And then, suddenly, Typho was lying facedown on the permacrete, thrown to the ground by a tremendous concussion, blinded for a moment by a brilliant flash as an explosion roared behind him. He looked up as his vision returned to see Dolphe sprawled on the ground.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion for Typho at that terrible moment. He heard himself yelling "No!" as he scrambled to his knees and turned about.

Pieces of burning metal spread through the Coruscant sky like fireworks, fanning high and wide from the wreckage. The remaining hulk of the Royal Cruiser burned brightly, and seven figures lay on the ground before it, one wearing the decorated raiments that Typho knew so very well. Disoriented from the blast, the captain stumbled as he tried to rise. A great lump welled in his throat, for he knew what had happened.

Typho was a veteran warrior, had seen battle, had seen people die violently, and in looking at those bodies, in looking at Amidala's beautiful robes, at their placement about the very still form, he instinctively knew.

The woman's wounds were surely mortal. She was fast dying, if not already dead.

"You reset the coordinates!" Obi-Wan Kenobi said to his young Padawan. Obi- Wan's wheat-colored hair was longer now, hanging loosely about his shoulders, and a beard, somewhat unkempt, adorned his still-young-looking face. His light brown Jedi traveling clothes, loose fitting and comfortable, seemed to settle on him well. For Obi-Wan had become comfortable, had grown into the skin of Jedi Knight. No longer was he the intense and impulsive Jedi Padawan learner under the training of Qui-Gon Jinn.

His companion at this time, however, appeared quite the opposite. Anakin Skywalker looked as if his tall, thin frame simply could not contain his overabundance of energy. He was dressed similarly to Obi-Wan, but his clothing seemed tighter, crisper, and his muscles under it always seemed taut with readiness. His sandy-blond hair was cropped short now, except for the thin braid indicative of his status as a Jedi Padawan. His blue eyes flashed repeatedly, as if bursts of energy were escaping.

"Just to lengthen our time in hyperspace a bit," he explained. "We'll come out closer to the planet."

Obi-Wan gave a great and resigned sigh and sat down at the console, noting the coordinates Anakin had input. There was little the Jedi could do about it now, of course, for a hyperspace leap couldn't be reset once the jump to lightspeed had already been made. "We cannot exit hyperspace too close to Coruscant's approach lanes. There's too much congestion for a safe flight. I've already explained this to you."

"But-"

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said pointedly, as if he were scolding a pet perootu cat, and he tightened his wide jaw and stared hard at his Padawan.

"Yes, Master," Anakin said, obediently looking down.

Obi-Wan held the glare for just a moment longer. "I know that you're anxious to get there," he conceded. "We have been too long away from home." Anakin didn't look up, but Obi-Wan could see the edges of his lips curl up in a bit of a smile.

"Never do this again," Obi-Wan warned, and he turned and walked out of the shuttle's bridge.

Anakin flopped down into the pilot's chair, his chin falling into his hand, his eyes set on the control panels. The order had been about as direct as one could get, of course, and so Anakin silently told himself that he would adhere to it. Still, as he considered their current destination, and who awaited them there, he thought the scolding worth it, even if his resetting of the coordinates had bought him only a few extra hours on Coruscant. He was indeed anxious to get there, though not for the reason Obi-Wan had stated. It wasn't the Jedi Temple that beckoned to the Padawan, but rather a rumor he had heard over the comm chatter that a certain Senator, formerly the Queen of Naboo, was on her way to address the Senate. Padme Amidala. The name resonated in young Anakin's heart and soul. He hadn't seen her in a decade, not since he, along with Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, had helped her in her struggle against the Trade Federation on Naboo. He had only been ten years old at that time, but from the moment he had first laid eyes on Padme, young Anakin had known that she was the woman he would marry. Never mind that Padme was several years older than he was. Never mind that he was just a boy when he had known her, when she had known him. Never mind that Jedi were not allowed to marry.

Anakin had simply known, without question, and the image of beautiful Padm Amidala had stayed with him, had been burned into his every dream and fantasy, every day since he had left Naboo with Obi-Wan a decade ago. He could still smell the freshness of her hair, could still see the sparkle of intelligence and passion in her wondrous brown eyes, could still hear the melody that was Padme's voice.

Hardly registering the movement, Anakin let his hands return to the controls of the nav computer. Perhaps he could find a little-used lane through the Coruscant traffic congestion to get them home faster.

Klaxons blared and myriad alarms rent the air all about the area, screaming loudly, drowning out the cries from the astonished onlookers and the wails of the injured.

Typho's companion pilot raced past him, and the captain scrambled to regain his footing and follow. Across the way, Dolphe was up and similarly running toward the fallen form of the Senator.

The female fighter pilot arrived first, dropping to one knee beside the fallen woman. She pulled the helmet from her head and quickly shook her brown tresses free.

"Senator!" Typho yelled. It was indeed Padme Amidala kneeling beside the dying woman, her decoy. "Come, the danger has not passed!" But Padme waved the captain back furiously, then bent low to her fallen friend.

"Corde," she said quietly, her voice breaking. Corde was one of her beloved bodyguards, a woman who had been with her, serving her and serving Naboo, for many years. Padme gathered Corde up in her arms, hugging her gently. Corde opened her eyes, rich brown orbs so similar to Padme's own. "I'm sorry, M'Lady," she gasped, struggling for breath with every word. "I'm. . not sure I…" She paused and lay there, staring at Padme. "I've failed you."

"No!" Padme insisted, arguing the bodyguard's reasoning, arguing against all of this insanity. "No, no, no!"

Corde continued to stare at her, or stare past her, it seemed to the grief- stricken young Senator. Looking past her and past everything, Corde's eyes stared into a far different place.

Padme felt her relax suddenly, as if her spirit simply leapt from her corporeal form.

"Corde!" the Senator cried, and she hugged her friend close, rocking back and forth, denying this awful reality.

"M'Lady, you are still in danger!" Typho declared, trying to sound sympathetic, but with a clear sense of urgency in his voice.

Padme lifted her head from the side of Corde's face, and took a deep and steadying breath. Looking upon her dead friend, remembering all at once the many times they had spent together, she gently lowered Corde to the ground. "I shouldn't have come back," she said as she stood up beside the wary Typho, tears streaking her cheeks.