Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith

by Patricia C. Wrede

  Anakin? Padmé stared at him. In the years she had known him, she had never once heard him speak like this. Usually, Anakin refused to talk about anything remotely political. It was the one thing they had never agreed on. But now, at last, he seemed to be looking beyond the straightforward questions of which assignment he would be given and how best to complete it. It gave her the courage to say something she had been thinking for months while she watched Chancellor Palpatine grow ever stronger and more powerful: “Have you ever considered that we may be on the wrong side?”

  Anakin stiffened and looked at her suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

  “What if the democracy we thought we were serving no longer exists?” Padmé said, voicing her most secret fear. “What if the Republic has become the very evil we have been fighting to destroy?”

  “I don’t believe that, Padmé,” Anakin said, a little too vehemently. “You sound like a Separatist!”

  “Anakin, this war represents a failure to listen,” Padmé persisted. “You’re closer to the Chancellor than anyone. Please, please—ask him to stop the fighting and let diplomacy resume.”

  She reached out to him as she spoke, but he pulled back. “Don’t ask me to do that, Padmé,” he said furiously. “Make a motion in the Senate, where that kind of request belongs!” He turned away. “I’m not your errand boy. I’m not anyone’s errand boy!”

  Something’s wrong. Padmé set her own worries aside, and gently touched his arm. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” But there were worlds of anger and hurt in his tone.

  She waited, hoping he would relent and explain, but he stayed stubbornly silent. “Don’t do this,” Padmé said. “Don’t shut me out. Let me help you.”

  “You can’t help me,” Anakin told her sadly. He tried to smile. “I’m trying to help you. I sense there are things you are not telling me.”

  Has he heard something about the talk in the Senate? Padmé stared at him. I can’t ask. If he hasn’t, I’d betray people who trust me. And it isn’t fair to ask Anakin to keep the secret if he doesn’t fully agree with our position. “I sense there are things you are not telling me,” she said, hoping that he would open up to her at last.

  Anakin’s eyes widened, and he looked away. I was right; there is something. But he didn’t say anything. Perhaps he can’t. Perhaps he’s been sworn to secrecy, the same way I’ve been.

  She shook her head, trying to banish an image of the two of them standing close together, longing for each other but unable to pass through the invisible wall that separated them. “Hold me,” she said. She reached for Anakin, trying to deny the wall, or at least make some breach in it that would bring back the hope and happiness she had felt only moments earlier. “Hold me like you did by the lake on Naboo, so long ago, when there was nothing but our love. No politics, no plotting—”

  Anakin’s face twisted, as if he, too, would like to recapture that magical, lost time. Not lost, please, not lost forever. As he took her in his arms, she finished in a whisper, “—no war,” and his grip tightened. But in spite of his warm presence, she could not help feeling that they were farther apart than they had been a few days before, when he was in the Outer Rim and she was here on Coruscant.

  I don’t like all these good-byes, Obi-Wan thought, looking across the Jedi gunship at Mace Windu and Master Yoda. He wondered where the thought had come from. Jedi were always departing on missions; it never used to bother him, whether he was the one leaving or the one staying behind. It’s the war, he decided. Too many Jedi are leaving and not coming back.

  “Anakin did not take to his assignment with much enthusiasm,” Obi-Wan said, breaking the silence.

  “Too much under the sway of the Chancellor, he is,” Yoda said, shaking his head.

  “This is a dangerous move, putting them together,” Mace warned. “I’m not sure the boy can handle it.”

  “He’ll be all right,” Obi-Wan said, trying to feel as confident as he sounded. “I trust him with my life.”

  “I don’t,” Mace replied.

  Startled, Obi-Wan looked at Mace. Surely there was no longer any question of trusting Anakin! He might not be the perfect ideal of a Jedi Knight, but he had proven his abilities again and again. And besides—“With all due respect, Master, is he not the Chosen One? The One who will destroy the Sith and bring balance to the Force?”

  “So the prophecy says.” Mace’s tone was skeptical.

  “A prophecy misread that could have been,” Yoda pointed out.

  “Anakin will not let me down,” Obi-Wan insisted. “He never has.”

  “I hope that right you are,” Yoda said heavily as the gunship landed. The doors swung open, and the little Jedi Master rose. “And now, destroy the droid armies on Kashyyyk, I will. May the Force be with you.”

  Mace and Obi-Wan echoed the formal farewell as Yoda stumped down the ramp to meet the clone assault troops preparing for departure. As the gunship rose and headed for the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan frowned. Never before had he heard the other Jedi Masters state their opinion of Anakin so plainly. And he couldn’t keep from wondering…

  How can Anakin trust us, if we don’t trust him?

  Even in the middle of a war, elegance and ease filled the Galaxies opera house. The most important and cultured members of the government went there to watch the best performers in the Republic. For a few hours, they could pretend there was no war.

  But even here, Anakin thought, the war had changed things. Fewer of the Senators and admin-istrators came to the opera house; the seats were crowded with less important, less busy beings. Red-robed guards stood outside the Chancellor’s private box, observing the hallway instead of the performance. The infamous Baron Papanoida loitered nearby. I wonder what he’s doing here? But no one else looked twice at Anakin, though his plain Jedi robes made him feel a little out of place amid all the magnificence.

  The guards let him into the Chancellor’s box. Anakin stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. Chancellor Palpatine was seated near the front, where he had the best view of the stage; Mas Amedda and Sly Moore sat behind him. As Anakin saw him, Palpatine raised a hand and gestured him over.

  “I have good news,” Palpatine said softly, as Anakin bent to hear him. “Our Clone Intelligence Units have discovered the location of General Grievous. He is hiding in the Utapau System.”

  “At last!” Anakin said. Mas Amedda frowned at him; feeling sheepish, he lowered his voice and went on, “He won’t escape us this time.”

  Palpatine smiled and nodded, but Anakin wasn’t sure whether the gesture was meant for him or for the Mon Calamari dancers in the liquid globe before him. “You are the best choice for this assignment,” Palpatine said after a moment. “But the Council can’t always be trusted to do the right thing.”

  “They try,” Anakin said. Then he remembered the request Obi-Wan had made. Do they? he wondered.

  “Sit down,” Palpatine said. He dismissed Amedda and Sly Moore, then leaned toward Anakin. “You know I’m not able to rely on the Jedi Council. If they haven’t included you in their plot, they soon will.”

  Anakin hesitated. “I’m not sure I understand.” Spying on the Chancellor was wrong, but it wasn’t a plot, he told himself. The Council just wanted more information.

  “The Jedi Council wants control of the Republic,” Palpatine said flatly. “They’re planning to betray me.”

  No. But Anakin wasn’t as certain as he’d been a few days ago. “I don’t think—”

  “Anakin, search your feelings,” Palpatine said gently. “You do know, don’t you?”

  “I know they don’t trust you.” Even saying that much felt like a betrayal. But surely Palpatine knew it already.

  Palpatine smiled sadly. “Or the Senate, or the Republic. Or democracy, for that matter.”

  “I have to admit, my trust in them has been shaken,” Anakin said.

  “How?”

  Anakin cou
ldn’t think of a thing to say. He couldn’t lie to the Chancellor, but telling him the truth would only make matters worse. We’re on the same side! We should be working together.

  But Palpatine nodded, as if Anakin had spoken aloud. “They asked you to spy on me, didn’t they?” he asked.

  He knows! Anakin looked down. “I don’t know what to say.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to confirm the Chancellor’s suspicions. “I’m confused.”

  “Remember back to your early teachings, Anakin,” the Chancellor said. “‘All those who gain power are afraid to lose it.’” He paused. “Even the Jedi.”

  “The Jedi use their power for good!” The way I did, when I killed Count Dooku? Anakin shook off the thought. I didn’t intend to kill him. It just…happened. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was not the way a Jedi is supposed to use his power. But a small voice in the back of his head whispered, Still, you killed him.

  “Good is a point of view, Anakin. And the Jedi point of view is not the only valid one.” Palpatine settled back more comfortably in his chair. “The Dark Lords of the Sith believe in security and justice also, yet they are considered—”

  “—evil.” Anakin was glad Palpatine had finally picked something he was sure of.

  Palpatine smiled. “Evil…from a Jedi’s point of view. Yet the Sith and the Jedi are similar in almost every way, including their quest for greater power. The difference between the two is the Sith are not afraid of the dark side of the Force. That is why they are more powerful.”

  “The Sith rely on their passion for their strength,” Anakin said. “They think inward, only about themselves.”

  “And the Jedi don’t?” Palpatine said, lifting his eyebrows skeptically.

  “The Jedi are selfless. They only care about others.”

  Palpatine’s smile grew. “Or so you’ve been trained to believe. Why is it, then, that they have asked you to do something you feel is wrong?”

  “I’m not sure it’s wrong.” The Council must have reasons he didn’t know about for asking him to spy on the Chancellor. But they wouldn’t tell me what they were. A cold, hard feeling grew inside him. What if we really aren’t all on the same side?

  “Have they asked you to betray the Jedi Code?” Palpatine asked. “The Constitution? A friendship? Your own values?”

  Anakin swallowed hard and said nothing.

  “Think,” Palpatine urged him. “Consider their motives. Keep your mind clear of assumptions. The fear of losing power is a weakness of both the Jedi and the Sith.”

  Anakin hardly heard him. He was a Jedi; it was the only thing he’d ever wanted to be, the only dream he’d ever had. I wanted to be the best Jedi ever! He’d had trouble, sometimes, living up to the Code. Like killing Dooku. He’d always thought it was harder for him than for other Jedi because he’d started the training late, but what if that wasn’t it at all? What if nobody else was really following the Code? He found himself wishing, with a strength that surprised him, for one of Obi-Wan’s stern lectures on the importance of the Code. I’ll talk to Obi-Wan about this later, he decided. Perhaps Obi-Wan could make sense of all this. Somehow.

  The Chancellor had turned back to watch the performance. After another moment, he asked, “Have you heard the legend of Darth Plagueis the Wise?”

  “No.” The change of subject was a relief. Anakin didn’t want to talk about the Jedi anymore. His feelings were too confused.

  “I thought not,” Palpatine said. He leaned back, studying Anakin in the dim light. “It’s not a story the Jedi would tell you. It’s a Sith legend. Darth Plagueis was a Dark Lord of the Sith. He had such a knowledge of the dark side that he could even keep the ones he cared about from dying.”

  Padmé! Instantly, Anakin forgot about the Jedi Council, about spying, about Obi-Wan and the Code. “He could actually keep someone safe from death?” he asked.

  “The dark side is the pathway to many abilities that some consider unnatural,” Palpatine answered in a soft voice.

  Remembering where they were, Anakin lowered his voice. “What happened to him?”

  “Unfortunately, he taught his apprentice everything he knew—and then the apprentice killed him in his sleep.” Palpatine smiled slightly. “It’s ironic that he could save others from death, but not himself.”

  Anakin remembered bending over his dying mother, knowing that there was some way to save her but unable to sense what it was. I knew the Force could keep someone from dying! I knew it! If I can find out what this Darth Plagueis learned, I can save Padmé. Trying to keep the eagerness from his voice, he asked, “Is it possible to learn this power?”

  “Not from a Jedi,” Palpatine said with finality.

  The ballet was ending. Palpatine joined briefly in the applause, then gestured to Anakin to precede him out the door. Anakin nodded, but he was still preoccupied with what Palpatine had told him. The Jedi archives contained considerable information about the Sith, Anakin knew, but access to that information was restricted to Jedi Masters. And I’m not a Master. His lips tightened in a combination of anger and determination. I don’t care. Somehow, I am going to find out how to do what Darth Plagueis did. I am going to save Padmé. I will do anything to save her.

  Anything.

  Yoda’s long ears drooped as he watched the hologram of Mace Windu. The senior Jedi’s arguments were unchanged—if the Chancellor did not end the war once General Grievous was destroyed, he must be arrested. That was as close to proof of the Chancellor’s intentions as they would ever come.

  “Troubled by this, I am,” Yoda told the image.

  “Master Yoda, I need your vote.” Mace’s voice was exasperated. “We cannot wait any longer. The Chancellor is already suspicious.”

  Yoda scowled. “Several Jedi you will need to execute the arrest.”

  “I have chosen three of our best, Master.” Mace sounded as if he was trying to be patient. Yoda suppressed a snort. Master Windu was not known for his patience.

  “Cunning, Palpatine is,” Yoda warned. “Caught by surprise, he will not be.”

  “Then you support my plan?”

  Yoda hesitated. Listen, he does not. Yet move we must, or too late it will be. “My vote you have. May the Force be with you.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  As the hologram faded, Yoda heard a commotion behind him. He turned to find two Wookiees confronting one of the clone commanders. “Let him pass, Chewie,” Yoda said.

  The clone commander entered and saluted. “The clones are in position,” he informed them.

  Time it is to think of the present. Yoda nodded and stumped out onto the balcony where he and the commander could observe and direct the coming battle. Long practice let him focus on the needs of now, but the problem of the Chancellor lay like a bruise at the back of his mind. What would happen when General Grievous was found and defeated at last?

  Anakin is having trouble adjusting to his new position, Obi-Wan thought as the two men walked toward the docking bay. His former apprentice had brought the Chancellor’s news straight to the Jedi Council—General Grievous was on Utapau. But Anakin hadn’t been happy when the Council assigned Obi-Wan to lead the attack alone. He needs time, that’s all. Joining the Council is a big adjustment.

  It didn’t help that Chancellor Palpatine had recommended Anakin for the job. Doesn’t the Chancellor realize how awkward it is for Anakin to come into the Council and say, “The Chancellor wants me to lead the attack?” It makes him sound arrogant, when he’s just passing on Palpatine’s requests. But the Chancellor wasn’t likely to listen to Obi-Wan’s advice on how to handle Anakin Skywalker.

  As they came out onto the platform above the docking bay, Anakin broke the silence at last. “You’re going to need me on this one, Master,” he said.

  “I agree,” Obi-Wan replied. When they’d rescued the Chancellor, Grievous had been too fast for both of them together; how would Obi-Wan beat the droid general alone? He forced a smile. “
It may be nothing more than a wild bantha chase,” he said, as much to reassure himself as Anakin.

  Anakin started to say something, then stopped. Obi-Wan waited a moment. When Anakin remained silent, he turned to leave. The thousands of clone troopers didn’t really need his supervision to load themselves into the transports, but it never hurt to be sure.

  “Master!”

  Obi-Wan stopped and looked back. Anakin walked toward him and bent his head in apology.

  “Master,” Anakin said again, “I’ve disappointed you. I have been arrogant. I have not been very appreciative of your training. I apologize. I’m just so frustrated with the Council. But your friendship means everything to me.”

  All Obi-Wan’s love for this difficult, talented, headstrong apprentice rushed forward. Anakin had his faults, but he was a good man. He always came through. Smiling, Obi-Wan put a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “You are wise and strong, Anakin. I am very proud of you.” A little embarrassed by the depth of his own feelings, he tried for a more lighthearted note. “This is the first time we’ve worked separately. Hopefully, it will be the last.”

  Anakin nodded. Feeling much happier, Obi-Wan started down the ramp toward the clone troops. Then the full force of his own words hit him, and he realized that Anakin might be as worried about him as he was about Anakin. He turned.

  “Don’t worry,” he told Anakin. “I have enough clones with me to take three systems the size of Utapau.” He waved at the ranks of white-armored clones below, and smiled. “I think I’ll be able to handle the situation—even without your help.”

  “Well, there’s always a first time,” Anakin replied. His grin seemed a little strained, but the teasing tone was pure mischief.

  Obi-Wan laughed. “Good-bye, old friend. May the Force be with you.”

  “May the Force be with you,” Anakin echoed. His voice was serious—almost somber.

  As Obi-Wan walked toward the waiting starcruiser, uneasiness struck him. This is just an ordinary mission, he told himself. I’ll be back in a week or two. If something’s bothering Anakin, we can talk about it then.