this addition has been edited as of january 5, 2020

CHAPTER SIX

ARTIE BATHED AND CHANGED into a clean tunic and breeches. She braided her hair up again and had a meddroid look at her injuries, which surprisingly did not amount to anything more than cuts and bruises, albeit they were all nasty. Artie examined herself in the mirror and decided she was presentable again.

She began packing. There wasn't too much to do, seeing as they'd only been on Coruscant for a day and there had not exactly been time to unpack. Artie collected a few scattered belongings she'd left at the apartment the last time they left and threw them in her bag. Really, she didn't own very many things.

Absently twisting one of rods in her left ear, Artie ambled to her window that overlooked the glittering Galactic City. She gazed down at the skylane traffic, watching as speeders sped on their way, as cruisers glided over them in the higher lanes. The city floor was no less crowded, crawling with all manners of life, all looking the size of ewoks from her view. There truly was no rest on this planet, and Artie was not ailed to be leaving.

With most everything already collected together, Artie only needed to snatch a few shirts from the closet and stuff them back into her single bag—she wasn't taking much. As Artemis made her way to the closet, she passed her vanity and something caught her eye. Flooded with relief, she hurried to grab it. How could she have forgotten?

She took the small, crystalline bottle of fragrance everywhere. She'd bought it soon after Padmé took her in, on her first visit to Naboo. The bottle was still full, as Artie wasn't much one for perfume, but she kept it because the scent reminded her of her mother. It rekindled what few memories she had left. Artie meant to pick the bottle up in passing, but her fingers slipped and knocked it over the edge of the table. She whipped around, hands outstretched, but she was too far away. "No!"

It didn't shatter. The bottle hovered inches above the floor, teetering slightly, before flying up to land in Anakin's open palm, not a drop spilled.

"You ought to take better care of your things, sweetheart," he chided, pressing the vial into her hand. Artie eyed him as he continued over to her window seat, sitting down as if he did so everyday.

"I told you not to call me that," Artie reminded him, hurrying to her bag and slipping the vial in between the folds of her clothes.

Anakin smiled teasingly at her. "Looks like you still don't know how to say 'thank you.' "

"I was getting to that," Artie said without meeting his eye. "Thank you. For last night, too. There's no way I can make it up to you."

Anakin gave her a funny look. "It's not about that. I wasn't just going to let you die—and I'm sure you'd do the same for me."

Artie managed a tight-lipped smile. "Guess I'm not too familiar with favors without repayment."

"Well, it is the Jedi way," he said with a tilted grin, something like irony in his voice. Artie wondered how aligned he really was with the Code. "I did come to ask you something, though."

"Yeah?"

"Back at the club, when Wessel tried to shoot you," Anakin began, "you knew she was there. How? I didn't even notice until I heard your blaster."

Artie's heart hammered in her chest. How could she explain the bizarre feeling that had gripped her? The voice in her head that seemed to pipe up in the most dangerous moments. The moments she needed guidance. Clarity. She twisted an earring. "Luck, I guess," she said as evenly as she could. Could Jedi sense lies? "I've been in plenty of scuffles before. Tatooine isn't the safest planet, in case you forgot. I just . . . felt like someone was watching me. Thankfully I turned around when I did."

"You felt something right before Padmé was attacked," Anakin pressed. "Didn't you? Like a pull towards her. You knew something was wrong."

"I don't think it—"

"It sounds like the Force stirring, if you ask me," Anakin cut in.

"I didn't," Artie snapped. A sweat broke out on her palms. How could he suggest that? Force-sensitivity didn't appear in grown people—it would have been noticed when she was a child. A baby, really. You didn't see any eighteen-year-old Padawans, did you?

But . . . it would be an explanation.

"You're not even a little curious?" Anakin said. "I sense something in you, Artie, even if you don't want to admit it."

"Why do you care?" Artie asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Want to make me your Padawan and boss me around for the rest of my life?"

"No," Anakin said at once. "I'm just saying that you can't ignore it."

"Anakin, there's nothing to ignore," Artie insisted. "If I was Force-sensitive, my parents would have left me at the temple and not in the middle of the desert. They didn't want me anyway, it's not like they would be missing something."

Anakin's cocksure expression faltered. "Artie, I'm—"

She waved him off. "Spare me, it's fine. I'm just telling you it doesn't make sense."

Anakin watched her for several moments, a small frown furrowing in between his eyebrows. "I don't mean to upset you."

"You haven't upset me!" Artie cried. "I'm just disagreeing with you. And anyway," she folded her arms, "if I had been raised in the Temple, I can't say I'd be too happy about it. I don't think I'd like being a Jedi."

"Why's that?"

"Because your code is ridiculous," Artie said. "No emotion? No ignorance? No passion? How is that expected of you? You are still human, aren't you? You should be allowed to see your mother and you should be allowed to have interests other than . . . meditation."

She inhaled sharply, suddenly remembering her manners. Artie expected to have offended Anakin. After all, he'd been training under the Jedi code for years and surely he had grown accustomed to the oath. She'd just insulted his whole life's purpose. But, to her absolute disbelief, Anakin broke out into a satisfied smile.

"That's fair," he said, "and I agree. I'm glad you you think so."

Artie eyed him. "Why?"

Anakin shrugged. "Most people practically worship the Jedi. I'm not saying we don't do good things, but we're not gods. You're different in that way."

"Meaning what?" Artie asked.

Anakin kept up his grin, but it lost its arrogant shade and became softer. "Meaning you think."

note.
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