this addition has been edited as of january 2, 2020

CHAPTER FOUR

ARTIE LET OUT A STRANGLED shout as the droid bobbed unsurely, shuttering and whirring with her sudden weight. For a moment, it seemed the probe could not support them both. They sank several feet before the thing managed to right itself, but it could not fly any higher. The droid screeched, confused and indignant, and veered them into oncoming traffic, hundreds of stories above the city floor.

The wind clawed at Artie's face and ripped back her clothes; the pretty braids Padme had done were torn free and her hair whipped over her face. Speeders raced past her on all sides, horns blaring and drivers shouting curses as if Artie could do anything to stop herself. She swore and shrieked, screamed and yelped every time a speeder zipped by, always inches from slicing off her head. Kriff, she thought hopelessly, this is going to be an ugly sight.

Out of nowhere, Artie heard a blaster fire, and the next moment the probe droid exploded. She plunged through the air, a screaming tangle of limbs and hair, and realized with a horrible jolt that these were her last seconds to be alive.

But suddenly, through her mane of yellow hair and the world tumbling around her, Artie caught a flash of movement in her peripheral. A bright yellow airspeeder hovered just beneath her, growing closer and closer by the second until Artie slammed into its fore, right on top of its oversized twin engines. It was pain unlike anything she'd felt before, but at the very least she was no longer plummeting to her death.

"Are you all right?" called a familiar voice. Artie managed to lift her head up enough to find its owner. Anakin sat in the driver's seat, looking frantically back and forth between her and the skylane.

"No," Artie groaned. She hoped she hadn't broken a leg.

Anakin threw an arm back and held out his hand. "You need to get off of the engines, they'll scorch you. I'll pull you over--hurry, though, I only have one set of eyes!" Artie did her best to rise into a wobbly crouch, which was almost impossible with Anakin's wild piloting. She snagged his hand and he helped her leap into the open cockpit; she was breathing so hard she felt that coupled with the pain, she might pass out. "Talk to me Artie," Anakin urged, "can you see straight?"

Artie blinked until things came back into focus. "Sort of . . ." she mumbled. Her head throbbed like she'd been kicked in the skull.

"I can't take you back to the apartment yet," Anakin said, "I have to follow the creep who planted the kouhuns. They blasted the droid from that Koro-Two," he pointed up ahead at a closed-cockpit speeder zipping through the lanes. "I watched it happen, that's how I found you."

"Lucky me!" Artie said, voice cracking with the effort it took to talk above the city's chaos. "You've saved two lives in ten minutes, Skywalker, that's got to be a record."

She thought he might have smiled. "My record's actually three lives saved in ten minutes. This is just a normal day's work."

Artie risked a laugh, but a splitting pain in her ribs cut it short. She winced and tried to sit up straighter. "Is Obi-Wan coming? Do you have any backup?"

Anakin kept his eyes ahead as he moved deftly through the oncoming traffic, weaving between lanes and veering them between buildings. The assassin had definitely caught on to them and seemed to be pulling out every stop to lose them in the fantastically lit maze that was Galactic City. "Look, do you want to catch the little maggot or what?"

Artie blinked in incredulity. "Yes, but we can't do it alone! I'm no Jedi, Skywalker, I'm no help to you in this—hey, hey, watch out!"

Anakin narrowly missed colliding with a transport bus. He pulled up so sharply Artie was sure she lost her stomach somewhere far behind them. "You can help, just do exactly as I say!"

"Anakin, we should go back! Typho has a fleet—"

"That would take ages!" he shouted. "We don't—" The Koro-2 slowed, then nosedived, plummeting straight down. Anakin didn't see in time. In a moment of crazed resolve, Artie jumped out of her seat, grabbed the controls from him, and sent them plunging after the assassin, so fast she couldn't take in air to breathe. "What are you doing?" Anakin cried above the wind.

Artie blew her hair out of her face, fighting to ignore her dizziness. "I can fly, too!" She eased up before they could crash into a theater's domed roof and relinquished the steering back to Anakin. "I'm sorry," she huffed, "but you weren't paying attention."

"It doesn't matter," Anakin snapped, pulling the airspeeder to a harsh halt. "We lost them."

"No, look!" Artie half-stood and gestured madly up ahead where the Koro zipped inside a stinking power refinery. Her stomach dropped and she fell back into her seat. "Oh, please don't go in there."

"We have to," Anakin insisted. He shot for the refinery, darting his way through rusted clusters of pipes and stacks that billowed foul-smelling smoke. Heat curled against Artie's cheeks and choking fumes stuffed her nose; she coughed and swiped at her watering eyes. Somehow Anakin had managed to catch them up to the assassin's ship—they were right at their heels.

"Artie," Anakin said urgently, "you have a blaster—shoot them."

"Not in here—are you crazy?" Artie gaped at him. "One misfire and I'll blow up the entire warehouse!"

Anakin groaned in frustration and swerved to the left around a large vat of crude engine fuel. "Then how do you suggest we stop them?"

"We should have cut them off on the other side!"

"I didn't hear you suggest it!"

Blaster fire echoed across the refinery. Ahead of them, the assassin shot through the stabilization core of a massive power coupling that lay directly in their path. The Koro-2 slipped by before the coupling erupted with bright magenta currents.

Artie's eyes widened and she throttled Anakin's arm. "Don't fly through them!"

"Too late . . ."

"Oh, kriff," she swore.

The instant they hit the crackling barrier, Artie was paralyzed. Her eyes rolled back in her head as electricity coursed through her body, pain that left her unable to think, to move. They passed through as quickly as they entered, and Artie thought she could have killed Anakin.

"You're insane," she hissed.

Anakin gave himself a shake. "Don't tell Obi-Wan I did that."

"If we survive the night, I'll consider it." She paused. The assassin had jerked around a corner, but Anakin kept on going straight, right past the alley. "What are you doing?" Artie asked, turning back in her seat. "They went the other way."

"This is a short cut," Anakin replied. "I think."

"You think?" Artie repeated. "And that's why we're going in the wrong direction?"

Anakin shook his head. "Ah, have a little faith, sweetheart. We'll cut them off up there."

Artie threw him a look. "Do not call me that."

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

They glided along for a few more minutes, curving around buildings and traffic, before Anakin gave up and halted the speeder.

"Have you lost them?" Artie asked, folding her arms.

"Quite possibly," he replied, peering over the side of the airspeeder.

"I told you, we should have—"

"Hold on," Anakin rose suddenly from his seat. "You said you can pilot one of these?"

"Yeah . . ."

"That's all I needed to know." To Artie's absolute shock, Anakin leaped over the side of the airspeeder and fell fast through the city.

"Oh, for the love of . . ." she jumped into the pilot's seat and watched him plummet. "Does he do this often?" she muttered to herself. Artie shook her head and started the speeder up again. She swooped down and shot after him. Despite the fact that Anakin had likely just lost his mind and leaped to his death, Artie couldn't help but enjoy her time in the cockpit. She hadn't flown since coming to be Padmé's apprentice, and she hadn't realized how much she missed it. A familiar surge of adrenaline gripped her as she sped after Anakin. Though she couldn't quite see, it looked like he had landed on top of the assassin's speeder, and his squirming, struggling figure, along with the panicked blaster shots lighting up the sky, hinted that the scuffle was not going smoothly.

Something silver and metallic came flying back through the air. Artie snatched it up just before it could smack her in the head.

Anakin's lightsaber.

So he's unarmed, she thought. Wonderful.

She couldn't dwell on it; the Koro-2 erupted in bright orange sparks, its nose dipping as it careening for the city floor. Artie pushed her speeder as fast as it would go—luckily Anakin had opted to steal a rather tricked-out XJ-6; it was the nicest, most nimble thing she'd ever flown—lucky for Anakin, because anything less high-class would have had no hope of matching the Koro-2.

The assassin's speeder lurched sideways, nearly flipping upside down, and threw Anakin off. Artie watched helplessly as he crashed into the street and tumbled very ungracefully into a cluster of waste bins. The Koro-2 veered off and smashed into the side of a building; the cockpit was opened, but Artie hadn't seen where the assassin ran off to. Keeping one eye on Anakin, who was busy disentangling himself from what looked like a week's worth of garbage, she slowed, lowered her speeder to the street, and shut it off. She took Anakin's lightsaber, unholstered her blaster, and sprinted to catch up with him.

"Hey!" she called, waving her arms. The streets were crowded with Coruscant night-life, though no one paid her much attention; to any passerby, she was another silly, drunk girl trying to stumble her way into the next bar. By some miracle, Anakin saw her through the throng of boozy patrons.

"They ran into the club!" he called, darting to meet her halfway. He was breathless and soot-stained, bleeding from his temple, but not discouraged in the slightest. There was a shade of worry in his pale eyes, however. "I lost my—"

Artie held up his lightsaber. "I thought this was supposed to be a Jedi's life," she said, giving it a little wave.

Anakin plucked it from her hand. "It is, so thank you for getting it back to me." He took Artie by the arm and led her to the entryway of a pulsing nightclub. Anakin looked back at her, this time his face almost sheepish. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention that to Obi-Wan, either."

Artie pulled her arm from his hold and moved to walk beside him. "I won't," she said, "so long as you don't tell Padmé I flew a stolen speeder."

"It's a deal, then."

They ventured deeper into the club. Everything was electric and neon, the clothing scanty and every overheard conversation vulgar but incredibly interesting. It was all exciting, Artie admitted to herself, in a way that the boorish cantinas on Tatooine never were. There, people went to drink to pass the time until their blessed deaths. But here, the only objective seemed to be having fun.

Artie turned to find that Anakin was still right beside her, eyes trailing over any and all passerby, searching the most mundane of faces, as if he could see things she couldn't. Artie nudged him. "Did you see what direction they went in?"

"No," he said. "All I saw was them run in here. It's a dead end," he observed. "I don't understand why they would."

Artie pressed her lips together. An idea struck her. "Stay here and keep looking," she said. "I'll be back in a moment."

She left him and ambled near the bar, not to drink (she was underage and Padmé would absolutely kill her) but to listen. There was no reason for the assassin to run into a dead-end bar unless they were meeting up with someone, maybe someone who would help them. Artie hoped she could catch ear of anything helpful. It was a favorite tactic of the Hutt syndicate; listen, and let your target reveal themselves. More often than not, a panicked quarry said too much and forgot to cover their tracks. Lysander had always said so, at least. Artie gave herself a hard shake as a stab of pain seized her. She shouldn't think about that. Lysander was the past; there were more important things now.

The moments dragged by and Artie heard nothing that would help them. She blew a breath through her teeth and dragged a hand over her snarled mess of hair. No sooner had she decided to give up and retreat back to Anakin did the same pull she'd felt back at Padmé's apartment ensconced her again, urgent, slowing everything around her. The cacophonous chattering dulled; the lights became less garish; she felt only one presence in the room.

TURN AROUND!

Artie listened. Quick as she could, she lifted her blaster and leaped around. A woman stood before her, face veiled, a blaster outstretched in her hand. Artie wasn't in control of her movements; something far greater guided her now. Shoot her. Swifter, more seamless than Artie believed people could even be, her arm lifted and her finger flexed on the trigger. She shot the woman in her shoulder, then in the hand that clutched the blaster. The assassin cried out in shock and pain; the next moment, an arc of blue burst into Artie's field of vision and sliced through her wrists altogether. The woman screamed stumbled back, but Anakin caught her under her arm, lightsaber still aglow in his other hand.

"Hey!" the bartender shouted, and now the entire club was watching them, gasping and horrified. "You can't just do that in here! I'm calling—"

"This is official Jedi business," Anakin interjected, angling his saber at the man. "Everyone go back to your drinks."

They dragged the assassin through a side exit that opened into a damp, smelly alleyway. Anakin set the veiled woman onto the damp ground, and Artie knelt down beside her.

"Who are you?" Artie demanded as she helped her hold her head up.

The assassin groaned and thrashed slightly, but conceded. "Zam . . . Zam Wessel."

"Why are you trying to kill Senator Amidala?" Artie asked. "Tell me now."

"It was just a job—"

"She said now," Anakin snapped.

Wessel looked between them helplessly. "I was hired," she said weakly.

Anakin leaned closer. "By who?"

"It . . ." Wessel shut her eyes tight. "It was a bounty hunter named—" something gusted past Artie's ear. Wessel broke off. A thin dart was imbedded in her neck. Artie whipped around just in time to see a shadowy figure watching them from a distant rooftop. They lingered for a moment, then kicked off into the sky, a jet pack igniting on their back. They vanished behind another skyscraper.

Artie turned back to find Wessel dead. What had once been a young human woman was now a wrinkled Clawdite, her oversized eyes wide and lifeless. Her real face was gaunt and skull-like with a yellow tinge—nothing like the small dark-haired woman they'd apprehended. Artie was bewildered. A shapeshifter. She'd only ever read about them.

With hesitant fingers Artie plucked the dart from the Clawdite's neck and brought it level with her eyes. She sighed. "Padmé still isn't safe."

"No," Anakin agreed. "There's someone out there who wants her gone." He rose and offered her a hand. "Come on, we have to report what we found."

Artie took it and got uneasily to her feet. Her throat was tight with fear, body roaring with pain. If her and Padmé's suspicions were correct, whoever had hired Wessel was in cahoots with Dooku. Or, even worse, it was something else entirely. Artie felt her heart ache with the idea of losing Padmé.

Why would anyone want her gone?

note.
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