Under the darkening pale Coruscant sky, the sound of humming repulsorlifts echoed faintly through the corridors of the Queen's Royal Starship. A gleaming Nubian vessel was preparing in one of Coruscant's Senate docking bays. Sleek, silver, and regal, it stood in stark contrast to the anxiety simmering beneath the surface of its passengers.
The Royal Starship was ready for departure.
They had gathered aboard the ship in small, fragmented groups, drawn together not by ceremony but by necessity. War loomed, it was uncertain, and very close. For the first time in days, there was no Senate to argue in circles, no Jedi Council to interrogate, no courts to delay action.
Padmé Amidala stood outside the ship's ramp, watching the others arrive one by one. Her ceremonial robes had been exchanged for a travel cloak of deep crimson, her face bare of the usual white paint, no longer a symbol, no longer felt the need to be hidden behind a decoy. She was herself now, and it showed in the way her posture had stiffened, every movement deliberate, her hands clasped to stop the tremble.
The burden of leadership was no longer ceremonial, it was survival.
Captain Panaka arrived first, followed by her handmaidens as each stepped in quietly, their eyes scanning for threats even now. Obi-Wan Kenobi was not far behind, young but calm, speaking in hushed tones with R2-D2 who chirped softly in return. C-3PO followed awkwardly behind, his still silver plating recently cleaned and polished, courtesy of one of the Queen's aides.
A few moments later, the soft clatter of uncertain footsteps echoed from the ramp. Jar Jar Binks stumbled aboard with his usual mix of awe and clumsiness, eyes wide as they took in the shining metal walls.
"Dis ship... issa more shiny than Boss Nass's throne room!" he murmured, glancing around nervously but smiling when he spotted Padmé.
Close behind him came Shmi Skywalker, quieter, more composed. She still wore simple desert robes, her hands folded neatly in front of her, but her presence grounded the room like an anchor.
Padmé offered her a respectful nod. "Thank you for coming and for your support, Shmi. I know this isn't what you expected."
Shmi returned a small smile. "Neither was leaving Tatooine. But I go where Ani needs me."
Then came Qui-Gon Jinn, tall and silent, his expression grave. He nodded to Padmé, a silent reassurance that he was ready, even if the odds were not in their favor. He carried himself like a man walking into a hurricane, unafraid but deeply aware of the wind's direction.
Alongside him was Anakin Skywalker.
He stepped onto the boarding ramp hesitantly, pausing at the threshold. The ship's lights gleamed across his brow, casting the boy in a sliver of starlight. His gaze swept across the others before settling on Padmé, and then on Qui-Gon. He gave a small, respectful nod, but there was a simmering focus behind his eyes, not the excitement of adventure, but the weight of something more.
The Queen's starship traveled deep in hyperspace to its destination, its polished hull catching the light of the passing swirling fluorescent colors.
The central chamber of the Queen's starship was dimly lit. Everyone had gathered, Padmé and her handmaidens seated to one side, their expressions poised but weary, Captain Panaka standing stiffly near the holoprojector, arms crossed.
Obi-Wan Kenobi at his side, watchful and silent, and Qui-Gon Jinn standing at the far end, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes sweeping over each face as if measuring resolve.
Jar Jar hovered awkwardly near the rear bulkhead, unsure if he belonged, while Shmi stood beside him, her hands folded, watching the scene with a soft gravity. Her eyes occasionally flicked toward her son, who sat cross-legged on the floor just off to the side, silent and still.
Anakin watched.
A tense calm held the group gathered in the strategy room, a wide chamber with a central holotable, currently displaying a flickering topographic map of Naboo's surface and the surrounding Trade Federation blockade.
Padmé was the first to break the silence. "Thank you all for coming."
No one spoke for a moment. It was Obi-Wan who answered, his tone gentle but precise.
"We didn't come for politics, Your Highness. We came because this affair can't wait."
Qui-Gon stepped forward, speaking calmly.
"The Council believes Naboo will fall unless action is taken immediately. They have approved our return as protection. Nothing more. But I sense this conflict will decide far more than the fate of a single world."
Not looking away, she continued, "I've seen what the Trade Federation is capable of. If we wait until the Senate decides… people will die."
Captain Panaka frowned. "Though if we act too quickly, we risk losing everything. You said it yourself, Your Highness, we don't have an army. All we have is faith, a handful of soldiers, and two Jedi."
They continued about Naboo and how to infiltrate. The Trade Federation control ship, droid armies, and civilian casualties. He was just a kid, at least, he was supposed to be, so no one asked him for input. That was fine with him, it was safer that way.
'They think they're in control,' he thought, not unkindly.
'But no one is. Not unless you see all the pieces.'
Panaka gestured toward the holotable in the center of the room. "Their entire occupation depends on that command ship. Everything, the droid armies, the blockade, it's all run through a single system. If we can destroy it, we cut off their army and their influence."
"We know this," Obi-Wan said carefully. "The problem is how. It's heavily guarded and shielded. There's no direct way in."
Anakin's mind was already running with endless thoughts, it had been for hours, days.
Even before the race on Tatooine and before the Jedi Council had turned them away, he has been thinking. Meditating and planning on how to save Qui-Gon. It was like a fire in his chest, and yet it burned no hotter than the knowledge that this was his moment.
He wasn't brought back here by accident.
There are no accidents.
'The control ship is the real target. But simply shutting it down won't be enough. Not for me, not if Qui-Gon dies. I have to keep him alive…'
It was a narrow path, and he had to walk it with precision. If he got too close to Qui-Gon in the final battle, too involved, too exposed, it would raise questions. Questions that would be difficult to answer.
Too much foresight, too much power,
Everyone would look at him the way they did on Coruscant, with much doubt and with much fear.
So he would help, he had to. But as carefully and indirectly as possible. It all depended on the right timing, the right movement. A push of the Force here, a brief distraction there. Sabotage the right systems, maybe focus on disabling rather than destroying.
I could see a hundred possible outcomes fanning out like shattered glass across my mind, Qui-Gon falling in the Theed hangar, pierced by a crimson red light. Qui-Gon survives, but at the cost of others. The Federation retreating or regrouping with more reinforcements.
'Save him without drawing the spotlight. I don't need credit. I need him alive.'
"Your Highness," said Obi-Wan, bringing Anakin's attention back to the present. "Even with a direct assault on the main hangar, we'll be badly outnumbered. We'd need a diversion or a second force pressing them from another angle."
Padmé stood, her jaw tight. She looked between the Jedi and her captain, then down at the holomap of Theed flickering before them.
"I don't see a path forward with only palace guards. Most of them have been disarmed or captured."
"Wesa doomed," Jar Jar muttered from the back, eyes wide.
"Wesa Gungans no gonna like dis war, no sir. But wesa got… big army. Boomers, catapults, shieldies. Whole Gungan Grand Army."
Padmé's head turned so fast it startled even Obi-Wan.
"What did you say?"
Jar Jar blinked. "Big army. Down in da swamps. Boss Nass keepin' it secret. Dey no want part in da Naboo wars. But Gungans know how to fight, but dey no like Naboo."
Padmé's eyes widened, the pieces falling into place like tumblers in a lock. "An army…"
The idea was sudden, but it caught fire in her mind. The Gungans could draw out the droid forces. A full assault.
While they engaged the Federation army head-on in the open, a battlefield chosen by them, her strike team could sneak into the palace and capture the Viceroy.
Padmé stepped forward. "You said your people have a grand army. Thousands of warriors. And you said… they don't like the Naboo?"
Jar Jar looked away, shame darkening his features. "Dey tink Naboo tink dey better."
Padmé's eyes narrowed, but not with disdain, with purpose. "Then I have to go to them. I have to make peace. Ask for help."
Captain Panaka nearly choked. "Your Highness, with all due respect, they're primitive—"
"They have an army," Padmé said flatly. "And right now, we don't. That makes them exactly what we need."
Qui-Gon gave a small nod, stepping beside her. "You'll need someone to guide you to them. Someone they trust."
Everyone turned and looked at Jar Jar.
Hoping he will get the hint.
Jar Jar confused, slowly raised his hand. "Mesa volunteer…"
An awkward silence followed.
Anakin almost smiled.
The conversation drifted to landing coordinates and terrain maps of the Naboo swamps, but Anakin tuned it out. His gaze settled on Qui-Gon.
'I will not let you die. I've lost too many already. I know what's coming. I know who's waiting behind that hangar shield.'
Anakin blinked once and stood, brushing dust from his tunic. The others were still talking. But the plan, his plan, was already in motion.
And somewhere far, far away in the shadow of the Force, a dark figure stirred, unseen, unspoken, feeling the brush of a familiar will ripple across the currents of fate.
The chamber was cloaked in shadow, its architecture jagged and alien, more throne than room, more lair than dwelling. The only light came from the holoprojector at its center, casting an eerie blue glow across the robed figure standing motionless before it. Around him, the Force coiled like smoke, dark, oppressive, patient.
Darth Sidious stood still, hands folded within his voluminous sleeves, hood drawn low over his face. His yellow eyes gleamed with malignant serenity, studying the flickering images of the Trade Federation leaders projected before him.
Back on Naboo, the command center of the Trade Federation was at the Queen's palace. Holograms of the planet's terrain maps flickered across consoles, tracking droid deployments and citizen movements.
The atmosphere was cold, stifling.
A squad of B1 battle droids stood at attention nearby, clutching blasters and watching the scene with their unblinking photoreceptors.
Suddenly, the holoprojector flared to life, casting the tall, hooded figure standing at the center of the room. The Trade Federation leaders reflexively flinched at the sight.
Nute Gunray's amphibious features trembled as he bowed low. "My lord… she's coming back. The Queen alongside the Jedi."
"She dares return?" the other Neimoidian asked nervously, glancing at Gunray, who offered no answers.
Sidious's voice emerged like a whisper through smoke, quiet, but suffocating.
"An unexpected turn of events," he said. "But this doesn't change anything."
"Lord Maul."
Darth Maul stood silently behind the Viceroy, his black and red visage unreadable. At Sidious's voice, he knelt. "Master."
Sidious's image flickered ominously as he continued, "You will intercept them if they enter the palace. Strike them before they reach the throne room. Eliminate her allies and cut off their unity at the root."
"It will be done," Maul replied, standing tall. "I will track them personally if they dare."
"The girl is desperate," the Sith Lord continued, voice smooth as poisoned silk. "Cornered, but that makes her predictable."
He stepped forward to the edge of the hololight. For a brief moment, his eyes alone were visible beneath the hood, glinting like twin suns eclipsed by shadow.
"You will not allow her to reach the palace," this time stated to the Viceroy.
Gunray swallowed, his breath shallow. "And if… if she refuses to surrender?"
Sidious paused. Silence pressed into the room.
"Then… kill them all."
The words were delivered with the unflinching certainty of a man ordering the pruning of weeds. No passion. No emphasis. Merely a necessity.
Gunray and his associate stiffened, exchanging glances.
Sidious leaned slightly forward, the mask of civility slipping for the briefest of seconds.
"Spare no one," he said. "Except…"
He paused, the words hovering just behind his teeth. His mind brushed the subtle tremor in the Force, a pulse of something bright and untamed. Dangerous, yet still so raw.
The boy.
That presence he had felt, flickering and elusive. Like a star half-buried beneath sand and blood.
"...the boy," Sidious said at last, voice more measured. "If he is with them… capture him, if you can."
He let the command linger.
"But if not… then he is expendable."
Gunray nodded rapidly, masking confusion beneath obedience. "Yes, my lord. It will be done."
The transmission began to waver.
"Oh, and Viceroy," Sidious added, voice turning to ice. "If you fail me again, I will not be so forgiving."
The future was shifting, war was blooming.
And he had already planted the seed.
The holoprojector cut out.
Just then, one of the nearby B1 battle droids stepped forward.
"Uh… Roger, roger. Should we blast the Queen if we see her?" it asked, tilting its head.
"No, you idiot!" another B1 said, smacking the first lightly on the helmet. "We're supposed to capture her."
"No, we're supposed to blast her if she doesn't surrender!"
"But which is it, blast or capture? I don't get it."
"SILENCE!" Maul demanded. His voice was a blade drawn halfway.
The droids froze.
"...roger roger," they whispered in unison, stepping back.
From orbit, Naboo shimmered like a polished emerald cradled in the velvet dark of space. Swirling cloudbanks drifted lazily over vast oceans, their lush greens and deep blues unmarred by scars of industry or war.
Anakin turned to face the Starship's viewport. The stars beyond shimmered as the ship's engines began to slow down. He could feel it again, the future pressing inward like a tide. The possibility of failure. Of death.
But also… the chance to change everything.
Behind him, the others began taking their stations. And in the silence of the starship's slow descent into orbit, Anakin Skywalker closed his eyes and breathed.
He would not lose them again.
Inside the cockpit, Ric Olié's voice crackled over the comm, "Approaching designated coordinates. Landing in Sector Four-Delta, eastern bog. As per Binks' directions."
Upon finally touching down, they were surrounded by shadowed green trees and vines. Anakin stared in silence, watching as gnarled roots coiled like sleeping serpents beneath the ship.
The ramp extended with a low hiss, and the group emerged into thick, humid air. Giant ferns were crushed under the ship. Waterbugs scattered over the marsh surface. The only sounds were the chriping of unseen insects and reptiles and the rhythmic squelch of boots in the soft mud.