Chapter 15: In Search of Shmi Skywalker, Part I

   CHAPTER 15: IN SEARCH OF SHMI SKYWALKER - PART I

   Prudent Heart - En Route to Naboo

   25:5:7945 CRC

The Prudent Heart hums through hyperspace, its converted research lab bathed in the soft blue-white glow of the tunnel beyond the viewport.

Sartili Vennitilini adjusts the hyperdrive, her fingers moving across the console with practiced economy. The navigation computer displays their approach vector to Naboo, estimated time to exit: twenty minutes. Behind her, the lab remains dimly lit, holographic displays casting faint light on the false work order and the surveillance footage from Coruscant.

Mace Windu stands by the equipment table, his gaze is fixed on the holographic representation of the maintenance corridor where Shmi Skywalker was last seen. "The attacker masked his presence well. Even the Temple's security cameras show nothing but static during the critical moments. But it was unmistakable. Whoever did this used the Force. The Dark Side of the Force."

Qui-Gon Jinn's hologram flickers at the edge of the main display, his image compressed by the long-distance transmission. "The boy felt it," he says, his voice carrying the flat distortion of subspace communication. "A moment of fear, then silence. He heard her call someone a liar."

Sartili glances back from the pilot's seat, her hands stilling on the controls. "You think that's when she was taken?"

Obi-Wan Kenobi looks up, his brow furrowed. "It matches the timeline. The false work order placed the maintenance droid in that sector exactly when the boy reported his disturbance." He pauses, then adds, "But the attacker knew our protocols. Knew how to bypass Temple security."

Quinlan Vos leans against the bulkhead, his arms folded. The psychometry training shows in the way his fingers occasionally twitch, as if reaching for something unseen. "The droid was clean when I touched it. Wiped. But the corridor itself—there were echoes there. Faint, but real. Fear. Anger." He pushes off the wall and moves closer to the holographic display. "The attacker wasn't just skilled; he was careful. That kind of discipline doesn't come from some street-level criminal."

Mace Windu's gaze shifts to Quinlan. "It is definitely connected to this growing Sith threat. The tomb on Tatooine, the scout's death, this abduction—all of it points to someone with knowledge of Jedi protocol."

The Prudent Heart's engines thrum through the hull, a constant vibration that Sartili has long since stopped noticing. She adjusts another setting, her focus divided between the ship's systems and the conversation behind her. "If this is some kind of test, it's an elaborate one. Kidnapping a woman just to send a message."

Sartili's hands move across the console as she monitors the hyperdrive's output. The blue-white tunnel beyond the viewport remains steady, its light washing over the ship's interior. She adjusts the navigation display, confirming their approach vector to Naboo. Fifteen minutes.

Qui-Gon's hologram continues speaking, his voice crackling with subspace interference. "The boy's connection to his mother is not something we can ignore. If he felt her fear across space, that means she's still alive. Still resisting." His image wavers as the transmission struggles with the distance. "And if she's resisting, there's hope."

Sartili's fingers pause over the nav computer. "And if they wanted her dead, they would have killed her in the corridor. This isn't about elimination. It's about something else."

Quinlan pushes off the bulkhead and moves closer to the holographic display, his face illuminated by the blue light of the false work order. "We all could be bait," he says, not looking up from the schematics. "Lure the boy somewhere vulnerable. Let him lead the Jedi into a trap."

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "A trap would require them to know where we'd go. But we're already on our way to Naboo. They can't predict our movements." He pauses, considering. "Unless they're counting on us following the boy's lead."

Sartili adjusts the hyperdrive output with a quick flick of her fingers. The Prudent Heart's engines settle into a lower, more efficient hum. Behind her, the conversation continues, but her focus remains on the navigation display and the ship's structural integrity.

Mace Windu turns from the holographic display, his face drawn with a tightness that has nothing to do with the journey's duration. "Quinlan is right about one thing—it feels like we're bait. We need to use caution with every movement and not jump into an ambush," Master Windu says, his voice carrying the weight of years spent making life-or-death decisions under pressure. "The boy's emotional connection with his mother may be our only hope in finding her." 

Sartili Vennitilini adjusts the ship's approach vectors as the Prudent Heart's hyperdrive begins its automatic deceleration sequence, the blue-white tunnel outside the viewport starting to resolve into the familiar stars of the Naboo system.

   Theed Palace - Theed, Naboo

   25:5:7945 CRC

Anakin Skywalker is shaken awake from his nightmare, the image of his mother's face twisted in fear still vivid behind his eyelids. He sat up abruptly in the unfamiliar bed, his breath coming in short bursts. The guest room was silent except for the distant murmur of water from the palace fountains below.

Outside, the Prudent Heart's engines cooled with metallic ticks as Sartili Vennitilini stepped off the ramp and onto the cobblestones of the palace courtyard. Mace Windu followed, his face set in lines of focused calm. Qui-Gon Jinn descended next, his gaze immediately finding Anakin standing beside Paril near the arched gateway. Obi-Wan and Quinlan Vos rounded out the group, their presence completing the circle around the small boy who looked far too small for the weight now pressing on his shoulders.

The courtyard's morning light catches the dust motes suspended in the air between the group. Anakin stares at the four Jedi who have descended from their ship like figures from a story, though there is nothing heroic in the way his shoulders hunch or how his breathing remains uneven.

Mace Windu's boots scrape against stone as he approaches. His dark eyes sweep over the courtyard, noting the high walls, the single surveillance camera, the lack of windows overlooking the space. "Captain Panaka has secured this area," he says, his voice carrying the quiet authority of experience. "But security is only as good as our intelligence."

Qui-Gon moves past him, his gaze fixed on Anakin. The boy's face is pale, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes. "You heard her again," Qui-Gon states, not as a question.

"In my dreams. She was still calling my name. And she was scared. Really scared." Anakin's voice breaks on the last word, his small hands tightening into fists at his sides.

Qui-Gon kneels so he is at eye level with the boy. "Where did you feel her? Was it the same place as before?"

Anakin shakes his head, his breathing still shallow. "Different. Farther away. And cold. Like... like being in a cave." His gaze flicks to the Jedi around him, then back to Qui-Gon. "Does that mean anything?"

Obi-Wan steps closer, his brow furrowed. "Distant and cold. That could be a range of planets."

Quinlan Vos circles the courtyard slowly, his fingers brushing against the stone wall. His eyes are half-closed, his head tilted slightly as if listening to something beyond the conversation. "The boy's not just feeling distance. He's feeling isolation. Being cut off from everything familiar."

Quinlan Vos stops his circling, his gaze settling on Anakin. "The boy's been with you the whole time?"

"Since we left Coruscant," Paril answers. "He's been... holding it together."

Mace Windu nods slightly, acknowledging the pilot's assessment. "The Force connection between mother and child is significant and the reason children join us so early in life. It's not just emotional—it's biological, primal." He looks at Anakin. "When you felt her again last night, did you sense any other presence?"

Anakin's eyes dart between the Jedi, his small frame tense as he searches for the right words. "It was like... a shadow," he says finally, his voice quiet. "Not a person I could see, but something cold wrapped around her. It made her voice sound farther away." He rubs his chest with one hand. "Like there was a wall between us."

Qui-Gon's expression hardens slightly at the description. "A wall. Mental or physical?"

"Both," Anakin says quickly. "I couldn't tell."

Paril shifts his weight from foot to foot, watching the Jedi exchange glances. His hand rests near his belt, not on any weapon but close enough to feel the familiar comfort of the blaster there. "The Queen's inside. She's been waiting since you landed."

Captain Panaka steps forward, his uniform immaculate despite the early hour. "The throne room is prepared. Her Highness wishes to confer with you directly."

The stone corridor leading from the courtyard to the palace interior slopes upward, its walls lined with narrow windows that overlook the terraced gardens. Sunlight streams through them in diagonal bars, casting a striped pattern across the polished floor. Captain Panaka leads the group with practiced confidence, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone.

Mace Windu walks beside Anakin, close enough that the boy can feel the Jedi Master's presence without direct contact. "The shadow you described," Windu says, his voice quiet enough that only the boy and those nearest can hear. "When it wrapped around her, did it feel... alive?"

Anakin considers the question, his brow furrowing. "Not like a person alive. More like... like something that shouldn't be there. Like it was eating the light." The boy shudders slightly, and Qui-Gon reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll find her," Qui-Gon says, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

> Quinlan Vos says, "Anakin, I'm going to use psychometry. Do you have something here that belonged to your mother? Something she touched often?"

The corridor's polished stone walls seem to close in around Anakin. He looks at Paril, then back at the Jedi's outstretched hand. Anakin's small fingers tighten around the fabric of his tunic. He looks from Quinlan Vos to Paril, then back to the Jedi. The palace corridor feels suddenly too narrow, the morning light from the windows harsh against his tired eyes.

"I don't have anything," he says, his voice barely audible. "Not anymore."

Paril shifts his weight, his jaw tightening. "We left everything in the apartment. Clothes, tools, her work bag. The Jedi said she was taken from the corridor."

Quinlan's expression remains carefully neutral, but his fingers twitch slightly—a tell Paril recognizes from watching the Jedi during their journey from Tatooine. "Anything at all. Something she handled recently. A tool, a datapad, even a piece of fabric."

Before Anakin could answer, they reached the Throne Room of Theed Palace. The massive doors swing open with a mechanical whine that echoes off the high ceiling. Morning light streams through towering stained-glass windows, casting colored patterns across the polished stone floor. Queen Amidala sits on her throne, her posture regal and composed, though her hands rest loosely on the armrests rather than in her lap. Her handmaidens stand in a semi-circle behind her, their identical faces impassive and still.

"Master Windu," the Queen says, her voice clear and measured. "I trust your journey was uncomplicated."

Mace Windu bows his head slightly. "Thank you, Your Highness. We appreciate the sanctuary you've provided to Anakin while he waited for us."

Quinlan Vos's attention remains fixed on Anakin, his gaze steady and patient. The Jedi Master's face is a mask of calm, but his fingers flex slightly at his sides—a subtle tell that Paril has seen before when someone, even a Jedi, is holding back frustration. The throne room's colored light paints shifting patterns across the polished floor as clouds pass beyond the stained-glass windows.

"To answer your question from earlier Vos, the boy doesn't have anything," Paril says, stepping forward slightly. His voice carries the rough edge of someone who's spent too long in the Outer Rim. "Stuff like what you already would have found in the apartment. Clothes she packed for him, a couple packs of food. That kind of stuff."

Quinlan Vos's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. He glances at Mace Windu, who gives a nearly invisible shake of his head. The Jedi Master's patience stretches thin as the colored light from the stained-glass windows shifts across his face, painting one cheek in deep blue while the other remains in shadow.

"I understand," Quinlan says finally, his voice carefully measured. "We'll have to work with what we have." He turns his attention back to Anakin, kneeling so he's at eye level with the boy. "I can still attempt to form a psychometric connection directly with you Anakin."

Anakin's face pales further at Quinlan's suggestion. He takes a half-step backward, his small frame tensing like a startled animal. "What... what would you do to me?"

Quinlan's expression softens, but he doesn't press. "I'm not going to lie. It could be painful… but the goal would be for me to see what you see," the Jedi Knight explains, keeping his voice calm and even. "To understand what you're feeling, what you remember. Your connection to your mother is strong enough that it might provide clues I recognize… something… a clue."

Qui-Gon places a steadying hand on Anakin's shoulder. "You don't have to agree, Anakin. This is your choice."

Anakin's small fingers tightened around the fabric of his tunic, knuckles white against the dark material. His breathing remained shallow and quick, but he nodded once, a sharp, jerky motion. "Okay. I'll do it. Just... tell me what happens."

Quinlan Vos straightened from his kneeling position, his expression softening slightly as he stood to his full height. "It's not like anything you've experienced before, Anakin. I won't lie and say it's easy." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I'm going to reach for your memories. Not to steal them, but to see them with you. To feel what you felt when your mother reached out to you."

The throne room's colored light shifts across the stone floor as Anakin takes a shaky breath. He steps closer to Quinlan Vos, his small frame dwarfed by the Jedi Knight's height. The stained glass casts fractured patterns across his face—crimson, deep blue, and pale gold moving slowly as clouds pass beyond the windows.

"Okay," Anakin whispers. "Just... be gentle."

Quinlan's expression softens. "I will." He extends his right hand, palm up, not touching the boy but hovering near his temple. "When you're ready."

Anakin's eyelids flutter as he closes his eyes. His breathing remains shallow, but he nods once. "I'm ready."

The throne room falls silent except for the distant drip of water from the palace fountains.

> Quinlan Vos attempts to forge a psychometric connection with Anakin Skywalker.

Quinlan Vos's fingertips hover near Anakin's temple, not touching the skin but tracing the air just above it. The Jedi Knight's eyes are closed, his breathing slow and controlled. The throne room's stillness becomes absolute, as if the very air has thickened around them.

Anakin's small frame goes rigid. His eyes snap open, but they don't see the stained-glass windows or the watching faces. They are fixed on something internal, something distant and cold.

Quinlan's brow furrows. His own breathing hitches, a sharp intake of air that breaks his meditative rhythm. "Cold stone," he murmurs, the words barely audible. "Damp. Not like Tatooine sand. This is... carved. Old."

Anakin lets out a small, pained sound. His hands clench at his sides.

Quinlan's voice is low, strained. "There's… a pressure. Around her thoughts. Not a wall—a cage." His own hand trembles slightly, the psychometric link pulling him deeper. "She's fighting it. Even now."

Anakin's breath catches. "I can feel her. She's… scared. But she's thinking of me."

Paril watches from a few paces away, his arms folded tight across his chest. He's seen Jedi work before, but never this close, never with a kid in the middle of it. The boy's face is pale, sweat beading at his temples.

Qui-Gon's hand remains on Anakin's shoulder, a steady anchor. "Can you see anything else, Quinlan? A shape? A symbol?"

Quinlan's eyes open, but they are unfocused, seeing the throne room and the memory at once. "Geometric carvings," he says, his voice rough. "On the walls. Angular. Not Naboo. Not Coruscant." He swallows. "And… bones. Old bones in a pile, like something was dragged there and left."

Anakin shudders violently. "She doesn't like the bones," he whispers, his own voice threaded with his mother's revulsion.

Quinlan's hand drops to his side, the connection snapping shut with an almost physical recoil. He takes a step back, his breathing unsteady. A thin trickle of blood escapes his left nostril. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, his expression grim.

Anakin sags against Qui-Gon, his small body trembling. "It felt… heavy."

"Force compulsion. I felt it—the grip of the Dark Side. Deliberate, surgical," Quinlan says, his voice raspy. He looks at Mace and Qui-Gon. "I had to let go, before… it became too much."

Mace Windu's expression hardens as he studies Quinlan's face. "The nosebleed means you pushed past your limits. How much did you see?"

Quinlan wipes at his face again, the blood coming away smeared across his knuckles. "Enough to know she's alive. And that she's being held somewhere old. Somewhere dark." He meets Anakin's eyes. "The bones... they weren't recent. This place has seen death before. That's familiar with the Dark Side."

Queen Amidala rises from her throne, the rustle of her gown sharp in the quiet chamber. "Old stone. Dark places. Carved walls." Her voice carries the measured tone of someone cataloguing evidence rather than expressing fear. "Master Windu, would it be unreasonable to assume this is connected to the unnamed benefactor in the recording we discussed involving the Trade Federation?" She reaches back to one of her handmaidens, who steps forward carrying a datapad. "This recording. The one you and Master Yoda read the transcript of, Master Windu."

The Queen played the audio for the Jedi.

—————

 – Gunray: The queen's signature makes the blockade legal. Without a ratified treaty, the Senate could still intervene. With it, our presence becomes a matter of contract, not aggression. The Directorate needs that legal shield before the next budget vote.

 – Aide: Foreman Tambor's concerns are economic. The plasma refineries on Naboo produce forty percent of the sector's refined fuel. Every day they sit idle, the Techno Union loses revenue. We require compensation for lost output plus first claim on future plasma shipments at pre-blockade prices.

 – Gunray: Compensation and trade concessions are being structured into the treaty. But the Naboo delegation is stalling. They ask for clarifications, for neutral observers, for anything except a signature.

 – Aide: Then make them understand the cost of stalling. The blockade remains in place. No food. No medicine. The longer they wait, the more desperate they become. Desperate people sign treaties.

 – Gunray: And if the Senate breaks its paralysis and votes for sanctions?

 – Aide: The Senate will not act before the treaty is signed. The one who arranged this negotiation has given us that assurance. Your task is to secure the document. Delay is acceptable. Failure is not. The Directorate will hold you accountable, and so will the one we do not name.

—————

The audio recording cuts off with a soft mechanical click, leaving the words hanging in the throne room's still air. Mace Windu's gaze shifts to Queen Amidala. "Thank you, Your Highness. The issue has been top of mind for the High Council since we read the transcript."

> Queen Amidala says, "Master Windu, I have other news for you to share with the Jedi Council. The Gungan Grand Army is prepared to fight alongside Naboo… should the situation come to that. The treaty is signed."

Mace Windu's gaze shifts from the bloodied Quinlan Vos to the Queen, his expression tightening. "The Gungan alliance is a significant development, Your Highness. Master Yoda anticipated this would be necessary." His eyes narrow slightly as he processes the implications. "Is this something you're keeping secret until it isn't secret?"

The throne room's colored light shifts across Queen Amidala's face as she considers the question. Her handmaidens remain motionless behind her, their faces unreadable masks. "The Gungan army mobilizes in secret, Master Windu. When we emerge, we do so with overwhelming force, not a predictable escalation." She glances at the stained-glass windows where droid patrols occasionally pass beyond the palace walls. "Boss Nass understands the need for surprise. The Federation expects resistance, but not unity between our people."

Amidala steps down from the dais, her gown rustling against the stone floor. "It's a comfort to know the Gungans are there… but the relief was short‑lived. The coincidence of it all is worrisome. The Trade Federation's secret benefactor, the Dark Side's involvement in the kidnapping… it all feels like moves in a larger game, and we don't know the opponent." The Queen pauses, looking at Anakin, then back to Mace Windu. "Anakin is important, isn't he?"

Mace Windu's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly at the Queen's question. The colored light from the stained-glass windows paints his face in shifting patterns of deep blue and crimson as he considers his response. "The boy possesses abilities that are... unprecedented," he says carefully, choosing words that acknowledge Anakin's significance without revealing the full scope of the Council's concerns. "His connection to the Force is stronger than anything we have encountered in generations."

Qui-Gon steps forward, his gaze fixed on Anakin. "Your intuition is right, Your Highness. I also suspect they're a greater forces at play." He looks at Paril. "Captain Zannfel, did you see anything unusual during your flight from Coruscant? Any ships that didn't belong in that sector?"

The throne room's silence stretches for a beat too long. Paril's eyes narrow, his mind flipping through the memory of the Falcon's approach to Coruscant's upper atmosphere. "Standard traffic patterns. Nothing that pinged as hostile on the scanners." He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. "But that's the thing about standard traffic. It's a good place to hide."

The throne room's high ceiling seemed to draw the silence upward. Paril's words hung there, an observation born of a smuggler's paranoia. Captain Panaka shifted his weight, his hand still resting near his blaster.

Obi-Wan Kenobi broke the quiet. "If they were watching, they would have needed a reason to be in that specific corridor at that specific time. They knew her schedule. They knew the Temple's maintenance rotations." He looked at Quinlan, who was still dabbing at his nose with a cloth provided by one of the handmaidens. "The compulsion you felt—was it maintaining her silence, or was it feeding something back?"

Quinlan lowered the cloth, his expression weary. "It was a loop. Containment and observation. The cage wasn't just to hold her; it was to monitor her distress." His words hang in the throne room, the implications settling like dust motes in the shafts of colored light. Obi-Wan's face hardens, and Mace Windu's eyes narrow, both Jedi processing the tactical implications. Anakin's small hands clench into fists, his breathing quickening as he absorbs the details.

"They wanted her to suffer," Anakin says, his voice quiet but steady. "That's why I felt her fear so clearly. They needed me to feel it."

Qui-Gon kneels beside Anakin, his expression grave. "If that is true, then we've been walking into their expectations. They want us to react emotionally, to make mistakes." He looks up at Mace. "But the boy's connection is also our advantage. He feels things we cannot."

Quinlan Vos stands slowly, the cloth now stained crimson in his hand. He approaches the stained-glass windows, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon where Trade Federation cruisers loom like metal insects against the sky. "The geometric patterns from the memory," he says, not turning back to the group. "They weren't random. They were directional. Like markers."

Queen Amidala joins him at the window, her gaze following his. "Markers for what purpose, Master Vos?"

"For someone who knows how to read them," Quinlan answers. He turns from the window, the colored light painting his face in fractured patterns. "And someone who knows how to follow them." His attention shifts to Anakin, who stands near the throne, small and isolated in the vast chamber. "The boy didn't just feel fear. He felt direction. He felt distance."

The throne room's air grows heavier with implications.

> Anakin Skywalker says, "Look into my mind again Quinlan. I'll be fine. See if you notice anything else."

Anakin Skywalker stands straighter, his small shoulders squaring with a determination that looks wrong on a child his age. Quinlan Vos hesitates, his bloodied knuckles still visible where he'd wiped at his nose. The colored light from the stained-glass windows makes his expression hard to read—deep blue shadows cutting across his face like bruises. "Anakin," he says slowly, "you don't understand what you're asking. This is the Dark Side of the force. We must tread carefully."

Quinlan Vos sets down the bloodied cloth on a low table near the throne, his fingers leaving crimson smudges on the polished surface. The throne room's colored light catches the fresh wound inside his nostril as he turns back to Anakin. "The last time I went that deep, I saw things that would break most people. And you're nine years old."

"I'm not scared," Anakin says, though his small hands still tremble where they're clenched at his sides. "I can handle it. I have to."

Mace Windu steps forward, his dark eyes fixed on Quinlan. "The boy is right about one thing—we're running out of options. But Quinlan, if you go back in there and something goes wrong..."

"I know the risks, Master Windu," Quinlan interrupts, his voice rough. He kneels again, this time placing his hand directly on Anakin's shoulder. The throne room's colored light shifts across their faces as Quinlan Vos closes his eyes. This time, he doesn't reach for the surface layer of memory. He goes deeper, following the cold pull that had nearly overwhelmed him before. The stone beneath his knees seems to dissolve as he sinks back into Anakin's consciousness, but he moves with more control now, mapping the edges of the boy's perception.

Anakin's breathing stops. His eyes roll back, showing only white.

Quinlan Vos's consciousness dives deeper into the boy's memories, past the immediate fear and the sharp edges of recent trauma. The throne room around him dissolves as he follows the cold pull, but this time he moves with deliberate control, wrapping his awareness around the fractured pieces of Anakin's perception.

The cold stone manifests again, but clearer now. Quinlan sees what Anakin sees—not just the geometric carvings, but their arrangement. They form a pattern, a sequence that repeats across the chamber walls. And there's more. Through Anakin's eyes, he glimpses the distant glow of volcanic activity visible through a narrow opening in the cave wall. The sky beyond is thick with dark clouds, but not the storm clouds of Tatooine. These are toxic, swirling with the planet's atmospheric poison.

Then something new surfaces—a shape in the darkness beyond the glowrod's light. A figure moving with fluid grace, its silhouette distorted by the haze. Quinlan Vos's breathing becomes labored as the image sharpens. The figure in the cave shifts, and suddenly the memory splits—a dual perspective bleeding through Anakin's connection. Quinlan is now looking through the mind's eye of this mysterious figure.

"Dathomir," Quinlan gasps, his voice echoing strangely in the throne room as if spoken from underwater. "Dathomirian Zabraks. The Witch World. I recognize the atmosphere patterns. The Nightsisters. The Nightbrothers. That's who the kidnappers hiding from."

Quinlan Vos recoils as if struck, his hands flying to his temples. The throne room's colored light fractures across his face as he staggers backward, nearly colliding with the base of the throne. Anakin slumps forward, his small body going limp against Qui-Gon's supporting arm.

"Quinlan!" Obi-Wan moves to catch him as his knees buckle.

Quinlan's breathing comes in ragged gasps, his eyes unfocused. Blood streams freely from his nose now, dripping onto the polished stone floor. "The memory... it wasn't just his," he manages between breaths. "The connection went both ways. I saw through his eyes. Through her kidnapper's. I saw his fears, but not him."

Mace Windu's face hardens. "Explain."

Quinlan Vos presses the bloodied cloth against his face, his breathing gradually stabilizing as he processes what he's experienced. The throne room's colored light makes the crimson stains on his hands look black. "The kidnapper... he's a Force-sensitive. Powerful. When I pushed deeper, the connection flipped. For a moment, I was seeing through his perspective, not Anakin's mother." Quinlan's voice is rough with exhaustion. "He was thinking about outside threats where they were. His fear was failure. Not meeting an expectation."

The throne room holds its breath. Anakin stirs against Qui-Gon's side, his eyelids fluttering open. He looks dazed, disoriented.

Qui-Gon's hand remains firm on the boy's shoulder. "Dathomir," he repeats, the name a dark stone dropped into the quiet. "A world steeped in the dark side. It fits the profile."

> Mace Windu says, "We'll need to split up. It should be less than 5 hours there. Quinlan, do you feel up to it? It was your vision. Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan. You need to watch the boy. Like the Queen said, this feels like a ticking time bomb or a trap."

The throne room's colored light seems to sharpen, cutting across Mace Windu's face as he makes the declaration. The air, already thick with tension, now carries the weight of imminent action. Qui-Gon's hand tightens on Anakin's shoulder, a protective reflex.

Quinlan Vos straightens, wiping the blood from his face with a clean cloth offered by a handmaiden. The stain on his tunic is dark against the brown fabric. "I'm ready," he says, his voice steadier than his hands. "The connection is fresh. It might fade."

Mace Windu nods, his gaze sweeping the room. "Qui-Gon, you and Obi-Wan, like I said, you both stay with Anakin. The boy is the target of this manipulation. Keep him here, under the Queen's protection. Paril, your ship is faster than the Prudent Heart for a covert approach. Can you get me and Quinlan to the Dathomir system without drawing attention?"

The throne room's silence breaks with the scrape of Paril's boot on stone. He glances at Anakin, then back to Mace. "The Falcon's fast. And she doesn't look like much. We can slip through the trade lanes quiet enough." His eyes flick to the Queen. "But the Federation's still got a net around this planet. Getting out unseen is one thing. Getting back in…"

Captain Panaka steps forward. "The Gungans have a submerged route to the edge of the plasma fields. Their scouts can guide a ship through the planetary ring. It's not a hyperlane, but it'll get you past the blockade."

The throne room's stained-glass light catches the fine dust motes stirred by their movement. Paril nods once, a sharp, practical gesture. "Tell me where to meet the scouts. I'll have the Falcon ready in an hour."

Qui-Gon's gaze remains fixed on Anakin. The boy is looking at his own hands, flexing his fingers as if testing their reality after the psychic intrusion. "Anakin will stay with me," Qui-Gon says, his voice leaving no room for debate. "Obi-Wan and I will not leave his side."

Obi-Wan moves to stand beside his master, his expression carefully neutral but his posture protective. "The palace has secure quarters. We can establish a perimeter."

The throne room's colored light shifts across the polished floor as the Queen gives a small, precise nod. "Captain Panaka will arrange the escort to the Gungan scouts. The route is secure."

Paril turns toward the archway, already calculating fuel loads and sensor profiles in his head. "I'll prep the ship. Meet you at the east hangar in fifty minutes."

Mace Windu watches him go, then looks at Quinlan. "You need to rest before we depart. Even an hour."

Quinlan's expression is strained, but he doesn't argue. "I'll meditate. Clear the residue."

Anakin pulls away from Qui-Gon's side, his small face pale but determined. "I want to help. I can… I can feel things. Maybe I'll feel something else."

The throne room's high ceiling seems to amplify the quiet after Anakin's offer. Qui-Gon looks down at the boy, his expression softening, but his eyes remain serious. "You've helped more than you know, Anakin. But now, you must rest. Let your mind settle."

Obi-Wan places a gentle hand on Anakin's other shoulder. "Master Qui-Gon is right. The Force is like a river. If you stand in the current too long, you can be swept away."

The east hangar of Theed Palace is a cavernous space carved into the cliffside, its far wall open to the sky and the waterfalls beyond. The Millennium Falcon sits on the main landing pad, her angular form looking both out of place and perfectly at home among the polished Naboo starfighters. Paril Zannfel moves around the ship with practiced efficiency, checking the hyperdrive motivator connections one last time. The starboard bearing he'd repaired on Coruscant is running clean, a quiet hum beneath the deck plates.

Mace Windu and Quinlan Vos descend the stone ramp into the hangar. Quinlan's face is pale but composed, the blood washed away. He carries nothing but his lightsaber and a small medpac. Mace's dark robes seem to absorb the hangar's indirect light. Paril looks up from the Falcon's landing strut and gives a short nod. No one speaks. The waterfalls beyond the open wall provide the only sound, a constant, indifferent rush.

The engines cycle up, a low thrum vibrating through the stone floor. Mace Windu climbs the ramp without looking back, his dark robes trailing behind him. Quinlan follows, one hand resting on his lightsaber, his pale face set in quiet exhaustion. Paril ducks into the cockpit, the canopy sealing with a hiss of hydraulics. The boarding ramp closes with a solid thunk. The Falcon's repulsors lift the ship from the stone. The vessel slides through the open hangar wall and into the pale morning sky, a dark speck against the clouds, and then it is gone. The hangar falls silent. The light shifts as clouds pass over the sun.

   Dathomir

   25:5:7945 CRC

The holoprojector in the cave on Dathomir hummed to life, casting a pale blue glow across the damp stone. Darth Maul stood from his meditative crouch, the image of his master resolving from static into the familiar, shrouded figure.

"You are to depart," the metallic voice stated, flat and immediate. No greeting, no preamble.

Maul's yellow eyes narrowed. "The location remains secure. The compulsion holds."

"The location is compromised. You will leave now. Take the woman with you."

Maul's hand drifted to the hilt of his lightsaber. "The Jedi have found the trail."

The cave's interior held the chill of deep stone. The holographic figure offered no confirmation, no denial. "You will maintain the compulsion. Hold her for one additional day. Then deposit her on Coruscant. The lower industrial sector. Where she will be found."

Maul processed the order, the tactical shift. Abandoning the prepared ground, the established observation post. Moving the asset into Republic space under an active compulsion. It was a riskier maneuver. "The purpose?"

"The boy's fear has reached its peak. Now we let the Jedi's compassion do the work. They will return her. He will see that they could not protect her. That their rules delayed her recovery. The fracture will form in the return, not the absence." The hooded head tilted slightly. "You have a question."

"The Jedi are coming here. You know this. How?"

"That is of no concern to you, Inquisitor," the metallic voice continued. "Your task is departure. Now."

Maul's jaw clenched, the muscles in his face tightening beneath the black tattoos. "Understood."

The hologram flickered and dissolved, leaving only the cave's natural darkness and the distant glow of magma vents visible through the narrow opening. Maul turned toward the stone dais where Shmi Skywalker lay motionless, her breathing shallow and even under the weight of the Force compulsion. Her face was pale in the dim light, but there was no sign of physical harm. The mental cage held her mind in suspended animation, preserving her fear in amber.

The Scimitar's cloaking systems engaged with a low-frequency thrum that vibrated through the cave floor. Darth Maul stood over Shmi Skywalker's still form, his yellow eyes scanning the dark chamber one final time. The geometric carvings on the walls seemed to watch him, silent witnesses to a plan now abandoned. He extended a hand, and her body lifted from the stone dais, floating a few centimeters above the ground as he guided her toward the hidden entrance.

Outside, the Dathomirian forest was a tapestry of deep reds and purples, the sky choked with toxic clouds that churned above the jagged peaks. The Scimitar sat in a gully, its dark hull almost invisible against the shadowed rock. Maul guided Shmi up the ramp, her feet never touching the damp earth. The compulsion held her in perfect stillness, a puppet with its strings pulled taut.

The cockpit of the Scimitar was a dark, angular space, all sharp lines and minimal instrumentation. Maul settled into the pilot's chair, his movements economical. Shmi Skywalker lay secured in the rear compartment, the Force compulsion ensuring her compliance was absolute. He initiated the launch sequence. The engines whined to life, a sound that was quickly muffled as the ship's advanced dampeners engaged.

The Scimitar lifted from the gully, its cloaking field distorting the air around it like a heat haze. It rose through Dathomir's oppressive atmosphere, a ghost slipping through the planet's gravitational grasp. Maul set a course that would skirt the major hyperlanes, a long, looping trajectory toward the Core Worlds. One day. He would hold her for one more rotation, let the Jedi search the empty cave, and then deliver her to Coruscant's underbelly.

The Scimitar's hyperdrive engaged with a silent, smooth transition that left behind only the faint hum of its advanced systems. Darth Maul sat motionless in the pilot's chair, his yellow eyes fixed on the swirling vortex of hyperspace reflected in the cockpit's transparisteel. Behind him, the life support readouts confirmed Shmi Skywalker's vital signs remained stable under the Force compulsion's grip.

The journey to Coruscant would take most of the next day, depending on which routes he chose. The standard hyperlanes were too closely monitored by Republic patrol craft and customs checkpoints. To deposit her in the lower industrial sector without detection would require a more circuitous approach—skirting the Outer Rim territories and approaching from the planet's shadow side. The Inquisitor did not need to understand the design; only to execute it. Through the mental connection, he could still feel her fear—not sharp and immediate, but preserved like amber, a constant pressure against the edges of his consciousness.