Arcadia, chapter 7

[wombat1138]

Chapter 7: The widening gyre

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The base commander's office on Niamh had been cleansed of Alderaani insignia and rehung with the mottled gold of Coruscant. Bevan Meda scanned the walls with amusement. "I see there's been a change of regime," Meda said. "Are you more open to discussion than General Kenobi was?"

Palpatine waved out the guards with one hand while pouring tisane with the other. "If you're more open than Captain Brabanconne. What can you tell me about your flagship's chief weapon?"

Meda grinned. "Will you release us from custody?"

"I'll release you and your daughter from that cell, but Brabanconne stays there. You'll remain under observation by vidcams inside your new quarters and guards outside them. No attempts to contact your fellow Nechti, and no attempts to sabotage or escape the base. Done?"

"Done." Meda finally took the proffered cup of tisane and clinked it against Palpatine's. "Where's Lise Toire?"

"She left base in Kenobi's ship."

"Pity. In that case, you'd best speak to my daughter about the _Rahab_'s weapons system. Lise and Vesperis helped Deorsaid Danville develop it. Unfortunately, Danville died on the _Belle_ when Kenobi captured Brabanconne and myself."

"What a precocious girl you have," Palpatine murmured. "But there's another point I wished to address: Brabanconne and Vesperis. They don't know, do they?"

Meda sipped his tisane, arching up one eyebrow and a corner of his mouth. "Know what?"

"You've cloned her." Meda's smirk confirmed it. "General Kenobi seemed to sense something, but couldn't pin it down. The age difference obscures the similarity, but the bioenergetic resonance is still setting up an echo effect. No wonder they dislike one another."

"Vesperis is only a test run. I took the seed tissue from Siona fifteen years ago, but her mind is her own. If anything, she took after Danville. That'll help you reproduce the _Rahab_'s planet-killer." Meda held out his cup for a refill. "Or are you more interested in the cloning process?"

Palpatine added more tisane from the gilt carafe, supplemented by a few droplets from the vial under his wrist. The drug would both loosen Meda's tongue and remove later memory of what had been said. "Fifteen years ago?" he asked. "That's the girl's apparent age. Normal growth despite the adult template? I've overseen some forays myself, but they usually fail after a few years."

"No physical abnormalities, but acceleration experiments haven't worked. Given one tissue sample and a year, I could give you a normal infant or an adult-sized lump of undifferentiated meat. Not that the latter isn't useful on long voyages. What's your intended application?"

Palpatine shrugged; Meda wouldn't remember any of this anyway. "My lineage began with a rogue empath who was hunted down by the Jedi order. She won amnesty on behalf of her unborn child, but died in labor. In her last moments, she was able to anchor her spirit to her infant son. The technique has been repeated and refined for many generations. However, as the genetic link to my original body grows more tenuous, it becomes more difficult to gain a foothold in my descendants."

"I assume you've tried inbreeding to reinforce the lineage? Your current level of genetic drift can be frozen into a series of children, if that's what you want."

"Legal minority does not suit me. My recent strategy has been to let my heirs mature independently, but that makes the transfer more difficult. While their willpower is no match for mine, I must still absorb their memories and fledgling egos into myself. One lifetime of adolescent angst is as much as most people can bear. I have thirty, of whom the latest still sulks over being jilted." Palpatine grimaced. "Can you produce mature clones who are blank slates?"

"You'd have to keep them in a sensory deprivation tank the whole time. I see why you wanted to know about accelerated growth; it'd be easier to sustain that environment for two weeks than two decades. For that matter, you could upgrade every few years to create the illusion of eternal youth instead of having to feign paternity every generation." Meda hiccupped, swaying in his chair despite the continuing technical stream. "Your Jedi Healers can recreate complex tissues quickly. Pity you can't get one of those to help you."

"Yes, it is a pity, isn't it?" Palpatine said softly. "When Toire was here, she spoke of bacta gel as a novelty. Have you performed any experiments with that?"

"Bacta? Never seen it myself."

"It might be an interesting clone medium. My medical frigates have rather a lot of it. I've been stockpiling it to drive up the market price."

"My working notes on clones are still on the Sphinx unless the databases have been wiped."

Palpatine cordially refilled the man's cup. "I'm glad to hear that. And now, Doctor Meda, let us discuss the location of your mysterious Nechti flagship."

* * *

There were worse fates, Kenobi supposed. He maintained an uneasy watch from Belconnen for the inevitable Nechti attack, but at least he and his troops were no longer the target. And once the Nechti abandoned their quest for Millat, he could contact Master Yoda there and take Anakin to him before further havoc arose.

He paced the Senate antechambers. On the debate floor within, Princess Danah was subtly assailing Palpatine's authority. An occasional phrase rang through the sealed doors: "Unprecedented role... must rescind after the current crisis... delicate balance of power...." None of this really interested Kenobi, nor did the window tapestries which he appeared to study so earnestly. The woven scene of Alderaan flickered with crimson and gold, autumn leaves swaying in an afternoon wind. Beside it, a darker cloth kindled the same colors as Coruscanti dawn dyed the sharp-edged skyline. Just as its sun crept over the horizon, the antechamber's outer doors slid open.

After the first shock, Kenobi put away his reflexively drawn weapon. "Imperator Palpatine," he nodded warily. "What an unexpected pleasure to see you. Have you defeated the Nechti already and outraced the comm frequencies back?"

Palpatine smiled from the midst of his bodyguards. "I've simply come back to arrange a few things forgotten in the rush."

"From what I understand, you've forgotten to resign your presiding role over the Senate. Perhaps you can leave that in exchange."

"The Presidency is a purely nominal position."

"You haven't resigned your nominal possession of the voting records from your session. Nor several other tokens of office, I see."

"All in good time." The Presidential key unlocked the inner doors with a grinding rasp. The debates suddenly unmuffled, then fell to a hush. Over his shoulder, Palpatine said, "Your duties here are ended, General Kenobi. Go back to your den in the Alderaani suite. I'll speak with your young friend Skywalker anon."

* * *

Kenobi knocked lightly on the door. Instead of resounding, it simply swung open, allowing a full view of Arcadia's chamber.

She sat on the folded coverlet, legs tucked under as she wove her hair into narrow braids. The unbound portion spilled over one shoulder into a pool of pale gold beside her. Anakin smiled up at her, playing with a finished plait as he lay in her lap. Binding off another one, she teased his face with its tip. Both of them were completely oblivious to Kenobi's presence-- not willfully ignoring him, but simply too caught up in one another to be aware of anything else.

Half-guiltily, Kenobi cleared his throat. Arcadia looked up, quickly matching his own flush of chagrin. After the first glance up, Anakin merely stretched out in exaggerated languor. "What's today's detail?" he asked. "Are we escorting the royal tisane set from cupboard to kitchen? Or do we get to guard the royal bathwater?"

"Palpatine's returned to Belconnen." Kenobi's pale eyes remained intent on Arcadia.

"What?" Anakin sprang to his feet. "Has he defeated the Nechti already?"

"I don't think so. He's confronting Princess Danah on the Senate floor right now, and we'll probably be posted back to the front by week's end."

Arcadia sat perfectly still, a half-plaited tress unravelling forgotten in her hands. Slowly, she released it and reached out to Anakin. "Don't go," she whispered.

He drew back from her with utter incomprehension. "I have to. If I stay here on Belconnen much longer, one bow or scrape too many will drive me mad. Alderaani etiquette is even worse than the goddesses' rules back home. You don't want me to turn into a gilded twit like Semble, do you?"

"No." She rose to pull her Healer's robes from a cupboard. They settled smoothly around her, eclipsing the embroidered silks. "But if you're returning to the front, so am I."

"You aren't, neither," retorted Anakin, startled back into Leucothean idiom.

"I certainly am." Arcadia slipped off her ring, withdrew its blue gem, and restored it to the inert lightsaber on the shelf.

Kenobi folded his arms. "From what I understand, you have a direct order from Her Highness to remain here on Belconnen. Are you willing to risk treason to battle the Nechti?"

"Treason against whom?" Anakin flared. "My homeworld was destroyed by the Nechti. The priestesses whose oaths I swore and broke are dead now, burned to dust. I pledged no oaths to you, *sir*, which outweigh their vengeance, nor any oaths to Alderaan."

A light touch tapped the signet he wore as Arcadia hung the lightsaber at his side. "You pledged one to me. If you return to Niamh, I will go with you. But I truly believe it would be best if neither of us went there."

Kenobi added solicitous tinder. "Her Highness agrees with you in that. If you must leave Belconnen, perhaps both of you ought to visit Millat."

"I'm in no mood for sightseeing."

"Then you'll stay?"

"No. But you should." Anakin pressed his fingers against her still-slender waist.

She folded her hands over his. "Not without you."

He turned away, walking past Kenobi. His eyes burned like dark nebulae in the steel visor of his face. "Then you'd better start to pack."

* * *

Leucothea's former flagship sat in the Belconnen hangar. His speech completed, Palpatine returned to the Sphinx and the hidden lab within it. "How are you coming along, Doctor Meda?"

"Oh, we're all fine here now. How are you?" Despite Meda's dazed tone, he handled his knives and fine probes with paradoxical vigour, bright metal dipping and splashing through his work tank like Mon Calamari younglings out for a swim.

Palpatine peered into the rosy liquid. "And you're sure of her identity?"

"She still had her data chips on when I pulled her back out of storage," Meda said. With one gloved hand, he brushed a lock of hair away from the tags around her neck, then nudged up the girl's lids to display unresponsive arcs of iris. "Just a little older than Vespa. I hope she isn't worrying about me back on Niamh."

Content, Palpatine nodded. "I'm sure your daughter is fine. Stand out of comm camera range, if you please."

Obligingly, Meda lurched back, reaching for another cup of drugged tisane. Palpatine kept the comm camera on himself while he keyed in a code. Nisca appeared on the console, his brow immediately furrowing with suspicion. "Senator Palpatine?"

Palpatine nodded pleasantly. "You have a daughter, don't you?"

Roughly, Nisca said, "The Nechti killed her at Aricia." He reached to snap his comm off. Before the Healer could complete the motion, Palpatine turned the camera toward the bacta tank.

Nisca froze as the details sharpened: a floating cloud of red-gold hair, his daughter's face half-covered by a ventilation mask, and below it, a terrible scar across her throat. The focus was close enough to read the name on her military tags: Niscet Sariene. The tags shimmered with the rhythm of her breath.

Palpatine stepped smoothly in front of Sariene's body. "She's not quite dead yet," he informed Nisca. "But Jedi Healers are strangely reluctant to sign up for service with Coruscant, and she'll need your help to recover."

"She's an Alderaani citizen. You have no right to hold her."

"You Alderaani left her behind. It's only through my efforts that she's been recovered from the Nechti salvage tanks at all. At the moment, that small fortune in bacta is the only thing keeping her alive, and it's my personal property. Unless you can buy it outright, I'd have to drain it from her and give you her body, wouldn't I?"

Nisca's shell of Jedi serenity cracked as if given a smart tap with a hammer. Palpatine smiled, luxuriating in the man's anguished rage. Young fool. In hurling these words, you not only tear down your defensive walls but throw me the keys.

Aloud, he said calmly, "No need for such language. Let us discuss the matter, shall we?" He set a time and place for the meeting, manipulating emotions to widen the empathic breach. Palpatine shut down the comm on Nisca's grief and turned back to the tank and Doctor Meda.

"Can you finish regrowing her by then?" he asked the Nechti. Outside the comm camera's tight focus, there was less of Sariene to see than her father might have wished. A wide diagonal slash lay across her torso, hinting of harvested organs, and her limbs were hacked and mangled.

Meda staggered to his feet. "Her arms and legs, yes. Those are really just meat. We'll still need his help for the twiddly bits. Do you want me to seed her clones before he gets here?"

"Certainly," Palpatine said, leaning over the tank. His reflection lay over Sariene's face, both of them shifting and melding with ripples in the bacta. "I've always wanted a daughter like her."

* * *

The warm scent of tisane enveloped Arcadia as she walked through the Alderaani suite. Her guide droid was laden with several trays of refreshment, all of them giving rise to savory vapors. Upon reaching Danah's private chamber, the droid scurried off to the sideboard and unburdened itself of tisane, biscuits, and other tidbits.

Danah herself handed Arcadia a cup. "Have you decided?"

"Anakin is returning to the front."

"Is he?" Danah smiled. "I believe I can arrange otherwise. However, you yourself will either remain here or return to Alderaan."

"Will I?"

"Oh, I think so. I am very concerned about Castra. Aren't you?"

"She is increasingly unstable," Arcadia admitted. "I don't know which worries me more, her health or her state of mind."

"You are uniquely qualified to tend her. Even if you were as useless as she is, I would keep you close to safeguard the succession as matters stand now. Yes, I know," Danah said. "You adore your Anakin and wish to stay with him as long as possible. And while you have no thoughts of treason, neither do you have any great loyalty to me. But you know what happened to Alderaan the last time the succession was called into question."

Arcadia crunched a biscuit, but said nothing.

"You do, don't you? I will do whatever it takes to prevent that from happening again. And by your Antilles blood, you too are bound to do what's best for Alderaan."

The unspoken currents eddied around them as the tisane drained away. Finally, Arcadia warded off a last biscuit and stood up. "Very well," she said wearily. "I'll have supper with her tonight and tell her where matters stand."

"And what of your Anakin?"

She sighed. "He may be angry, but I think he'll accept it eventually. Have you anything I could wear for the occasion? Both of my gowns are in the phoenix brocade. She won't like that at all."

"Under the circumstances," Danah said, "I think Liane's bridal dress would be most suitable."

* * *

"Damn it all," Anakin said. "This is no time to nitpick disciplinary bylaws. With the Nechti flagship coming down on us, we're going to need every trained warrior we can get."

Murmurs of agreement came from all around the Aldean briefing hall, but General Kenobi stood firm. "This battle won't be a matter of brute force. If it were that simple, victory would be assured. We have an entire fleet against this one invader. But despite the intelligence we've received," he nodded at Toire, huddled in one corner, "there is still far too little we understand about their flagship. Some of their technology is simply inexplicable by our terms, such as their teleporters. If they teleport shock troops or suicide bombers onto our ships, all bets are off.

"And even if they adhere to conventional warfare, their so-called standard systems-- shields, weapons, and translight drives-- appear to operate on principles simply incompatible with ours. It's possible our shields may be permeable to or even explosive with their weapons. The converse would be a pleasant surprise, but we cannot depend on it. And their weapon of last resort is capable of destroying an entire planetary surface, as you've all heard."

Beside Toire, Denis shifted in his seat. "General Kenobi, sir. The Nechti only have a few large ships. Wouldn't the best strategy be to overwhelm them with small fighters? They'd be less vulnerable to teleportation sabotage, and the diffused attack vector would be a defensive advantage."

"Exactly. However," Kenobi sharply added, forestalling another sally by Anakin, "the most important aspect will be maintaining discipline. One wrong move could get us all killed. And more than us; if we're destroyed by the Nechti, there'll be few forces left to stand against their rampage. I am not lifting disciplinary sanctions from anyone."

He rapped out a list of deployments, noting their strategies on the holoscreen. "The President's coalition is already in place around Niamh, here and here. All we must do is reinforce their positions, based on the expected arrival trajectory of the Nechti flagship."

"They've gone missing for weeks now," Anakin said. "How do you know they haven't blundered into a black hole or gotten smashed flat in an asteroid field?"

"I don't believe that's your direct concern, Commander Skywalker. Or would you prefer to be called Lieutenant?" Anakin sat up as rigidly as if a sword had been run up his spine. "Though if you must know," Kenobi said, sweeping a glance around the hall, "I have had certain information about the Nechti movements from my old teacher, Master Yoda. Their ships have been blundering around the Millat system for some time. If they haven't yet turned back toward Niamh, we should be able to catch them there.

"Those of you who've received your assignments, go to your ships. We leave at 030. The remainder will join the defense force here on Belconnen; report to Captain Veers in the morning." He dismissed his troops, who quickly emptied the hall. Denis cast back a furrowed glance as he escorted Toire out. It had been directed not at Kenobi, but past him. The general turned to that side and there, inevitably, was Anakin glowering down at him.

"You can't demote me at a time like this. My squadron needs me. *You* need me."

"No. We may need your skills, but not at the cost of recklessly endangering your comrades, your subordinates, and the Belconnen Pact. Or did you forget that you fired on the _Dovecote_ without adequate provocation? That ship could have been filled with captives from our own systems. For all we know, it was."

Anakin shrugged, heading for the door. "What's done is done. Punishing me won't bring them back, if they ever existed."

Kenobi walked at enough distance to convey that he was merely going in the same direction as Anakin, not following him. "I reprimanded you in the past to warn you from such rash actions. But it has done no good. I can only hope you'll care better for Arcadia and her children than you have done for everyone else around you."

Anakin stopped. "And what do you care about my wife?"

Strangely, Kenobi backed down. "Your pardon. She was my ward for many years, since I was your age and before. Perhaps it's no longer my place to watch over her."

"Damn right," Anakin muttered. More audibly, he said, "Your briefing went on longer than I'd expected. I was hoping to join Dia at her dinner with Princess Castra. Think she's still there?"

Kenobi glanced down the corridor, ill at ease. "I saw her pass the door of the briefing hall earlier this evening. Is that what she was dressed for? I believe one of the informal dining rooms is around that corner."

And around that corner, a woman's shriek rang out. It was more furious than frightened, but it set the two men into a dead run toward it. There was a single door at the end of the side passage. It failed to open. Anakin punched the control panel with increasing strength. "It's been jammed from the inside. I can feel it," he growled.

"Don't shoot it, you fool," Kenobi called an instant too late. The blaster bolt sizzled past him, melting the dented panel. Another blast door instantly slammed shut, cutting them off from the main corridor and sending klaxons around the complex. The general extended one hand against the first door and tilted his head against it. "Don't try that again," he said with closed eyes. "The doors are magnetically sealed."

With sudden puzzlement, Anakin said, "That wasn't Dia." He shook his head sharply, attempting to sort out conflicting sensations. "She is in there, but...."

Soft metallic rasps came from inside the wall, near the locks Kenobi was telekinetically picking. One last ping, and the door limped open. Anakin went straight through it. He did not wait for Kenobi, who turned toward another, much louder noise as a plasma cutter bit through the door from the outside corridor.

* * *

Anakin entered the dining chamber cautiously, blaster still in hand. The table held a goblet and two unfinished plates. The other goblet lay broken on the tiles, fragments glinting in its hemorrhage of wine. One chair had been pushed back, and the lamps illuminated its empty hollow.

"Arcadia!" He called out, keeping his blaster ready. "Dia, where are you?"

A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he spun about toward the other chair. Arcadia sat with her head tipped against the high carved back, half-reclining. Her pale gown had blended into the white cushions, and her face was hidden in shadow. "Anakin," she said quietly.

"Why didn't you say something earlier?" He put his blaster away, his concern giving way to annoyance. "I thought something happened to you."

She did not reply, and he saw her eyes were closed. He shook his head. "Well, I suppose it can wait 'til morning. Come on, then. Or do you need me to carry you out?" As he gathered her up, he saw the cushions under her. Like the ones at her back, they were covered with white velvet. These, however, were freshly dyed red, the scent of wet steel hanging over them.

"Anakin, I feel so cold," she whispered. In the light, even her lips were pale, as if frost had settled over her and bleached all color from her face. Holding her too-pliant waist with one hand, he eased his other arm away from her. His sleeve, too, had soaked crimson from her gown.

Sharp ice raked through his veins. "Obi-Wan!" he shouted. "Kenobi, get in here!"

Kenobi leaned in from the corridor. After the first glance, he took a deep breath, leaning heavily against the doorway as he surveyed the table, walls, shattered chalice, anything but Arcadia slowly bleeding in Anakin's arms. "She was dining with Princess Castra, was she?" Kenobi said. "This may've been an assassin's strike. A security team is still cutting its way in; I'll tell them to call a Healer. In the meantime, just stay with her."

Kenobi's stride echoed away. Anakin stood frozen in place, every sinew tensed. Still clasped to him, Arcadia made a small hurt sound against his chest, as if his heart itself were voicing agony. Slowly as windless snow, he sank to the floor, his body between hers and the cold marble as if he could ward from her all the pain in the world.

Eventually, the security team poured into the chamber. They searched every corner, peering behind tapestries and under sideboards. Anakin ignored them at first; they returned the favour. After some minutes, their presence registered. He looked up to find himself surrounded. The healer Nisca knelt beside him. "What happened?"

"I came to look for her and heard a scream," Anakin began.

Brusquely, Nisca shook his head. "General Kenobi said as much. I want Arcadia's version. Princess Castra is nowhere to be found. Arcadia, what happened here?"

She did not respond. Nisca touched the pulse in her throat before taking up her wrist. The snapped chain of Castra's necklace fell from her slack hand onto the floor.

* * *

In the narrow darkness between the walls, Castra groped her way through a network of maintenance passages. While Palpatine had never shown her the full array of keycodes and corridors, she had learned enough to reach her destination. She hissed in frustration as her skirt caught on a pipe, pulling wine-stained damask tight across her legs.

She had not wanted to sup with her so-called cousin in the first place, but Danah had insisted. At least it had been in the most insignificant dining chamber she could find, with all the servants dismissed and the door barred. It was bad enough having to deal with this exiled medic as an equal; it would have been far worse to have others regard them as such. And at table, instead of lightly discussing the latest fashions and scandals as any civilized woman would do, Arcadia had lectured her about her health.

"The Princess-Dowager is concerned about you and your child," that little Nebbit had said, benignly agreeing with Danah's plan to exile her back to Alderaan. "She has asked me to attend you there, if you will."

"And what if I won't?"

"She's ordering me to Alderaan regardless. If you should change your mind later, I'll still be there."

Castra glared at her kinswoman, eyeing Liane's gown with fresh suspicion. "Marvelous. Did Palpatine change his mind about marrying you? Because if Danah wants you to replace me as breeding stock for Bail, you're welcome to it."

"Your Highness, please," the Nebbit said, looking shocked. Of course she would. "All of us wish the best for you and for Alderaan's heir. But it's clearly a strain for you, and that's exactly why I've been asked to monitor your health."

Tossing back her tawny hair, Castra scoffed. "I'm already fussed over by a foundry of medical droids. What more could you possibly add to that?"

"Droids can only do what you ask them to. From here, I can sense you've been suffering chronic abdominal pain, which may indicate complications with your pregnancy. But that's too difficult for me to diagnose without a direct examination. Why haven't you asked the droids?"

"I don't want them festooning me with their needles."

Even more quietly than before, Arcadia said, "They don't routinely run geneprints on blood samples, and I'm sure they've been expressly forbidden from checking yours. I can't personally identify them either, which might be useful for you."

Castra rose in a rage of fear, hurling a goblet across the table and advancing on her for good measure. "What are you suggesting, you impudent little--"

The crystal splashed by Arcadia's chair. "My brother, Denis Colton, is a good friend of Prince Bail."

Quick as her face blanched, Castra's upraised hand dropped. "Oh. I see." After a long while, she asked, "Does Danah know?"

"It's in no one's interest to tell her anything about your pact with Bail. Besides, your marriage arose from her own pact with Prince Davit." Arcadia looked at Castra a little sadly, and rose from her seat. "As long as we're face to face, would you like me to examine you? Or would you rather I left?"

Still stunned, Castra acquiesced. The examination was a simple matter of Arcadia floating her hands a few inches away from the princess. "Your little daughter is a bit distressed," Arcadia murmured. "There's an imbalance in your system somewhere. And that necklace is chafing you terribly."

At a nod from Castra, Arcadia eased her fingertips between the chained jewels and the royal throat. The burning rash eased and cooled, fading away. "There's a very faint residue on your skin here. Perhaps some new perfume or ointment? I may be able to loosen the--"

Arcadia fell back into her chair as the necklace snapped. Castra shrieked with indignation, then fell quiet in sudden fear. For the gold had all held firm; the large jewel at her throat's hollow had broken, revealing itself as an empty case for the resin now spilling out. Castra had been scalded by merely a surface trace, and now great droplets were rolling across Arcadia's skin, drowning the tiny cuts where the jewel's fragments had embedded themselves.

"I think," Arcadia whispered faintly, "this was meant to seep through your skin over a long period of time. About five years of this poison has just gone straight into my blood."

"Why can't you just heal yourself?"

With an effort, Arcadia opened her eyes. "I can't make myself fly by pulling my hair. Right now I can't even tell who's making that racket outside. But I suspect it's Her Highness' finale to your husband's plan for you. I'm sorry it's my murder you're being framed for."

Castra thought quickly. Bail's plan? It hadn't been Bail who had given her that necklace. Arcadia had collapsed into silence; it was no use talking to her now. The garden would be the straightest path, but without cover. As the noise at the door continued, Castra tipped up a ventilation grille and crawled into the duct and away.

Now it was hours later, it seemed. She had probably left a trail of torn brocade and skin behind her, but what was that to her? As long as she could have her revenge, nothing after that would matter. A twist of wire under her fingers gave way, and the panel before her slid open. She drew her weight back from it a moment too late and sprawled full-length into the Coruscanti suite.

When she eased up on her elbows, Palpatine was already crouched before her. "Your Royal Highness?" he enquired politely.

"You bastard!" She clawed up at his face. Twisting to avoid her, he lost his balance. As he lay on the gilded mosaics of his own dining chamber, she crawled up to throttle him. She had made a good start of it when an all-too-familiar voice cut her own breath short.

"Stop this at once." Princess Danah rose from her seat at Palpatine's table, shaking out her train to sweep over to the frozen tableau on the floor. "I trust that at least one of you can explain this, though I hardly expect the tales to mesh."

Castra quailed. Palpatine took the opportunity to worm out of her clutches. Gathering up his dignity and dust-sullied robes, he bowed to Danah and pressed a security console. "Perhaps the two of you would like to speak together first. If you wish further words with me, you have only to ask. Good night."

Coruscanti guards poured into the room as he withdrew to his inner chambers. Danah promptly pulled Castra away. The Princess-Dowager smiled sweetly at her own bodyguards in the antechamber, silently daring them to ask her about Castra's arrival. As the Alderaani corps fell into step around the princesses, Danah provided her usual portrayal of the frail dowager struggling through her bereavement, holding to her son's wife as a beloved daughter.

Castra tried not to wince at the ringed fingers clamped around her arm like iron bands. Danah hissed through her sad smile, "You had best be thankful that I was there, or you would have never left his presence alive. Whether you ever leave mine is another question altogether."

As they approached the Alderaani suite, the guards drew to one side of the corridor. Hemmed in by their protective wall, Danah caught only a glimpse of a uniformed man running in the opposite direction. "It seems your steps have been traced," Danah observed. "I only hope to invent a better explanation for your actions than I expect to hear from you."

* * *

"Physician, heal thyself." In a lightning slash, Anakin whipped the broken goblet across Nisca's arm. "Dia told me about Healers' limitations. Why would she poison both Castra and herself when she can't tend her own injuries? And where is Castra's corpse supposed to be?"

Nisca hissed sharply, clutching his arm. Coolly, Kenobi set his blaster against Anakin's head. "You're tampering with evidence. Put that down and get out."

"I want to see Dia first." The three men were still in the dining chamber, but Arcadia had been carried away by a swarm of guards. Kenobi had stonily ordered her transfer to a holding cell on the Tantive, where a medical team would stabilize her. Anakin suspected she'd be stabilized into a nice, steady coffin. Under duress, he set down the rubied shard, but did not otherwise relent. "If this is some last-ditch ploy to keep me on Belconnen--"

Kenobi did not move. Neither did his blaster. "You are not leaving as any part of my command. Apart from that, I don't care whether you stay on Belconnen or throw yourself down a Rancor's throat. But leave this room now."

* * *

As the Alderaani princesses left, Palpatine sighed, rubbing his throat. Very well, his own plan had been foiled, but Castra had likely doomed herself all the same. With the level of popular and military support he now enjoyed, he could shrug off almost any accusation she might levy, and most of those would only offer more plasma packs for her own execution. Now, if only the little Antilles would fall into line as well--

His reveries were broken by shouts outside. He glanced at the observation screen, then walked out to the corridor. "No need for such a fuss, my young friend. Do come in and have a seat."

"My lord, he's armed," one of the guards warned.

"I don't believe he means us any harm, do you?"

Anakin shook his head. "Senator, that offer you made--"

"Come in, I say." He beckoned Anakin in, unobtrusively resetting surveillance jammers as he closed the doors. "Now, where were we?"

"The offer you made of a Coruscanti command position-- I'll accept it, if you can get my wife out of Alderaani custody and keep their faction away from both of us."

"Custody, you say? Surely she's no longer a ward of the state."

"No. She's under suspicion of assassinating Princess Castra. General Kenobi's placed her under arrest."

Palpatine suppressed a smile. If the charge were only true, Danah would award Arcadia with the Alderaani diadem. "Bring her here and I'll keep her safe. When would you like to effect the transfer?"

Anakin knelt before him. "As I offer you this weapon, I offer you my fealty, and I swear to serve you until the end of my days."

Taking the blaster, Palpatine caressed its trigger. "Good. You can begin by returning to the Alderaani suite and remaining there. Once I have enough information--"

"I can't do that, my lord."

"No? You give Leucothea a poor legacy-- oaths sworn with great fervor and no meaning."

"I'm doing this for Arcadia's sake, not for yours."

"What a pity. Very well; an obvious defection will raise questions, but I'm sure I can find you a position on Coruscant. What has changed your mind so quickly?"

"She had supper with Castra tonight. When I got in, Castra had vanished, and Arcadia-- there was nothing I could do to help her."

As Anakin spread out his arms, a drop of blood fell from one sleeve that had merely appeared darker grey than the rest of his uniform. The significance of that broad stain suddenly struck Palpatine, who blanched. Castra's customary necklace had been missing. "Where is Arcadia now?"

With mixed anguish and disgust, Anakin said, "She's at gunpoint while the medics work on her. Nisca said she'll probably survive. But it's too late for our son."

"The poor girl," Palpatine said, smoothly recovering. "Of course I will be glad to offer my protection to you both. Bring her here, and I'll have my best physicians attend her."

Awkwardly, Anakin stood up. He took the blaster back from Palpatine and shoved it into his belt. "I wish I didn't have to disobey your first order, my lord. It's not that I begrudge your service. But--" He looked down at the phoenix crest embroidered on his uniform. With a sudden spasm, he tore it from the cloth. "I'll bring Arcadia straight here. If anyone can protect us from Alderaan, it's you."

"Indeed," Palpatine said softly, as the doors closed in Anakin's wake. "And who will you find to protect you now from me?"

A few keystrokes summoned Nisca to the comm; like Anakin's uniform, the healer's robes were streaked and spattered with drying gore. He wiped one arm across his forehead, wincing as his wound reopened. "My lord? It's not safe for you to contact me here on the _Tantive_. Doctor Meda says Sariene is healing well aboard the Sphinx; his bacta fusion process--"

Palpatine smiled. "Oh, it's safe enough. I hear you have a new patient of your own. Tell me everything you know of Lady Arcadia, both past and present, and then I want you to retrieve certain medical files...."

* * *

Returning from Palpatine's quarters, Anakin went straight to the _Tantive_. The ring of royal guards turned him away, bristling with weapons. Baffled and furious, Anakin paced the docking bay. The Sphinx stood in the far corner. Drawn by his last link to Leucothea, he walked toward the ship.

An access ramp lay open at one side, and he boarded aimlessly. His home was gone, and all his bonds of blood. And now he was losing Arcadia as well. Half-formed thoughts seethed; could he find a small turbocannon to kill the guards and free her? If he only had his Headhunter--

He passed a small control room and froze. It had no turbocannon panels, but among its display screens was one that seemed to show Arcadia's face, small and far away. He entered the room and leaned closer. There she was, in a cell on the Tantive, quiet and still as death. When Anakin extended his senses toward her, there was no answering tendril of warmth, only a brittle shell of ice. No matter how he tried to call her, she would not answer. Damn you, Dia, you freed all of us from a cell once before. Help me get you out of there, or do you want Danah to drag you to Alderaan?

There was an audiolink as well. Donning the headset, he adjusted the feed until the sound of her breath hummed in his ears like the sound of the sea. Nisca sat by her bed, obliviously tapping at a screen; the keystrokes boomed like muted thunder.

Anakin did not question why the Tantive's vidcam should link to a screen on the Sphinx. It was already too late for him to ask himself anything at all, except how to bring her to Palpatine.

When General Kenobi entered Arcadia's room, Nisca nervously nodded to him and left, datapad in hand. Anakin tensed. The guards would open ranks to let Kenobi back out of the Tantive. It would be the perfect opportunity to attack.

* * *

"Here are their records," Nisca reported to Palpatine.

"Is everything in order? Let me see them."

A sidebar displayed the geneprints within the comm holo. Hesitantly, Nisca said, "They're not as you predicted. But Princess Danah can't possibly have known of this, or she would have never allowed Arcadia to remain with that man."

Far from being displeased, Palpatine laughed aloud. "Better yet. First, catch our Nebbit. And I think it has already leapt into the jug."

* * *

Kenobi sat on the side of the bed, causing Arcadia to sag toward him, her wide gaze staring glassily ahead. Even when he touched her face, she did not outwardly respond, though he could sense her life essence drawing ever deeper within herself. He had seen her like this only once before, long ago in her childhood.

That time had been a terrible blur: Liane's plots of treason, his own anguished indecision, the final confession to Princess Danah too late to save Prince Davit's life-- and in turn, Liane's. Within an hour of Prince Davit's assassination, Liane and her children were dragged to the royal audience chambers. Liane had prematurely donned full court regalia for her own coronation. In contrast, Danah and her son wore the stark white of mourning.

Without a word, Liane turned to kiss her children farewell and walked to the far wall, where Laz Colton already stood bound. Disconcerted, a Coruscanti trade delegation clustered near the throne, inducted on the spot as impromptu witnesses for the Senate. Kenobi recognized Palpatine's face among them, and was sick at heart, remembering.

Liane cast one last, defiant glance at the kinswomen she'd failed to kill: her mother's sister, Princess Danah; her father's sister, Lady Devora. In a clear voice, she called out to the armed squad that faced her. "You may fire when ready, Commander." And they did.

Barely old enough to stand, her son screamed uncontrollably. He was clearly frightened by the flashing noise, but understood little else. The boy clung to his sister, who stood palely silent. His shrieks gradually subsided to exhausted whimpers throughout the long afternoon, the two of them huddling together while the rest of House Colton pleaded for their lives.

The Coruscanti delegation slipped out with furtive speed, and Lady Devora swiftly carried her own infant daughter away. By Danah's decree, every possession of Liane or her consort fell forfeit to the crown, from the largest estate to the smallest jewelled pin. At the last, Bail wielded his new princely authority and overruled Danah's vengeance. Everything had been taken from the children except for what they wore. And their heartbeats.

"Very well," Danah grudgingly assented. "But keep that girl off Alderaan, or she may not outlive Liane for long. General Kenobi?" She stressed his new title.

As Prince Bail gave Kenobi his orders, the remaining Coltons retreated, taking the boy with them. "Dia!" he cried out, his panic freshly renewed. Her name echoed through the halls, finally drummed into silence by the great doors closing behind him. When Bail and Danah finally withdrew, half of the royal guards remained behind to escort Kenobi and the girl to the spaceport.

She was still standing in the corner, slightly swaying on her feet. She could not be more than six or seven, born within a year of Liane's hasty marriage. A strand of sky-blue crystals twined around her neck, a plaything not worth confiscating. Liane's signet ring hung hidden behind it, a flash of red beyond the desert sky. He shuddered, but said nothing.

When he knelt beside her, she did not react at first. After a moment, her eyes slowly tracked toward him like a doll's. "Where are they taking Denis?"

"He's going to live with your grandmama Colton."

"She's not my grandmama," Dia whispered.

So the rumours were true, then, or at least they had reached Liane's daughter herself without contradiction. Certainly that fine sunlight spray of crystal-gilt hair bore no resemblance to the Antilles or Colton bloodlines. Kenobi firmly steeled himself not to think of the matter further. "Well, that's where he's gone. You're to be my ward now. Come along, we've an offworld ship waiting for us." He realized he did not know Dia's full name. Both children had stayed hidden in the nursery during Liane's planning sessions. What would she have named her first-born daughter? Diana? Danae?

Taking his hand, the girl answered his unspoken question. "My name is Arcadia." Her voice was a quiet rustle like dead leaves, like the sift of Liane's and Laz's ashes against the far wall. Despite her outer silence, he heard a great howling void inside her, a vortex of fanged ice ready to consume her spirit and spit it out as an instrument of revenge. Liane had been like that. Liane had never wept, except on the eve of her wedding.

"Arcadia," Kenobi murmured. He turned from memory of that child to the grown woman curled beside him. With sudden intimacy, as twenty years before, he gathered her into his arms, cradling her in his lap. "Don't cry, my dear," he breathed, stroking her hair. "I know it hurts, but you mustn't cry." And once again, shocked from her ice-brittle shell, Arcadia burst into tears, clinging to the general as to a lover.

* * *

Slowly, Anakin stepped back from the screen and let the headset fall across it.

As he walked away through the Sphinx, Nisca called out to him at a crosspath. "There you are. I wanted to review some medical data with you. Do you have a moment?"

Anakin followed Nisca to a wall console, where the healer docked his datapad to the screen. "The cause is straightforward enough: a slow poison was set against Princess Castra, but the shock of an acute dose caused miscarriage. You can see the molecular readouts here and here." The data display flickered and danced like a broken chain of crystals.

"However," he continued, "I ran into an unexpected hitch when checking mutagenic factors. Arcadia's geneprint records are sealed off. When my database can't find a complete reference match, it looks for partials. It's the procedure used to identify fragmentary battle remains."

Anakin looked at the healer, his dark eyes flat. All right, Nisca thought. You don't understand. I don't either, but Palpatine said I wouldn't have to lie to him. Just show him the facts. Another keystroke scrolled up the partial matches.

"Her miscarriage gave two sets of geneprints, as you can see."

"Twins?"

Nisca did not answer directly. "Both sets have some collateral overlap with Denis Colton's, of course. One set has a fifty percent correspondence to yours. The other one--"

Anakin leaned forward, one hand reaching out toward the third name on the screen. At the last moment, his fist clenched and drove through it.

"Commander Skywalker," Nisca said after some time. "This information is strictly confidential. I trust you won't question them until I've had a chance to--"

Anakin withdrew his fist from the broken screen. It glittered in a coruscating gauntlet, blood-streaked fragments of silicon and wire. "No," he said. "I won't question them. I wish to never speak to them again. If... if that woman should ask after me, tell her I've gone to the Coruscanti fleet."

"You'll need to resign your commission from Aldea sector."

"They can take my commission from me and be damned." Anakin whirled and left. A trail of red and silver marked his path, welling up from that screen where he had obliterated the genetic half-match to Obi-Wan Kenobi.