Part 15 (1/2)

He managed to disengage himself from Tundra Dowmeia's clammy grip and insistent invitations to visit his family's deepwater estate on Mon Calamari; he slid past the Malastarian Senator Ask Aak with an apologetic shrug.

He had a different Senator on his mind.

R2 was wheeping and beeping and whistling intensely when Anakin finally struggled free of the ma.s.s of sweaty, grasping politicians; C-3PO had turned away dismissively. ”It couldn't have been that bad. Don't exaggerate! You're hardly even dented.”

R2's answering feroo sounded a little defensive. C-3PO sent a wisp of static through his vocabulator that sounded distinctly like a disapproving sniff. ”On that point I agree; you're long overdue for a tune-up. And, if I may say so, a bath.”

”Threepio-”

Anakin came up close beside the droid he had built in the back room of his mother's slave hovel on Tatooine: the droid who had been both project and friend through his painful childhood: the droid who now served the woman he loved . . .

Threepio had been with her all these months, had seen her every day, had touched her, perhaps even today-he could feel echoes of her resonating outward from his electroplated sh.e.l.l, and they left him breathless.

”Oh, Master Anakin!” Threepio exclaimed. ”I am very glad to find you well! One does worry, when friends fall out of touch! Why, I was saying to the Senator, just the other day-or was it last week? Time seems to run together so; do you think you might have the opportunity to adjust my internal calendar settings while you're-”

”Threepio, have you seen her?” Anakin was trying so hard not to shout that his voice came out a strangled croak. ”Where is she? Why isn't she here?”

”Oh, well, certainly, certainly. Officially, Senator Amidala is extremely busy,” C-3PO said imperturbably. ”She has been sequestered all day in the Naboo emba.s.sy, reviewing the new Security Act, preparing for tomorrow's debate-”

Anakin couldn't breathe. She wasn't here, hadn't come to meet him, over some debate?

The Senate. He hated the Senate. Hated everything about it. A red haze gathered inside his head. Those self-righteous, narrow-minded, grubby little squabblers . . . He'd be doing the galaxy a favor if he were to go over there right now and just-”Wait,” he murmured, blinking. ”Did you say, officially?”

”Oh, yes, Master Anakin.” Threepio sounded entirely virtuous. ”That is my official answer to all queries regarding the Senator's whereabouts. All afternoon.”

The red haze evaporated, leaving only sunlight and dizzyingly fresh air.

Anakin smiled.

”And unofficially?”

The protocol droid leaned close with an exaggeratedly conspiratorial whisper: ”Unofficially, she's waiting in the hallway.”

It felt like being struck by lightning. But in a good way. In the best way any man has ever felt since, roughly, the birth of the universe.

Threepio gave a slight nod at the other Senators and the HoloNet crews on the gangway. ”She thought it best to avoid a, ah, public scene. And she wished for me to relate to you that she believes the both of you might . . . avoid a public scene ... all afternoon. And perhaps all night, as well.”

”Threepio!” Anakin blinked at him. He felt an irrational desire to giggle. ”What exactly are you suggesting?”

”I'm sure I couldn't say, sir. I am only performing as per the Senator's instructions.”

”You-” Anakin shook his head in wonder while his smile grew to a grin he thought might split open his cheeks. ”You are amazing.”

”Thank you, Master Anakin, though credit for that is due largely-” C-3PO made an elegantly gracious bow. ”-to my creator.”

Anakin could only go on grinning.

With that, the golden protocol droid laid an affectionate hand on R2's dome. ”Come along, Artoo. I have found the most delightful body shop down in the Lipartian Way.”

They moved away, whirring and clanking after the Senators who were already off among the HoloNet crews. Anakin's smile faded as he watched them go.

He felt a presence at his shoulder and turned to find Palpatine beside him with a warm smile and a soft word, as he always seemed to be when Anakin was troubled.

”What is it, Anakin?” the Chancellor asked kindly. ”Something is disturbing you. I can tell.”

Anakin shrugged and gave his head a dismissive shake, embarra.s.sed. ”It's nothing.”

”Anakin, anything that might upset a man such as yourself is certainly something. Let me help.”

”There's nothing you can do. It's just-” Anakin nodded after 3PO and R2. ”I was just thinking that even after all I've done, See-Threepio is still the only person I know who calls me Master.”

”Ah. The Jedi Council.” Palpatine slid an arm around Anakin's shoulders and gave him a comradely squeeze. ”I believe I can be of some use to you in this problem after all.”

”You can?”

”I should be very much surprised if I couldn't.”

Palpatine's smile was still warm, but his eyes had gone distant.

”You may have noticed that I have a certain gift,” he murmured, ”for getting my way.”

=9=.

PADME.

From the shadow of a great pillar stretching up into the red-ening afternoon that leaked through the vaulted roof of transparisteel over the Atrium of the Senate Office Building, she watched Senators cl.u.s.tering in through the archway from the Chancellor's landing platform, and then she saw the Chancellor himself and C-3PO and yes, that was R2-D2!-and so be could not be far behind . . . and only then did she finally find him among them, tall and straight, his hair radiation-bleached to golden streaks and on his lips a lively smile that opened her chest and unlocked her heart.

And she could breathe again.

Through the swirl of HoloNet reporters and the chatter of Senators and the gently comforting tones of Palpatine's most polished, rea.s.suringly paternal voice, she did not move, not so much as to lift a hand or turn her head. She was silent, and still, only letting herself breathe, feeling the beat of her heart, and she could have stood there forever, in the shadows, and had her fondest dreams all fulfilled, simply by watching him be alive .

But when he moved away from the group, pacing in soft conversation with Bail Organa of Alderaan, and she heard Bail saying something about the end of Count Dooku and the end of the war and finally an end to Palpatine's police-state tactics, her breath caught again and she held it, because she knew the next thing she heard would be his voice.

”I wish that were so,” he said, ”but the fighting will continue until General Grievous is spare parts. The Chancellor is very clear on this, and I believe the Senate and the Jedi Council will both agree.”

And beyond that, there was no hope she could be happier-until his eye found her silent, still shadow, and he straightened, and a new light broke over his golden face and he said, ”Excuse me,” to the Senator from Alderaan, and a moment later he came to her in the shadows and they were in each other's arms.

Their lips met, and the universe became, one last time, perfect.

This is Padme Amidala: She is an astonis.h.i.+ngly accomplished young woman, who in her short life has been already the youngest-ever elected Queen of her planet, a daring partisan guerrilla, and a measured, articulate, and persuasive voice of reason in the Republic Senate.

But she is, at this moment, none of these things.

She can still play at them-she pretends to be a Senator, she still wields the moral authority of a former Queen, and she is not shy about using her reputation for fierce physical courage to her advantage in political debate-but her inmost reality, the most fundamental, unbreakable core of her being, is something entirely different.

She is Anakin Skywalker's wife.