The new prison was not in name only. Instead of being in the hostage equivalent of a country home, she was surrounded by durasteel and guards. There were no pretenses of freedom here and she was allowed to leave the cell only twice per day for trips to the refresher. The meals themselves became less substantial and even without a mirror, she could see her arms growing thinner and felt new hollows between muscle and bone.
There were few comforts here, but her sons were still active and she was assured that they had no qualms about nudging her. As if they had been chastised by her fear of losing them, they made themselves known at least once every few hours.
For all that she knew, they could have kept her on the same world, but there was no escape route this time. Her knowledge of the building was restricted to how much she saw on the way to and from the ‘fresher. It could have stretched on for several thousand square feet or it could have been a bunker. She could not even tell if they were above ground or not.
In addition, the daily briefings stopped. Whatever it had been that compelled them to move her, it had also been ominous enough to make them fear contact with the outside world.
When a datapad arrived with the morning bread and water, she was immediately suspicious of it. She ignored it until she had finished breakfast and then left it on the tray when she placed it next to the door.
The guards typically retracted a panel in the door and extracted the tray that way. Today, the door opened and she expected the usual man as the visitor. Lirahy entered instead and retrieved the datapad as if Amne had carelessly dropped something on the way to a meeting.
"You're not interested?" she asked, holding up the pad. "I'd think you would be eager for some entertainment."
"I'm not interested in anything you or your friends have to say," Amne shot back, her anger roused by contact with the person who had personally betrayed her. "How much did they pay you to turn your back on the Republic or was that a goodwill gesture?"
She could not tell if that made an impact on the woman who had sworn an oath to protect her, but Lirahy struck quickly. The datapad cracked against her cheekbone and brought stinging tears to her eyes, but like Sheev’s attack, nothing more came. The similarity was momentarily startling simply because she had no other thoughts for what her own guard had done.
Lirahy casually activated the datapad without bothering to answer the question or survey the damage she had done. Amne clenched her hands in her lap to resist the urge to probe her cheek, but she could feel blood on her face.
"You may not be interested in what we have to say," Lirahy murmured, "but maybe this is something you would be interesting in hearing."
The recording was a bad quality, obviously home-made rather than produced by the Holonet broadcasters. Still, the sounds of an explosion were unmistakable. They were followed by the screech of metal, the staccato clatter of shrapnel and the dull crackle of flames. It had to have been made by someone monitoring the situation from a safe distance.
"What in the name ..."
"The Senate District Municipal Hospital," Lirahy supplied.
As if on cue, the blood from her cheek dripped to her fingers, leaving her with blood on her hands. If she had been one to believe in metaphor, she might have found it appropriate. Instead, she felt only the throb of detached heartache and the urge to vomit.
Amne had been to SDMH last on the day before leaving for Corellia. She could name the administrators of the facility as well as many of the doctors on staff. It was the medcenter of choice for most of the delegations because of its proximity to the Senate Building.
More importantly ...
"How many?" she croaked.
"Between seven and ten thousand confirmed dead," the traitor stated. "The bomb was placed on the pediatric ward and no one thought to look there for explosives, so they had no warning."
It was the same pediatric ward where she had spent several hours only a month ago. There was a young Bothan girl waiting for a liver transplant. A nine-year-old boy who was being treated for radiation poisoning and finally making some progress ...
"Would you like to see?"
Her gorge rose quickly at that thought and it took a great deal of effort not to vomit, but she kept herself composed. The end result was that she felt immediately drained by sickened grief and more angry than anything. She shook her head firmly and finally reached up to wipe away the blood and tears that had come from the last few minutes.
“Is this to be your pattern, then?” Amne asked quietly. “You prey on the vulnerable and attack the helpless? Does that make you monsters or cowards?”
Her opponent struck again, not once, but several times until the blood flowed freely and her nose had buckled under the assault. She raised an arm to defend herself, but Lirahy struck with such force that something cracked and her arm went limp.
"Will you speak for us now?" Lirahy challenged.
She would have not spoken for the gods themselves if they had approached it from that angle. Now she was beyond grief and had arrived at anger. Out of self-preservation alone, she put as much distance as possible between herself and the traitor. Lirahy did not come after her, only stared contemptuously at her until she was ready to answer. She still had not answered the question that had inspired the attack, but Amne was not about to ask it again.
"What?" Amne snapped, cradling her arm against her chest. "You think that showing me your brutal natures would convince me to join your cause?"
Lirahy glanced pointedly at her abdomen and Amne remembered who had been the one to put her children in danger in the first place. Given the events of the last few minutes, she could not be sure that it would not come to that soon. She kept herself from protectively covering the bulge of her belly with her undamaged arm, but kept her face impassive.
"Do you really want to provoke us?" Lirahy asked.
She had thought that, given their lack of hostility for the last weeks, that they might have been under orders to leave her intact. She had no desire to find out just how wrong she had been.
"And if I still refuse to speak for you, you'll kill my children or maybe target a residential area of Coruscant instead?" she shot back.
The other woman smirked with all the warmth of a winter's night. "Would you like to find out?"
Without waiting for a response, she stood. "I will be leaving for Coruscant tonight," she announced. "If you want to appeal to your husband's rational side, now is the time."
It was almost a temptation, but she would dishonor him by pleading for his cooperation. He would know of her support by her silence, not her submission.
"I have nothing to say on your behalf or my own," Amne replied. "He will do the right thing."
*****
Three more days passed without further contact. Her dreams became more and more troubled with each passing night, but that was no surprise, given her circumstances. She started to see shadows everywhere and hear phantom footsteps. The blood dried and crusted on her cheek and the scab formed over the gash, but no one came to attend to her. Her broken arm was similarly neglected and between the fear of what was to come and the pain of her injuries, sleep was nearly impossible.
Finally, on the fourth day, another datapad was left with her food. When she left it on the tray, no one came to bully her. Instead, the same pad, one with a dented corner and a scratch on the back side, was left with dinner.
Curious as to what was so important that they had left a message twice, she grudgingly set aside her food and activated the first, text-only file.
Milady, it is too dangerous to contact you directly, but I will not stand by and let this continue. I will find a way to get you out in the coming days. Be prepared for me.
The hand holding the datapad shook uncontrollably, but anyone observing through a surveillance holocorder might have thought that it was because of the second file. That was an emotionless list of the number of dead from the SDMH explosion and a few statistics.
She deleted the first message and thrust it back onto the tray. For the benefit of whoever was watching, she buried her battered face in her good hand and allowed the shaking to take hold of her.
She had no reason to believe this was legitimate, but it was the first indication in weeks that she was not alone here. Skepticism and fear aside, she had no choice but to give it a chance.
*****
Her unnamed ally had not made contact again two days later when the guards returned with another syringe. The man with whom she had dealt for the first weeks had not returned since Lirahy's failed attempt to make her cooperate. She could only assume that he was either with her treasonous guard or was letting someone else do his dirty work.
"Moving day again?" she said dryly.
"For the greater good," the shorter man responded.
At least they brought nothing but the syringe with them this time. She did not bother to resist, but they did not need much encouragement.
The man's eyes were curiously wary and sympathetic this time. It was perhaps the first time that she had seen a hint of true emotion since arriving here. It was absolutely incongruous with his position, but she had long ago given up any hope of understanding whatever hierarchy was in place here.
"This won't hurt a bit ..."
The sting of the needle in her arm was no surprise and she sat back to wait for sleep to come again. The guards stood at a comfortable distance and the one who had administered the injection went to discard the needle.
Her heartbeat suddenly quickened to a frantic pace and a pungent smell filled her nostrils. Before she could wonder what either of those meant, a shrill cry escaped her throat and everything went black.
*****
"... seizure brought on by something in the sedative," a voice was saying. "She should be fine, but we won't be moving her for another day or so and there's no way in hell we're using those meds on her again."
A muffled voice responded for a while and then the man spoke again. "Don't worry about it. She'll be riled, but she'll live. Med-one out."
Amne heard the familiar click of a comm deactivation and the man sighed. She pried her eyes open to find herself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. Her hands immediately balled into fists before she remembered the fracture in her forearm, but she was bound by straps at the chest and knees as well as at her wrists and ankles. Resistance was not an option and someone had taken specific care to ensure that.
"Sorry, milady," the man said. "We didn't want you hurting yourself again ... or us."
"What ..." She swallowed hard and forced herself to relax as much as she could. "What happened?"
An unfamiliar face came into view. "Minor seizure," he stated. "As far as we can tell, it was just an allergic reaction to the corephem. We gave you a bacta flush to get it out of your system, so it shouldn't give you any troubles."
He had not yet answered one question which she had been afraid to ask. Amne bit her lip for a moment, and then looked pointedly towards her midsection.
"Are they all right?"
"Milady," the man said with a smile, "do you think that I would allow anything to happen to you or your sons on my watch?"
And then it struck her. He was the only one of the men and women who held her here who had called her milady.
"You," she breathed quietly.
"This was the easiest way to get you out of that cell," he explained with a confirming nod. "I'm sorry if it frightened you, but I am now several steps closer to freeing you. If all goes according to plan, you will be home by the end of the week."
It was the closest that she had come to crying since Lirahy's departure. Not even his initial message had inspired such desperate relief.
"Who are you?"
"It's too risky to name names right now," he cautioned her. "As soon as we have you out of here, I will tell you whatever you wish to know about me. For now, just know that I am a dissenter who has seen the error of his ways, so to speak."
"And the others?" she challenged. "You said 'as soon as we have you out of here.’"
"Two others who also think this has gone too far," he informed her. "You will meet them soon enough."
In all likelihood, she already had. An organization like this could not operate with large numbers of people. It could compromise security and there was no telling who could be trusted.
"What do I need to do?" she asked at last.
"Leave everything to us," he suggested. "The best thing you can do is to stay out of the way as much as you can."
With the level of security that had been demonstrated around here, she doubted it would be as simple as that. Still, she offered him the first smile she had allowed in days.
"I'll do my best," she promised. “What about my arm?”
“We have orders not to treat it,” he apologized. “I can put a splint on it now, but I won't be able to do so much as set it until we have you out of here.”
That meant that, if they needed her help, she might be worse than useless to them. The fact that complete strangers were doing that on her behalf was heartening.
“I'll trust you,” she conceded. “Just please, for all our sakes, don't lose your nerve.”
The man smiled broadly and touched her unbruised cheek in a gesture of casual affection.
“I would never think of it, milady.”
*****
She last remembered the bite of a hypospray at her neck rather than a needle in her arm. The new sedative was humanely fast-acting and her would-be rescuer had promised that they would take matters from there.
Instead, she was groggily aware of someone shaking her frantically. The medication had too much of a hold on her mind to allow her to respond, but she could at least hear what he was trying to communicate with her.
“Milady, we need you on your own power,” he hissed. “Wake up.”
She could do nothing more than curl in on herself. Her muscles were entirely unresponsive to her conscious commands.
“… don’t think it’s working, Doc. We’re going to have to chance it.”
The darkness dragged her under once more, but the next thing she was aware of was the shrill squeal of blaster fire. She could feel her legs now and recognized that she was being half-carried and half-propelled to their destination. The stench of ozone meant that whoever was doing the carrying was also firing a blaster.
So much for an easy rescue.
She tried to move a leg or an arm to help matters at all, but she was not yet alert enough to manage it. When the person supporting her collapsed, she went down with him. The impact jolted her enough to rouse her from sleep, but the medication left her too weak to haul herself upright.
For now, that seemed to be the best course of action. Blaster fire seared the air around her at the speed of thought and she would have been utterly unable to dodge as it was. Instead, she curled into a ball on the ground, her arms covering her head and her knees drawn up in front of her abdomen. The blaster fire died down, but there was no telling whose doing that was.
A hand seized her wrist and she thrashed instinctively and violently. “Settle down,” one of her rescuers snapped. “We're running out of time as it is.”
“Over?” she stammered, too terrified to say anything more coherent.
“Almost,” the rescuer assured her. “We just need to ...”
The guard who took aim was one of the ones she had seen in her first weeks of captivity. He had been one of the perimeter stalkers who would keep her from escaping. His appearance meant that the rescue attempt had failed, but also that her allies would either die or run for cover without her.
When the man fired, the stun bolt hit her square in the chest and eliminated any further thought from her mind.
*****
The pain awakened her this time with such ferocity that she screamed. A firm hand gripped Amne's shoulder and pinned her down with enough force to steal her breath, but the pain did not fade. It increased steadily until she thought that it might consume her completely.
And then, it ended abruptly, leaving her exhausted and confused. She wrenched her shoulder free of her captor's grip, but that in turn yanked free the IV line that someone had inexplicably stuck in her arm.
“Easy! Easy!” someone shouted. “We're trying to help you!”
She let out a Taiald curse that would have made her mother cringe, but did not move. “Where am I?” she demanded once it became clear that no further information was forthcoming.
“Inbound to Bilbringi,” the same voice said. “If you can just cooperate with us for another ten minutes, we'll turn you over to people who actually know what they're doing.”
Bilbringi had not been allied with the Separatists at the time that she was captured. Their course could mean that either the system's allegiances had changed or that she was no longer in enemy hands.
The next pain came not as a wave but as a hammer strike. It jerked her forward into an almost fetal position so that she could not scream, but it lasted longer this time. Somewhere in there, a person slid their hand into position around hers and she held on for dear life, sobbing out each breath until it passed.
“Stars,” she breathed. “What have you done to me?”
“We're trying to stop the contractions,” a female voice said, “but right now, we're more worried about the bleeding.”
“H'tai'mat,” Amne swore. “What bleeding?”
“We're not sure yet,” the woman lied, squeezing her hand. “Once we get to Bilbringi, we'll know more about what happened.”
“Am I miscarrying?” she demanded, clutching at the hand.
There was a nervous and nerve-wracking silence and then another lie came. “We don't know yet,” the woman insisted, “but you will only make things worse by panicking.”
She had not felt even a hint of movement from either of her unborn children since awakening. Of course she had reason to panic. Asking too many questions would not make things worse. She let her head roll to the side where the woman's voice was coming from and recognized the lone female among her rescuers. She looked half as haggard as Amne felt, but other than a bandage on her shoulder, she appeared to be unharmed.
“Did we make it?”
The woman closed her eyes and tightened her grip. “We did,” she murmured. “We don't know at what cost yet.”
Then all had not gone well. They had been hurt and her rescuers were holding things back.
“Has anyone done a scan?”
“We don't have that kind of equipment,” the other woman explained, “and the doctor did what he could before ...”
She looked away and sniffed quietly before shaking her head. “Well, before,” she concluded.
The third contraction, if that was what it could be called, hit half a minute later and another occurred before they could dock at Bilbringi. The medics rushed onboard as if she had suffered a mortal wound and did nothing to calm her fears. One of them replaced the IV in her right forearm, but strapped her down for good measure.
“Not to worry, Lady Palpatine,” he said brusquely. “This will all be over soon enough.”
That was precisely what she was afraid of. There were no words to explain that she was not willing to give up as easily as they were.
“No one will tell me what is happening,” she blurted urgently. “Am I miscarrying or not?”
“You are twenty-four weeks pregnant,” the medic corrected. “Your sons would be stillborn if we were unable to save them, but we will not give up that easily.”
“Out!” another medic barked. “I don't want you anywhere near her until she says so.”
The man stalked off and they hurried her to a medcenter. The woman who had been with her since awakening apparently took it upon herself to be her advocate and stayed by her side until she was settled on an examination table.
The doctor who had ordered his colleague out came back into view just as another contraction hit. She curled forward, breathing hard and gritting her teeth to keep herself from screaming as was her right.
When she finally collapsed back against the mattress, the doctor rested a hand on her good arm.
“We'll do everything within our power to stop this,” he said firmly. “The stun bolt has caused premature labor and there is some bleeding, but we will know soon how much can be done for you and your sons.”
He was telling the truth and dealing rationally with the situation where she could not. That let her breathe a little more easily.
“Has Sheev been informed?”
“I'll take care of that,” another one of the medics offered.
“We need your consent to administer medical treatment,” yet another pointed out.
The form was a standard one, but she still felt uneasy about signing it. Still, if she did not act now, it might be too late.
“What will you do?” Amne demanded.
“Everything we can to save your children and heal you,” he soothed.
She nodded wearily. “If it comes down to me or them ...”
“Let's not worry about that, milady,” the doctor interrupted.
It went without saying that her sons were, most likely, far too young to survive. Even in the best care facilities on Coruscant, they might not have the necessary equipment and she had been brought to a Mid-Rim shipyard where the most common injuries were caused by hydrospanners hitting hard skulls.
If they could just stop the labor ...
She blacked out before they could even do a scan. Pain dragged her towards consciousness several times after that, but she was too weak to achieve alertness on her own. Instead, she let the darkness embrace and insulate her while her dreams careened through despair. Her upbringing inspired thoughts of prayer, but she had been taught to believe in a goddess of justice and this was out of the goddess's jurisdiction.
When she finally awoke, the pain had transformed into an empty ache and a distracted sense of loss. She did not bother to reach for her abdomen, since only one thing could have affected her so profoundly, but opened her eyes to see if she was still alone in her suffering.
Amne had expected Sheev to have materialized by now—surely, he would have left as soon as word of her rescue had reached him. Instead, the person curled uncomfortably into a repulsorchair at her bedside was not family. Not in the strictest sense of the word.
Zia had been Knighted three years ago and for a time, she and Master Sahur had still worked together. A year ago, she had taken an eleven-year-old Twi'lek as her Padawan and Amne had only seen her twice since then. Tonight, Uli was nowhere to be seen and she could see Amia's tall form standing watch outside the door.
Amia stiffened as Amne completed that thought. Maybe she had picked up on her charge's returning consciousness or sensed her inclusion in an idea. At any rate, she turned from her post and crossed the hospital room in three long strides. She took the hand that was not encumbered by the IV line and pressed it fondly against her heart. It was only then that Amne noticed that her fractured arm had been wrapped in a cast.
“They were only able to save me,” Amne rasped so quietly that she could barely hear herself speak.
Amia nodded solemnly. “It was not for lack of trying,” she murmured.
That could have aptly described her efforts at being stalwart and noble in captivity. She looked away and for the first time, let her hand rest on the slight bulge where her children had been. That only permitted the tears to come, but Amia did not let go of her hand; she instead reached up with the other hand to cradle Amne's cheek. It made her feel more like a petulant child than the First Lady of the Republic, but she was willing to accept the role for now.
“It was not your fault,” Amia whispered.
The woman knew nothing. She had not been there when Amne obstinately refused to cooperate with her captors. She would never know how many times the brutality could have been stopped if Lady Palpatine had forgotten her damned need to be morally superior to her enemies. She had no idea what she was saying.
Amne could not say this, however. Amia and Zia were friends too close to be on the receiving end of that kind of tirade. It was only an emotional impulse borne of self-deprecating anger.
“Sheev isn't here,” Amne mumbled.
“He is on his way,” Amia reassured her. “We were simply closer.”
So there had been people looking for her. After so many weeks, she had begun to wonder.
"Can I see them?" she requested.
She did not need the ability to read minds to read Amia's opinion of that. Her friend shook her head and loosened her grip just a bit.
"All in good time," Amia soothed. "The doctors wanted to examine you again as soon as you woke up."
They were either insensitive to her needs or stalling for time. She did not like either of those options.
"How long has she been there?" she asked, nodding at Zia.
Amia grimaced. "All night,” she informed her. “Zia's better at the healing arts than myself and she wanted to be here in case she was needed again.”
Again meant that Zia had intervened using the Force once before. It might be longer than she thought before someone had the nerve to tell her how close to death she had come. She should have felt frightened or grateful, but instead, she felt hollow.
“Get the doctors, please,” Amne requested. “I want to see my sons.”
Notes:
The author once suffered a miscarriage at the hands of an abusive spouse, so this chapter feels very personal.