"What does this have to do with Anakin?" She swallowed, but her voice stayed tight and thin. "And with me?"
"I fear that some of his current... difficulty... has to do with your relationship."
If you only knew how much, she thought. "What do you want me to do?"
He looked down. "I cannot tell you what to do, Padme. I can only ask you to consider Anakin's best interests. You know the two of you can never be together while he remains in the Order."
A bleak chill settled into her chest. "Obi-Wan, I can't talk about this."
"Very well. But remember that the Jedi are his family. The Order gives his life structure. It gives him a direction. You know how... undisciplined he can be."
And that's why he is the only Jedi I could ever love... "Yes. Yes, of course."
"If his true path leads him away from the Jedi, so be it. But please, for both of your sakes, tread carefully. Be sure. Some decisions can never be reversed."
"Yes," she said slowly. Feelingly. "I know that too well."
He nodded as though he understood, though of course he did not understand at all. "We all do, these days."
A soft chiming came from within his robe. "Excuse me " he said, and turned aside, producing a comlink from an inner pocket. "Yes... ?"
A man's voice came thinly through the comlink, deep and clipped: "We are calling the Council into special session. We've located General Grievous!"
"Thank you, Master Windu," Obi-Wan said. "I'm on my way."
General Grievous? Her eyes went hot, and stung with sudden tears. And so they would take her Anakin away from her again.
She felt a stirring below her ribs. Away from us, she amended, and there was so much love and fear and joy and loss all swirling and clashing within her that she dared not speak. She only stared blindly out across the smog-shrouded cityscape as Obi-Wan came close to her shoulder.
"Padme," he said softly. Gently. Almost regretfully. "I will not tell the Council of this. Any of it. I'm very sorry to burden you with this, and I—I hope I haven't upset you too much. We have all been friends for so long... and I hope we always will be."
"Thank you, Obi-Wan," she said faintly. She couldn't look at him. From the corner of her eye she saw him incline his head respectfully and turn to go.
For a moment she said nothing, but as his footsteps receded she said, "Obi-Wan?"
She heard him stop.
"You love him, too, don't you?"
When he didn't answer, she turned to look. He stood motionless, frowning, in the middle of the expanse of buff carpeting.
"You do. You love him."
He lowered his head. He looked very alone.
"Please do what you can to help him," he said, and left.
The holoscan of Utapau rotated silently in the center of the Jedi Council Chamber. Anakin had brought the holoprojector from the Chancellor's office; Obi-Wan wondered idly if the projector had been scanned for recording devices planted by the Chancellor to spy on their meeting, then dismissed the thought. In a sense, Anakin was the Chancellor's recording device. And that's our fault, he thought.
The only Council members physically present, other than Obi-Wan and Anakin, were Mace Windu and Agen Kolar. The Council reached a quorum by the projected holopresences of Ki-Adi-Mundi, en route to Mygeeto, Plo Koon on Cato Neimoidia, and Yoda, who was about to make planetfall on Kashyyyk.
"Why Utapau?" Mace Windu was saying. "A neutral system, of little strategic significance, and virtually no planetary defense force—"
"Perhaps that is itself the reason," Agen Kolar offered. "Easily taken, and their sinkhole-based culture can hide a tremendous number of droids from long-range scans." Ki-Adi-Mundi's frown wrinkled the whole length of his forehead. "Our agents on Utapau have made no report of this."
"They may be detained, or dead," Obi-Wan said. Mace Windu leaned toward Anakin, scowling. "How could the Chancellor have come by this information when we know nothing about it?"
"Clone Intelligence intercepted a partial message in a diplomatic packet from the Chairman of Utapau," Anakin told him. "We've only managed to verify its authenticity within the past hour."
Obi-Wan felt a frown crawl onto his forehead at the way Anakin now referred to the Chancellor's Office as we... "Clone Intelligence," Mace said heavily, "reports to us."
"I beg your pardon, Master Windu, but that is no longer the case." Though Anakin's expression was perfectly solemn, Obi-Wan thought he could detect a hint of satisfaction in his young friend's voice. "I thought it had been already made clear. The constitutional amendment bringing the Jedi under the Chancellor's Office naturally includes troops commanded by Jedi. Palpatine is now Supreme Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic."
"Pointless it is, to squabble over jurisdiction," the image of Yoda said. "Act on this, we must."
"I believe we all agree on that," Anakin said briskly. "Let's move to the operational planning. The Chancellor has requested that I lead this mission, and so I—"
"The Council will decide this," Mace said sternly. "Not the Chancellor."
"Dangerous, Grievous is. To face him, steady minds are needed-Masters, we should send."
Perhaps of all the Council, only Obi-Wan could detect the shadow of disappointment and hurt that crept into Anakin's eyes. Obi-Wan understood perfectly, and could even sympathize: to take the field would have slipped Anakin out from under the pressures of what he saw as his conflicting duties.
"Given the strain on our current resources," Mace Windu said, "I recommend we send only one Jedi—Master Kenobi."
Which would leave Mace and Agen Kolar—both among the greatest bladesbeings the Jedi Order had ever produced—here on Coruscant in case Sidious did indeed take this opportunity to make a dramatic move. Not to mention Anakin, who was a brigade's worth of firepower in his own right.
Obi-Wan nodded. Perfectly logical. Everyone would agree. Except Anakin. He leaned forward, red climbing his cheeks. "He wasn't so successful the last time he met Grievous!"
"Anakin—" Obi-Wan began.
"No offense, my Master. I am only stating a fact."
"Oh no, not at all. You're quite right. But I have a feel for how he fights now—and for how he runs away. I am certain I can catch him."
"Master—"
"And you, my young friend, have duties here on Coruscant. Extremely important duties, that require your full attention," Obi-Wan reminded him. "Am I being clear?"
Anakin didn't answer. He sank back into his chair and turned away.
"Obi-Wan, my choice is," Yoda said.
Ki-Adi-Mundi's image nodded. "I concur. Let's put it to a vote."
Mace Windu counted nods. "Six in favor."
He waited, looking at Anakin. "Further comment?"
Anakin only stared at the wall.
After a moment, Mace shrugged.
"It is unanimous."
Senator Chi Eekway accepted a tube of Aqualish hoi-broth from C-3PO's refeshment tray. "I am very grateful to be included here," she said, her dewlaps jiggling as she tilted her blue head in a gesture around Padme's living room at the gathering of Senators. "I speak directly only for my own sector, of course, but I can tell you that many Senators are becoming very nervous indeed. You may not know that the new governors are arriving with full regiments of clone troops—what they call security forces. We all have begun to wonder if these regiments are intended to protect us from the Separatists... or to protect the governors from us."
Padme looked up from the document reader in her hand "I have... reliable information... that General Grievous has bee located, and that the Jedi are already moving against his position. The war may be over in a matter of days."
"But what then?" Bail Organa leaned forward, elbows to knees, fingers laced together. "How to we make Palpatine withdraw his governors? How do we stop him from garrisoning troops in all our systems?"
"We don't have to make him do anything," Padme said reasonably. "The Senate granted him executive powers only for the durati
on of the emergency—"
"Yet it is only Palpatine himself who has the authority to declare when the emergency is over," Bail countered. "How do we make him surrender power back to the Senate?"
Chi Eekway shifted backward. "There are many who are willing to do just that," she said. "Not just my own people. Many Senators. We are ready to make him surrender power."
Padme snapped the document reader closed. She looked from Senator to Senator expressionlessly. "Would anyone care for further refreshment?"
"Senator Amidala," Eekway said, "I fear you don't understand—"
"Senator Eekway. Another hoi-broth?"
"No, that's—"
"Very well, then." She looked up at C-3PO. "Threepio, that will be all. Please tell Motee and Elle that they are dismissed for the day, then you are free to power down for a while."
"Thank you, Mistress," Threepio replied. "Though I must say, this discussion has been most stimu—"
"Threepio." Padme's tone went a trace extra firm. "That will be all."
"Yes, Mistress. Of course. I quite understand." The droid turned stiffly and shuffled out of the room. As soon as 3PO was safely out of earshot, Padme brandished the document reader as though it were a weapon.
"This is a very dangerous step. We cannot let this turn into another war."
"That's the last thing any of us wants," Bail said with a disapproving look at Senator Eekway. "Alderaan has no armed forces; we don't even have a planetary defense system. A political solution is our only option."
"Which is the purpose of this petition," Mon Mothma said, laving her soft hand over Padme's. "We're hoping that a show of solidarity within the Senate might stop Palpatine from further subverting the Constitution, that's all. With the signatures of a full two thousand Senators—"
"—we still have less than we need to stop his supermajority from amending the Constitution any way he happens to want," Padme finished for her. She weighed the reader in her hand. "I am willing to present this to Palpatine, but I am losing faith in the Senate's readiness, or even ability, to rein him in. I think we should consult the Jedi."
Because I really think they can help, or because I just can't stand to lie to my husband? She couldn't say. She hoped that both were true, though she was sure only of the second.
Bana Breemu examined her long, elegantly manicured fingertips. "That," she said remotely, "would be dangerous."
Mon Mothma nodded. "We don't know where the Jedi stand in all this."
Padme sat forward. "The Jedi aren't any happier with the situation than we are."
Senator Breemu's high-arched cheekbones made the look he gave Padme appear even more distant and skeptical. "You seem... remarkably well informed about Jedi business, Senator Amidala." Padme felt herself flush, and she didn't trust herself to answer.
Giddean Danu shook his head, doubt plainly written across his dark face. "If we are to openly oppose the Chancellor, we need the support of the Jedi. We need their moral authority. Otherwise, what do we have?"
"The moral authority of the Jedi, such as it is," Bana Breemu said, "has been spent lavishly upon war; 1 fear they have none left for politics."
"One Jedi, then," Padme offered to the others. At least let me speak the truth to my love. At least. Please, she pleaded with them silently. "There is one Jedi—one whom I truly know all of us can trust absolutely..."
Her voice trailed off into appalled silence when she realized that she wasn't talking about Anakin.
This had been all about him when she'd started—all about her love, her need to be open with him, the pain that keeping this secret stabbed her heart at each and every beat—but when the thought had turned to trust, when it became a question of someone she knew, truly and absolutely knew, she could trust—She discovered that she was talking about Obi-Wan.
Anakin... Something was breaking inside her. Oh, my love, what are they doing to us?
Chi Eekway shook her head. "Patience, Senator."
Fang Zar unknotted his fingers from his raggedly bushy beard and shrugged. "Yes, we cannot block the Chancellor's supermajority—but we can show him that opposition to his methods is growing. Perhaps that alone might persuade him to moderate his tactics."
Bana Breemu went back to examining her fingertips. "When you present the Petition of the Two Thousand, many things may change."
"But," Giddean Danu said, "will they change for the better?"
Bail Organa and Mon Mothma exchanged glances that whispered of some shared secret. Bail said slowly, "Let us see what we can accomplish in the Senate before we involve the Jedi."
And as one after another of the Senators agreed, Padme could only sit in silence. In mourning. Grieving for the sudden death of an illusion.
Anakin—Anakin, I love you. If only—
But that if only would take her to a place she could not bear to go. In the end, she could only return to the thought she feared would echo within her for the rest of her life.
Anakin, I'm sorry.
The last of the hovertanks whirred up the ramp into the sky-shrouding wedge of the assault cruiser. It was followed by rank upon immaculately regimented rank of clone troopers, marshaled by battalions, marching in perfect synchrony.
Standing alongside Obi-Wan on the landing deck, Anakin watched them go.
He couldn't quite make himself believe he wasn't going along.
It wasn't that he really wanted to go with Obi-Wan to Utapau—even though it'd be a relief to pull out of the political quagmire that was sucking him down. But how could he leave Padme now? He didn't even care anymore about being the Jedi to capture Grievous, though such a feat would almost certainly bring him his Mastery. He was no longer certain he needed to be a Master at all.
Through the long, black hours of meditation last night—meditation that was often indistinguishable from brooding—he had begun to sense a deeper truth within the Force: a submerged reality, lurking like a Sarlacc beneath the sunlit sands of Jedi training.
Somewhere down there was all the power he would ever need. So no, it wasn't that he wanted to go. It was more, inexplicably, that he wanted Obi-Wan to stay.
There was a cold void in his chest that he was afraid would soon fill with regret, and grief.
Of course there was no chance at all that Obi-Wan wouldn't go; he'd be the last Jedi in the galaxy to defy an order of the Council. Not for the first time, Anakin found himself wishing that Obi-Wan could be a little more like the late Qui-Gon. Though he'd known Qui-Gon for mere days, Anakin could almost see him right now, brow furrowing as he gently inclined his head over his shorter Padawan; he could almost hear his gentle baritone instructing Obi-Wan to be mindful of the currents of the living Force: to do one's duty is not always to do right. Concern yourself with right action. Let duty take care of itself. But he couldn't say that. Though he'd passed his trials many months ago, to Obi-Wan he was still the learner, not the Master.
All he could say was, "I have a bad feeling about this."
Obi-Wan was frowning as he watched a clone deck crew load his blue-and-white starfighter onto the assault cruiser's flight deck. "I'm sorry, Anakin. Did you say something?"
"You're going to need me on this one, Master." And he could feel an unexpected truth there, too—if he were to go along, if he could somehow bring himself to forget about Padme for a few days, if he could somehow get himself away from Palpatine and the Council and his meditations and politics and everything here on Coruscant that was dragging him this way and that way and sucking him under, if he could just tag along and play the Kenobi and Skywalker game for a few days, everything might still be all right. If only.
"It may be nothing but a wild bantha chase," Obi-Wan said. "Your job here is much more important, Anakin."
"I know: the Sith." The word left a bitter taste in Anakin's mouth. The Council's manipulation had a rank stench of politics on it. "I just—" Anakin shrugged helplessly, looking away. "I don't like you going off without me like this. It's a bad idea to split up the team. I m
ean, look what happened last time."
"Don't remind me."
"You want to go spend another few months with somebody like Ventress? Or worse?"
"Anakin." Anakin could hear a gentle smile in Obi-Wan's voice. "Don't worry. I have enough clones to take three systems the size of Utapau's. I believe I should be able to handle the situation, even without your help."
Anakin had to answer his smile. "Well, there's always a first time."
Obi-Wan said, "We're not really splitting up, Anakin. We've worked on our own many times—like when you took Padme to Naboo while I went to Kamino and Geonosis."
"And look how that turned out."
"All right, bad example," Obi-Wan admitted, his smile shading toward rueful. "Yet years later, here we all are: still alive, and still friends. My point, Anakin, is that even when we work separately, we work together. We have the same goals: end the war, and save the Republic from the Sith. As long as we're on the same side, everything will come out well in the end. I'm certain of it."
"Well..." Anakin sighed. "I suppose you could be right. You are, once in a while. Occasionally."
Obi-Wan chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Farewell, old friend."
"Master, wait." Anakin turned to face him fully. He couldn't just stand here and let him walk away. Not now. He had to say something... He had a sinking feeling he might not get another chance.
"Master...," he said hesitantly, "I know I've... disappointed you in these past few days. I have been arrogant. I have... not been very appreciative of your training, and what's worse, of your friendship. I offer no excuse, Master. My frustration with the Council... I know that none of it is your fault, and I apologize. For all of it. Your friendship means everything to me."
Obi-Wan gripped Anakin's mechanical hand, and with his other he squeezed Anakin's arm above the joining of flesh and metal. "You are wise and strong, Anakin. You are a credit to the Jedi Order, and you have far surpassed my humble efforts at instruction."
Revenge of the Sith Page 21
