those members who have prospered under his leadership have all tested well for Force-sensitivity."
"And those who cannot sense the Force have died." Arcadia pushed her own plate aside. "How can he not know? And have you told him this?"
The general's pale eyes were uneasy. "His home system had no place for Jedi. Not only has he never been formally tested, but he knows almost nothing of us. At this level, testing is scarcely necessary; I know he has the strength. But if I tell him of his powers, he'll ask for training as a Jedi Knight. Now, if you'd been willing, I could have sent you to Millat to train with Master Tegie or Mistress Tamra.
"But as for Anakin--" He broke off, shaking his head. "I can't transfer him to another base while he has teaching duties himself, and there are no full Jedi Masters here. I'm not certain I can keep him under rein, but I fear his actions should I refuse. His pride would drive him to seek training from another, and he may not choose wisely.
"But if I tell him nothing, his casualty rates will continue at their present rate. Neither alternative is ideal."
"I see," said Arcadia, although she was not certain she did. She picked up an eating utensil and briefly fiddled with it. "But why tell me this? There's no advice I can give to you."
"Not to me, no. To him. Anakin does not like to be instructed by superiors. I thought that you might be better suited to lend him moderation."
At the far end of the hall, a few more late stragglers arrived and disappeared into the meal service corridor. Arcadia absently watched their progress while considering his words. "But we scarcely know one another. Why should he listen to me? Why not use one of his subordinates as your vehicle?"
"Perhaps I should adjust my earlier statement." Kenobi grimaced. "Anakin listens to no one, except in cases of military necessity. He has been known to ignore combat orders, although I must admit his alternate methods have succeeded so far. But that's irrelevant for now.
"I would like you to befriend him. He knows and likes me, but I doubt he'll take my advice in this matter. But he might heed you. You're not a fighter pilot, so he'll feel no sense of rivalry with you. Your military ranks are approximately equal, so he won't engage in snobbery in either direction--"
She shook her head. "He asked about my family. He didn't like what he heard, even though I told him about...."
"About the ruin of House Antilles?"
"Except for Princess Danah." The name was imbued with a soft weariness that surpassed malice. "She could have rescinded our family's attainder, once she and the Viceroy had an heir for House Organa. And that condition was fulfilled nearly forty years past."
"You must admit she had some cause for vengeance. Helice was a savage adversary during the Alderaani vendettas, and your mother--" He surveyed Arcadia's features as he considered his words. "Liane had certain disputes with House Organa as well."
"If Danah had been more lenient--" With an effort, Arcadia moved her gaze from her tightly clasped hands to an indefinite distance behind Kenobi. Blanking her face, she said, "It seems that your friend Skywalker has decided to join us after all."
"Good. I rather thought he might." Kenobi's expression had undertones that disquieted her: a fractionally raised eyebrow, a twist to his smile. She suddenly realized how her appearance had changed since her last encounter with Anakin Skywalker. She had left her voluminous healer's robes in medical quarters, revealing the narrow tunic and leggings she wore beneath them, and she had freed her hair from its coiled plait. In a quick, nervous gesture, she gathered her hair at one side of her neck and began to twist it into a loose citrine skein.
Meanwhile, Kenobi had turned about. "Anakin?"
Anakin presented Arcadia with a smile that was astonishingly sweet and guileless, considering that he was completely ignoring Kenobi. "I owe you an apology for my earlier remarks, my lady. How may I best express it?"
Kenobi merely shrugged and resumed eating. After a moment, Arcadia relinquished her grasp on the rope of her hair, which promptly unwound again. "Why this change of heart? Did you consult the records files to corroborate me?"
"Well, perhaps so--"
With admirable economy of motion, she shoved her hair back over her shoulder, pushed her chair away, and rose. "I decline your apology. I am sorry you cannot trust my word." She left the table and the hall. Anakin was on the verge of following her when Kenobi tapped his sleeve.
"What is it?"
"Forget the quarrel with me for a moment. Do you agree with what I said of her?"
"No. She'd never make a pilot; she doesn't have the right bearing for it. May I go now?"
"I haven't formally dismissed you, Skywalker. Now sit down."
The younger man's posture seemed to crystallize, bristling with razored edges and angles at every side. "I wasn't aware I was in parade formation, sir."
"Just sit."
Anakin sat. "Well, sir, I'm afraid your exact words slipped my mind, sir. But if you weren't speaking of piloting skills, sir, I don't think I have much to say, sir."
"Oh, stop it," Kenobi said mildly. "Don't try this with other superior officers, or they'll have your head. I'm sorely tempted to, despite the fact you're my protegé."
"I don't feel particularly protected."
"Do you know what would have happened if your casualty lists had gone unreviewed until the end of the year? They'd be that much longer, and I'm not the only one who inspects them. High casualty rates are bad enough, but in your first year as squadron leader? You'd receive a formal reprimand, and possibly be demoted. As difficult as it may be for you to believe now, Arcadia and I have done you a favor."
After a moment, Anakin dropped his gaze into Arcadia's abandoned cup. He lifted it and idly tasted the rim. "One month. What am I supposed to do for a month? And who'll take over my command while I'm away?"
"Aren't any senior cadets in your squad fit to lead yet? I thought you were training them, not taking them nut-gathering."
The return smile was automatic, but like its accompanying words, it seemed to lack Anakin's full attention. "Oh, Anset might do, or maybe Damesta." He surveyed the cup in his hand again before draining it. "So what did you have in mind for Lady Arcadia? It looks like I'll have to apologize to her by proxy."
"I was appraising her for retraining as a combatant."
"If not a pilot, what sort? She doesn't have the physique for armored shock troops, and I don't know whether healers have enough experience with machinery to handle combat walkers."
"Actually, I was considering her as a potential Jedi Knight."
Anakin slowly put the cup down. It made a hollow clink as it met the table surface. "A Jedi Knight."
"Yes, I said that."
He leaned over the table, pushing the cup aside. "Obi-Wan, you're an intelligent man, aren't you?"
With a wry smile, Kenobi said, "I like to think so. Why do you ask?"
"You don't really believe in all this Force nonsense, do you?"
The smile peeled away. "I take it that you don't."
Anakin snorted indulgently. "I've seen this sort of thing before. The system where I grew up-- there weren't any Jedi, but there was a priesthood with total authority. The temples had the most ridiculous rules about keeping this or that goddess happy-- what colors you can wear, how many times to chew your food, what you can't do with your sister-- but all of them were just ways of controlling people who don't know any better.
"I got off-planet as soon as I could. The sweetest sight I ever saw was Leucothea disappearing down that hyperspace funnel, and I hope I never see that place again. But the entire Jedi organization reminds me of that priesthood-- a lot of talk about the supernatural, and not much to show for it except a lot of rules."
The older man set his utensils down and closed his eyes. Arcadia's cup popped into the air and hovered in front of Anakin. He shrugged and flicked the cup with a finger, setting it spinning, then pulled it down.
Impatiently, he said, "Yes, I know. But I don't see why you Jedi make so much fuss about a little psychokinesis. All that talk about center and balance makes it sound like a circus routine. Why should it make any difference to the universe whether you pick something up with your hand or your mind?"
Kenobi had opened his eyes and was steadily gazing at Anakin. "It doesn't, much. But the Force flows through all life and all matter, and the mind is both. When you use the Force, your intent can be as important as your actions."
"You're spouting dogma, Obi-Wan." Anakin leaned back. "And get out of my mind, will you? I thought we could talk frankly."
"Aren't we?"
"I was thinking about what you said earlier. I never thought my senses were different from anyone else's, or that other people can't feel some of the things I can. But it's the Force, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Well, I was hoping you could teach me how to use it without stuffing me full of religious propaganda."
Dropping his gaze, Kenobi began to collect utensils on his empty tray. "Do you know, I was going to ask you to train as a Jedi? But if you don't want to learn about the Force itself, I don't think we should speak of this matter any further."
"Oh, come on, Obi-Wan. You really believe the Jedi doctrines?"
"They're not just doctrines. I'm not a Master, and I don't know much about Force theory, but I can feel the way it works."
"You mean you've been told they work."
Kenobi stood up, tray in hand. "I don't think we should discuss this any more. Ask Arcadia about the Force. Maybe she can convince you." Tardily, Anakin began to gather up Arcadia's tray, preparing to follow, but Kenobi sharply motioned him back. "No. If you're ready to listen tomorrow, come back. But no more talk tonight."
* * *
"But Dia, why shouldn't I come to Ikatya now? Father's family is ending my stipend next year, so I should start a career before House Colton cuts me off entirely. Even if Commander Skywalker is taking leave, I can still use the time to settle on base."
Seated before the comm panel in her private quarters, Arcadia closed her eyes and tipped her head back against her chair. "Denis, it's not too late to change training assignments. Are you certain you want to join Crescent Squadron? I'll admit it has the best combat record on this base, but there are starship assignments with similar records-- the Ravage, the Frenzy..."
When she opened her eyes again, her brother's hand-sized holo image was shaking its head. Although both siblings had the fine-boned Alderaani build, only Denis had the dark hair of the Antilles. He brushed this out of his eyes as he answered. "I think Ikatya base is the only real option. Both you and General Kenobi are there, and...." He tilted his head, considering, then shrugged. "Well, our dear Aunt Danah- -"
"Great-aunt, twice maternal."
"Whatever. She's made it known that she'd appreciate the two of us staying in a single location, so as to both be monitored with less effort."
"Denis!"
"Well, we both know that Danah's been keeping watch on us, and she certainly knows it. So," he took on unnaturally emphatic tones, "I doubt this news will come as a surprise to her when she reviews this tapped transmission."
"Don't bait her. We're living on her sufferance."
"And that's why I have to train at Ikatya, unless you want to be on a medical frigate at the battle frontiers." He paused uncertainly. "Is something wrong with Crescent Squadron? Or with Commander Skywalker?"
"There was some... statistical irregularity. General Kenobi is smoothing things out. As for the commander, I only met him today, and that by accident. He's self-assured, but I don't know anything about his real skills." Arcadia glanced at the small state portrait beside the comm panel. "But why has Princess Danah tightened security?"
As Denis made a vague response, he blinked in a familiar message-pattern: one blink, two. One blink, two. I'll tell you the truth when we can speak in private.
Arcadia sighed. "In private" meant in person, in a location too public or too distant from Alderaan to be tapped by its royal house. In this case, it would have to be both. "So when do you arrive at Ikatya?"
This time, his reply was undercut by chime-tones from Arcadia's apartments. "The convoy leaves tomorrow," Denis said. "But someone's at your door. Should I sign off?"
She frowned. "No; I'm not expecting anyone. This should only take a moment." She stood, lightly stretched, and crossed the chamber to the entrance portal.
As it slid open, Anakin Skywalker chuckled. "You step away every time we meet. May I come in?"
"You already have. I'm sorry, but I'm otherwise occupied at the moment. If I could contact you later--"
Denis could hear the tension in her voice, but was unable to see anything but the chair on the comm transmission tile. "Dia, is something wrong?"
"'Dia'? A family nickname, I take it-- is that your famed brother Denis?" When she reluctantly nodded, Skywalker moved to the transmission tile, leaning on the back of Arcadia's chair. "Hello there. Your sister has told me so much about you."
The boy's voice nearly cracked. "Commander Skywalker? Is that really you?" With visible effort, he pulled himself into a semblance of military posture. "I mean, it's an honor to meet you, sir. I hadn't expected it until I got to base-- but are you really going on leave for a month?"
Skywalker cast a sideways glance at Arcadia, who had seated herself with a data pad on a wall-mounted bench. She looked up at him, then back down to the pad as he sat down in her chair. "I will soon, but I may stay on base. Next training rotation doesn't start for a month anyway, so you'll only have your first few weeks with my replacement. Your academy records are quite good, by the way. Do all cadets start multiplanar tactics that early now?"
"A lot do, ever since you used them at Raek Starfall. How did you ever..." Arcadia closed her eyes again, stifling a yawn as Denis continued effusing. She had worked long hours today, and her evening meal, although not especially good, had been filling. Denis's and Skywalker's voices blurred into alternating washes of sound.
* * *
Anakin grinned foolishly as he powered down the comm panel. Even after several years, he still had not lost the thrill of being a hero. His flight and fighting performance in his first battle, the siege of Ysdaa, had propelled him into the notice of General Kenobi, who had been coordinating planetary and fleet maneuvers there. His squadron's strategy at Raek Starfall had become legendary. His success was so spectacular that Kenobi transferred him out of danger to a training position, in hopes of teaching his skills to other pilots.
Leaning back, he steepled his fingertips, still smiling. When Obi-Wan had made him a trainer, he had resisted fiercely, resentful of being pulled from combat. But he had since learned the advantages of this post. Granted, it lacked the electric delirium of real warfare, but he enjoyed shaping the reflexes of his students. Some were cadets just out of the first-level academies; others were already veterans of several campaigns. All of them looked to him as a master of the craft.
His reverie was broken by a small noise behind him. He had half-forgotten Arcadia; when he turned to look, he saw the data pad finish slipping from her hand. She lay curled on her side, her feet still shod and hanging off the bench toward the floor.
She woke after he had already carried her around the room once, and was considering another circuit. Without moving, she tried to decipher her situation-- she was bunched up in the air, her hair smeared across her face. When she opened her eyes, she could see a broad uniform-clad chest pressed against her nose. She remembered that vantage point from earlier in the day. "What are you doing?"
He nearly dropped her. "Oh-- you're awake. I was going to put you to bed, but the only other door I found goes into medical. Where are you hiding them?"
"Put me to bed?"
"I couldn't leave you sleeping on that bench."
"I've only this one room; there are no other doors. And that is my bed."
He looked at the bench again. It still looked like a bench, cloth-surfaced and unpadded. "How can you sleep on that thing?"
"Usually quite soundly. May I request that you put me down somewhere?" He placed her on the bench again, in a half-seated position from which she immediately slid down the wall onto her side again. With an effort, she levered herself back up. "Thank you for your concern, really, but--"
"It's nothing," he said modestly. "But as long as we're exchanging courtesies, would you like me to apologize for this afternoon now or tomorrow?"
"Whichever more pleases you."
"In that case, it can wait 'til tomorrow. I'll need a few more hours to get into a properly groveling state anyway." He saluted, pivoted with military precision, and left.
She watched the door owlishly for a while, to make certain he wasn't coming back in. With a sigh, she pulled a mantle from a wall hook behind her, and lay down wrapped in it. After a moment, nearly asleep again, she nudged her shoes off.
On his way back to his own quarters, Anakin whistled softly to himself, carefully considering what he had learned from Denis.
* * *
"...And if it requires a war to bring the Republic back to its former glory, then perhaps we should be grateful for war." Palpatine ignored the shock around him in the Senate, raising his resonant voice to drown out dissent. "We have spent the last century bickering and feuding amongst ourselves. Before the Nechti came to our borders, each system fought against its neighbor, in armed combat or with economic strangulation. The galaxy wasted many lives and credits in these struggles for petty advantage.
"But since the arrival of the Nechti, we have ceased our internal quarrels. If we can retain this solidarity after the Nechti are defeated, our combined power will be greater than ever before."
A gaunt woman near the front said bitterly, "You are quite blithe about the Nechti. You would be less so if you had seen the border systems: Avisa stripped to magma; Martelle reft of its atmosphere-- my diplomatic suite and I are all that remain of the people of Erenat."
Senator Palpatine lowered his eyes. Knife-edged crescents of gold gleamed from beneath his lids. "I do not wish us to forget the many innocents who have lost their homes, their families, or their lives to the Nechti. But think of all the similar losses our internal battles have claimed. If we can eliminate such sad waste from our Republic by remaining united, then the Nechtian victims will not have died in vain.
"But let us forget the future for now. We must deal with the present. It is true that relatively few systems have met with the enemy to date, but is there any doubt we must unite now to drive them out?"
Castra Gatou yawned flamboyantly. She was a tawny-haired young woman with pale green eyes; seated in Bail Organa's empty chair, she was in the first tier, in excellent view of the council. Almost as an afterthought, she lifted one languid hand to conceal her mouth. "Why?" she asked.
The Erenatese senator lunged to her feet. "Why? You've seen the holos sent by the Nechti, and you ask why?"
"Why not?"
Palpatine turned a speculative eye on the princess, while waving the Erenatese back. "Your Highness of Alderaan, do your people have so little compassion on those less fortunate than themselves?"
Castra smiled, showing all her teeth. "Less fortunate? The border systems brought this war upon themselves. Avisa and Martelle were the planets that first met with the Nechti; they made secret trade agreements with them for their technology. They willfully violated the laws of the Senate and the Republic by keeping knowledge of the Nechti civilization a secret. And you of Erenat--" she gestured at the livid ambassador-- "in fact, your very family signed the Nechti pact with full intention to violate it.
"And once you did... well, small wonder that the Nechti sought revenge on you. What concern are your border squabbles to the rest of the Republic?"
"The Nechti have advanced far past the border by now," Palpatine began, but Castra flicked her nails at him.
"Past the borders of your own summer planet, you mean. My own opinions aside, you can hardly expect my people to support armed intervention in your internal affairs. If you can't maintain civil relations with your neighbors, why should we enforce them for you?"
"Civil relations?" Palpatine elevated one eyebrow, smiling warmly. "Oh yes, Alderaan has always been known for its peaceful self-government, especially as carried out by its web of noble kinsmen who are all--" his smile attained angelic proportions-- "terribly civil to one another."
"Enough of this squabbling!" In the open center of the chamber, the President of the Senate lashed the rostrum with her gavel. She was a stately Twi'lek, whose cranial appendages were shifting like cats' tails under their wrapping of silk. "Senator Palpatine, the Alderaani vendettas are not the subject of this debate. And if I may say so, Your Highness of Alderaan, the diplomatic failings of the border systems are irrelevant as well. Avisa and Martelle have
already been destroyed."
"And Erenat," the gaunt woman whispered.
"And Erenat. Whatever their complicity may have been, the Nechti have surely taken vengeance. But now other systems are being attacked, ones with no prior involvement whatsoever. These are the peoples whose aid we are determining. The period for debate has ended. May we call the vote?"
As the Senators drew together in small groups, Palpatine stepped down from the central dais. A Senate page with two bowls of pebbles passed through the chamber, giving every Senator a stone from each bowl, one black and one white. Leaning on the rail near Castra's seat, Palpatine jounced the pair of stones in his hand. "Which one do you plan to cast at me?" he asked her.
"Surely you're planning to cast yours first."
"It's the President who gets to throw the first stone of the season, my dear." They watched a second page approach the Twi'lek with a tall, opaque urn, into which she inserted her hand wrist-deep to conceal the pebble she released. The remaining pebble was dropped into a disposal chute beneath the rostrum, for later collection from a common receptacle. "Purely symbolic, of course, but then so much of politics depends on visible symbolism."
As the page passed by, they dropped their respective pebbles into the urn, then the chute in Castra's desk. The remote comm camera in the corner lingered on Castra and Palpatine after the page had moved on. In a leisurely fashion, she spat in her hand and slapped him.
"Your Highness, desist," the Twi'lek snapped. "I will not permit physical assault of other Senators. If you should become President, you may change policy to suit yourself. But as long as I hold office, I will not allow it."
Palpatine dismissed the guards who had hurried to him from the Coruscanti suite. "I doubt intervention is necessary, unless Her Highness plans to escalate. Have you any objects sharper than your tongue? A brace of whips, perhaps?"
"Regrettably, no." Castra rose, gathering her train over one arm. "But you may yet persuade me to give a different answer." Tracked by the comm recorder, she left the Senate chamber before the tally was complete.
* * *
In his private apartments, Palpatine keyed the holoprojector to replay the day's events. He leaned back and watched himself complete his speech. "...But let us forget the future for now. We must deal with the present. It is true that relatively few systems have met with the enemy to date, but is there any doubt we must unite now to drive them out?"
His companion touched her goblet to his. "Marvelous arm gesture. Think it'll catch on?"
"I hope to gain followers for more than a gesture." After a few sips, he relinquished his wine for a wafer of mycotal pate. "How do you think the rebuttal was received?"
They watched Castra flick her nails. "If you can't maintain civil relations with your neighbors, why should we enforce them for you?"
"It seems to have polarized your opposition." She streaked a dab of pate down his throat, then began to remove it with small motions of her tongue. Between licks, she said, "Only a few systems agree with that argument, and those are wealthy and stable. But the rest realize that if they have famine or civil war, and have already voted against centralization, they'll have little help from the Senate."
"So it broke the tie in the Senate by turning the balance in my favour," Palpatine said, dabbing pate elsewhere.
She slid her hand down his opened robes. "Astonishing, isn't it?"
On the projector, Castra slapped Palpatine and left. Behind her, the collected pebbles were tallied by colour. The Twi'lek said, "The measure to ally against the Nechti has passed. This session of the Senate being concluded, I resign my office as President, unless my name is again chosen by lot at the next session." As the data tape ended, the projector clicked off.
Palpatine lifted his mouth from bare skin. "I've always thought that was a strange way to select a leader."
"I take it you've a better idea? Don't you dare tear this gown."
With exaggerated care, he gathered the skirts into a fine foam of lace over her thighs. "I think highly of it. But then, it is my idea."
"Naturally." A burst of breath escaped her, and she muffled the sound against his shoulder. "But don't you think we've had enough of political debates for today?"
Palpatine pressed her deeper into the cushions, watching her green eyes darken to match the jade velvet. "Have we?" he murmured.
"I should think so," breathed Castra Gatou.