Star Wars_ Coruscant Nights II Streets of Shadows - Michael Reaves [1]
Even had he not loved her, he would have sacrificed his life to protect her without a second thought. That would have been his duty. His love for her only compounded his culpability. She had gone on her mysterious mission with Skywalker, and he had not gone with her. And now he had to live with the guilt of his survival, a curse infinitely harder than the relatively easy task of dying for her.
It was true that, had she lived, there still would have been no chance of his love for her being requited. Padmé had, after all, been a Senator, and before that the planetary Queen. He was but a soldier; the difference in caste had been far too great. But it hadn’t stopped him from loving her. No power in the galaxy, not even the Force itself, could have done that.
After the funeral, Typho milled aimlessly about in the crowd, still stunned, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact of her death. Still reviewing, over and over, what he might have done differently, if he could possibly have persuaded her to reconsider that last journey …
Pointless. Fruitless. These self-flagellations served no purpose. Execrating his actions would not bring her back, nor would it honor her memory. Had she known how he had felt, had she known of his love for her, he knew Padmé would have wanted him to move on, to release her, to live instead of wallowing in despondency. And he was willing to do that.
But first, he told himself, there is one last task that must be performed …
Padmé Amidala must be avenged.
He had heard conflicting rumors, snatches of conversation during the chaos immediately after her death. Most of the government factotums and officials were caught up in dealing with larger issues; although to Typho there could be no greater concern than his personal feelings regarding Padmé’s death. He knew that the diplomatic reverberations, especially in light of Naboo’s already tenuous status of autonomy in the eyes of Palpatine’s new regime, were gigantic. For the circumstances of the Senator’s demise were, to put it bluntly, suspicious. There was evidence—compelling evidence—that she had died a violent death.
Of course, this was not meant to be known by the population at large. But rank did have certain privileges, and Captain Typho had learned some things about Padmé’s last hours. There were conflicting reports, of course, but all the autopsy reports were in agreement on two things: that she had been strangled, and that the child had died with her.
But exactly how the former had been accomplished, no one was quite sure. The evidence of strangulation had been there, and obvious: the fractured hyoid bone, damage to the larynx, and compression of the trachea were all clear indications of fatal throttling.
But …
There were no signs of bruises on her neck, no scratches or signs of congestion … no indication of exterior trauma at all. Her throat had been pristine. It was as if she had somehow been choked to death without physical contact. And there was only one power in the galaxy that Typho knew of that could accomplish such a thing.
The Force.
Padmé had gone to Mustafar to meet with the Jedi Knight Skywalker. And all evidence indicated that she had been killed through the Force.
It could not possibly be a coincidence. Even if Skywalker was not the murderer, he had to have been connected somehow. In any event, he was the best and only lead to follow.
Typho knew what he had to do.
He would go to Coruscant. He would find Anakin Skywalker. And depending on what he learned, the Jedi would live or die.
And then, perhaps, Padmé would rest easier.
PART I
PLANET NOIR
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