Bail nodded somberly, and turned his speeder toward the spaceport. Obi-Wan, we will look for, Yoda thought. Better fortune, he may have had.
From the damaged podium, Darth Sidious watched his clone troopers search the shadows. Mas Amedda had brought them, too late to help do anything but clean up.
Sidious knew he should have been pleased with the outcome of the fight. He had won, though it had been a near thing. But an uneasiness was growing within him, a sense of some threat not yet resolved.
Below, the clone commander boarded a Senate pod and rose to the level of the podium. “There is no sign of his body, sir,” he reported, saluting.
“Then he is not dead,” Mas Amedda replied.
Sidious nodded and reached out with the dark side, trying to sense where his enemy was hiding. As he did, the feeling of risk grew stronger, and he understood. Not a threat to him, but to his apprentice. He must see to this personally. “Double your search,” he told the clone commander, though he doubted they would find anything. He turned to Mas Amedda. “Tell Captain Kagi to prepare my shuttle for immediate takeoff. I sense Lord Vader is in danger.”
Mas Amedda bowed. “Yes, my Master.”
Crossing the collection pipe was difficult, even for a Jedi. At one point, Obi-Wan slipped and nearly fell into the lava, but his Jedi reflexes and agility let him recover. On the far side, Anakin rushed him again, driving him back onto the collection plates.
But the collection plant had never been designed to take the weight of two men, and in the heat of the battle in the control room, they had smashed the shield controls that protected the plant from fiery lava, weakening the structure. A spray of lava from the river that melted one of the supports provided the final straw. A huge section of a collection arm broke away and fell into the lava, carrying the two Jedi with it.
Still the fight continued, even as the collection tower sank slowly into the lava. And still, neither man could gain an advantage.
But that’s not really true, Obi-Wan thought as he ducked and wove and parried. Both he and Anakin felt the anguish of their need to kill the other. But Anakin had turned to the dark side, and despair and pain strengthened the dark side. It gave him an advantage Obi-Wan could not match. Unless he let go of his own despair and let the living Force move him—the Force that bound all living things together, even Obi-Wan and this new, deadly, evil Anakin.
It was hard. It was, perhaps, the hardest thing he had ever tried to do. For in letting go of his anguish, his despair, and his pain, he would have to let go of the Anakin who was his student, his brother, and his dearest friend. He’d have to admit that this time, he could not save the man who had saved his life so many times, whose life he had saved at least as often.
Obi-Wan couldn’t do it. As the collection tower sank farther into the lava, he looked for a way to escape. A droid platform floated on air near the tower. Obi-Wan took another swipe at Anakin, then grabbed a hanging cable and swung out toward the platform. At the height of his swing, he flipped himself into the air, landing precisely.
The platform wobbled, but it held his weight. He leaned to one side, steering it away from the collection tower. Perhaps the sinking tower and the lava would do what he had been unable to finish.
But when he looked back, Anakin was standing on a worker droid, coming up fast. “Your combat skills have always been poor,” he taunted. “You’re called the Negotiator because you can’t fight!”
“I have failed you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan told him. “I was never able to teach you to think.”
Anakin nodded. “I should have known the Jedi were plotting to take over.”
“From the Sith!” Obi-Wan cried, shocked. “Anakin, Chancellor Palpatine is evil.”
“From the Jedi point of view!” Anakin retorted. “From my point of view, the Jedi are evil.”
The words stabbed at Obi-Wan, even though he knew that Anakin was speaking out of his own pain. He felt the dark side grow stronger, feeding on his despair. And then, as Anakin came close enough to swing his lightsaber once more, the Jedi in Obi-Wan rose up and at last he did the thing he hadn’t thought he could do.
He let go. Calm, centered, free—for the moment—of sorrow and despair, resting in the living Force as he had been trained to do, Obi-Wan Kenobi looked at his former friend and student, and did the unexpected. He made a soaring leap into the air and landed on the high bank of the lava river.
“It’s over, Anakin,” he said, looking down. “I have the high ground. Don’t try it.”
“You underestimate the power of the dark side!” Anakin shot back, and with the last word, he jumped.
And Obi-Wan’s lightsaber moved, slicing through Anakin’s knees and then coming up to take his remaining hand. Anakin’s lightsaber fell at Obi-Wan’s feet. What was left of Anakin fell on the burning black sand almost at the edge of the lava.
Anakin—no, Obi-Wan reminded himself, not Anakin. Darth Vader. Darth Vader scrabbled at the sand with his metal arm, trying to pull himself away from the lava river. Obi-Wan looked down at the maimed body, and at last felt tears sting his eyes. “You were the Chosen One,” he said, not to Darth Vader, but to his dead friend Anakin, the man whose spirit Darth Vader had murdered. “You were supposed to destroy the Sith, not join them. You were to bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness.” He swallowed hard. He couldn’t see the body through his tears; he could barely make out the shine of Anakin’s lightsaber on the ground at his feet.
“I hate you!” Vader screamed.
As Obi-Wan bent and picked up Anakin’s fallen lightsaber, Darth Vader slipped too close to the lava, and his clothes caught fire. In an instant, the flames engulfed him, and he screamed. Obi-Wan stared in horror, unable to make himself move. But as the flames began to die, he murmured his response to Darth Vader’s final cry of anger and hate: “You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you.”
The screams died, and the flames. Dashing tears from his eyes, Obi-Wan turned away—and saw a shuttle coming in to land. Whoever it was, Obi-Wan didn’t want to meet him. He ran back to Padmé’s skiff. C-3PO and R2-D2 had already taken Padmé on board, and he was glad. All he wanted now was to get away from this place. Later…later he might be able to think about what would come next.
As the Imperial shuttle closed its wings and settled on the topmost landing platform, Darth Sidious saw a small starship fleeing from Mustafar. But he could not order the shuttle into pursuit—the uneasy urgency was stronger than ever, and it was tied to the planet, not the ship.
The clone troopers disembarked first, fanning out through the quiet building to make sure nothing would endanger their Emperor. They found only bodies. Then, as Darth Sidious inspected the control room, one of the troopers came in through an exterior door.
“There’s something out here,” he reported.
That’s it. As quickly as he could, Darth Sidious followed the troopers outside, onto the black sand banks of a lava river. A charred heap lay on one side. No; it can’t be!
But it was. His promising new apprentice, who was to be the greatest Sith who’d ever lived—maimed and burned, perhaps dead. Darth Sidious ground his teeth in frustrated anger. Part of him wanted to turn on his heel and leave what was left of Darth Vader to burn to ashes in the rising lava. Even if he was alive, even if he could be saved, Vader would be crippled.
And not just with his mechanical limbs. The Force—dark side as well as light—was generated by living beings, and it took living flesh to manipulate it. Darth Vader would never be able to cast blue Force lightning; that required living hands, not metal ones. And with so much of his body replaced by machinery, he would never come close to the potential he’d had.
It was a great pity, Darth Sidious thought, controlling his anger, but perhaps not irreparable. Even diminished, Darth Vader would still be very strong, and there were no Jedi left to challenge him. Darth Sidious had seen to that himself. So he kept walking until he could bend over the body. And to h
is surprise, his apprentice was still alive.
Relief swept his doubts away. “Get a medical capsule immediately,” Darth Sidious commanded, and clones ran off to do his bidding. Leaning down, he placed a hand on Darth Vader’s forehead, using the dark side to keep him alive.
When they fled from Coruscant, Yoda left their destination to Bail Organa. The Senator chose an obscure archaeological project on the asteroid Polis Massa. There they set up a homing beacon, and waited hopefully for Obi-Wan.
With nothing to do but wait, Yoda automatically found a quiet room and sat down to meditate. The being who had been trying to contact him surely could not reach through the newly strengthened fog of the dark side, but the habit had become strong. And to his surprise, this time the contact succeeded.
Qui-Gon Jinn! No wonder the presence had felt familiar. Still much to learn, there is.
Patience, Qui-Gon responded. You will have the time I did not. With my help, you will be able to merge with the Force at will, and still retain your individual consciousness.
Eternal life, Yoda marveled.
The story of Darth Plagueis was true, in a way. The ability to defy death can be achieved, but only for oneself. It was never accomplished by Darth Plagueis, only by a Shaman of the Whills, and it will never be achieved by a Sith Lord. It is a state acquired through compassion, not greed.
To become one with the Force, and influence still have. The thought was stunning. A power greater than all, it is. Yoda bowed his head. A great Jedi Master, you have become, Qui-Gon Jinn. Your apprentice, I gratefully become.
He felt the former Jedi’s approval, just before Bail Organa entered to tell him that Obi-Wan was landing. The contact was broken, but Yoda knew that Qui-Gon would have no future difficulty in reaching him, now that he had done it once. At least some good news, there was to tell Obi-Wan.
When the skiff landed, Obi-Wan jumped from the pilot’s chair and gently lifted the still-unconscious Padmé. Yoda and Bail were waiting at the bottom of the ramp. Bail took one shocked look at Padmé and said, “Take her to the medical center, quickly.”
They have a medical center; good. Obi-Wan had been half afraid that the medical facilities on an isolated asteroid would be too primitive to deal with whatever ailed Padmé. She should have come around once Darth Vader stopped choking her, but she hadn’t—but Obi-Wan didn’t know much about pregnant women. Maybe something else was wrong.
With relief, he handed Padmé over to the medical droids and went to sit in the observation room with Bail and Yoda. Moments later, one of the droids came up to the window. “Medically, she is completely healthy,” the droid said. “For reasons we can’t explain, we are losing her.”
“She’s dying?” Obi-Wan said, horrified. No, no! He couldn’t take another loss like this.
But the medical droid bobbed its head. “We don’t know why. She has lost the will to live.”
I know why, Obi-Wan thought. Anakin has broken her heart.
“We need to operate quickly if we are to save the babies,” the droid continued. “She’s carrying twins.”
“Save them, we must,” Yoda commanded. “They are our last hope.”
The medical droids went to work. They insisted that Obi-Wan join them, though he wasn’t sure what he could do. But the droids felt that human contact would help, and—these were Anakin’s children, and this was the last thing Obi-Wan could do for his dead friend. He stood by, holding Padmé’s hand and feeling helpless.
As the droids delivered the first of the babies, Padmé stirred. She looked at Obi-Wan in puzzlement; then she saw the medical droids and seemed to realize what was happening. “Is it a girl?” she whispered.
“We don’t know,” Obi-Wan said, feeling harried. “In a minute.”
“It’s a boy,” the medical droid said, holding him up. The baby was wrinkled and red-faced, his eyes squeezed tightly shut against the light, but Padmé smiled and reached for him. “Luke,” she said, her fingers just brushing his forehead.
“And a girl,” the second droid said. Unlike her brother, this baby’s eyes were wide, and she stared in Padmé’s direction as if she wanted to see and memorize her face.
“Leia,” Padmé said.
“You have twins, Padmé,” Obi-Wan told her. “They need you. Hang on!”
Padmé’s head rolled back and forth on the bed in a gesture of negation. “I can’t,” she whispered. Wincing, she reached for Obi-Wan’s hand. She was holding something—a carved piece of wood on a long cord.
“Save your energy,” Obi-Wan told her, but she held up the carving as if it were something precious.
“Obi-Wan,” Padmé gasped. “There is good in him.” She paused, panting. “I know there…is…still…” Her voice faded, and her hand dropped away. Obi-Wan felt the life leave her.
She believed in Anakin until the end, he thought, and bowed his head. He didn’t know whether his tears were for Padmé or for his lost friend, or both.
The medical capsule kept Darth Vader alive during the trip to Coruscant. Medical droids from the Imperial Rehabilitation Center on Coruscant, the best in the galaxy, were ready and waiting, thanks to the Emperor’s urgent message. They examined their patient at once. Much work was necessary, they reported. The amputations alone would have been a simple matter of replacement; it was the burns that made matters so difficult. Special connections would be required to overcome the scarring. Worse, Darth Vader’s lungs had been seared by the fire. He would need a permanent ventilator system in order to breathe. And—
“Do it,” the Emperor snapped.
The droids bobbed their consent and went to work. Darth Sidious paced. Even an Emperor, even the Dark Lord of the Sith, with all the resources and technology of the new Galactic Empire behind him, can do little to hurry the healing process.
Much later, a medical droid appeared. “My lord, the construction is finished,” the droid informed him. “He lives.”
“Good,” Darth Sidious said with something very like relief. “Good.”
The droid brought him to the operating room. A black figure lay on the operating table. Black gloves and boots covered the new mechanical limbs; a mirror shiny black mask hid the scarred face. The table began to tilt, moving the figure to an upright position. There was the sound of breathing.
Yes, Darth Sidious thought. He will terrify them. And even if he is not as powerful as I had once hoped, he will still be far more powerful than anyone else.
“Lord Vader,” Darth Sidious said. “You may rise.”
A deep voice, distorted by the speakers inside the mask, responded. “Yes, my Master.” The helmet turned, as if the burned and weakened eyes within were scanning the room, adjusting to the screens in the helmet that magnified and intensified everything so that they could pretend to see. “Where is Padmé? Is she all right?”
And now, the final touch, Darth Sidious thought. The words that will bind him forever to the dark side. And they won’t even be a lie, not really. “I’m afraid she died,” he said, putting a hint of gentle sorrow and reproach into his voice. “It seems that in your anger, you killed her.”
Vader groaned in protest. And then he screamed. Leaning forward, he broke the straps that had held him to the table, and screamed again. Things imploded and flew around the room—spare parts, droids, anything that wasn’t tied down—as Darth Vader gave expression to his pain and despair.
And while Darth Vader screamed, Darth Sidious smiled. His apprentice was his, now. Forever.
The conference room on Bail Organa’s starcruiser looked exactly like every other conference room Obi-Wan had ever sat in. He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t feel up to making decisions about the future, and he certainly didn’t want to think about the past. But he and Yoda and Bail were the only ones left to decide. So there he sat, trying to make his tired brain think about what to do with the body of his best friend’s wife, and with the two infants who were, perhaps, the last hope of the galaxy.
“To Naboo, send her body,” Yoda said. “Pregnant, she must still appear. Hidden, safe, the children must be kept.”
“Someplace where the Sith will not sense their presence,” Obi-Wan said.
“Split up, they should be.”
Bail Organa raised his head. “My wife and I will take the girl. We’ve always talked of adopting a baby girl. She will be loved with us.”
Hidden in plain sight, Obi-Wan thought, and nodded. “What about the boy?”
“To Tatooine. To his family, send him.”
Remembering that harsh, dry planet, Obi-Wan winced. But there was nowhere else, and Tatooine was a world on the margins—the Hutt crime lords who ruled it had never been part of the Galactic Republic, and they would keep their distance from the Empire as well. “I will take the child there, and watch over him,” Obi-Wan said. He looked at Yoda, wanting reassurance he knew Yoda could not give him. “Master Yoda, do you think Anakin’s twins will be able to defeat Darth Sidious?”
“Strong the Force runs, in the Skywalker line,” Yoda replied. “Only hope, we can.” He looked at Bail. “Done then, it is. Until the time is right, disappear we will.”
Bail nodded and left to give orders to his pilot. Obi-Wan rose to leave as well.
“Wait a moment, Master Kenobi,” Yoda said.
Obi-Wan turned, thinking What now?
“In your solitude on Tatooine, training I have for you.”
“Training?” He had never heard of any Jedi training for Masters.
Yoda smiled. “An old friend has learned the path to immortality—your old Master, Qui-Gon Jinn.”
“Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan stared. “But…how?”
“The secrets of the Ancient Order of the Whills, he studied,” Master Yoda said. “How to commune with him, I will teach you.”
“I will be able to talk with him?”
Yoda nodded, and some of the old, old grief that had lived with Obi-Wan since his Master’s death lifted. “How to join the Force, he will train you. Your consciousness you will retain, when one with the Force. Even your physical self, perhaps.”
Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith Page 12
