by James Luceno
“So you take orders,” Palpatine said, moving with deliberate lethargy. “Which of us, then, is the lesser?” Before Grievous could reply, he added: “My death won’t end this war, General.”
Grievous had wondered about that. Understandably, Lord Sidious had his plan, but did he actually believe that Palpatine’s death would prompt the Jedi to lay down their lightsabers? Thrown into turmoil by the Chancellor’s death, could the Senate order the Jedi to stand down? After years of warfare, would the Republic suddenly capitulate?
The sound of rapid footfalls roused him, and he gestured to the bunker’s rear door. “Move,” he told Palpatine.
The MagnaGuards stepped forward to make certain that Palpatine obeyed.
Grievous hurried to the bunker’s communication console. The stud switch and control pad for the emergency beacon were precisely where Tyranus said they would be. After entering the code Tyranus had provided, Grievous pressed his alloy hand to the switch.
Palpatine watched him from the doorway. “That will call many Jedi down on you, General—some of whom you may regret having summoned.”
Grievous glared at him. “Only if they fail to challenge me.”
Word of the firefight on the landing platform reached Mace and Kit in the gunship while they were returning to Sah’c. It hadn’t taken long to piece together what had happened: the Separatists had managed to hijack a Republic gunship and infiltrate the bunker complex shield by timing their arrival to coincide with that of the ship carrying Palpatine, Shaak Ti, and the others. An ARC commander verified that the hijacked gunship had been piloted by droids, but the same ARC would neither confirm nor deny that Grievous had been aboard the destroyed ship.
That, alone, was cause for concern.
Mace and Kit thought they knew what had occurred, and hoped they were wrong.
In the white glare of spotlights, the gunship that had been brought down by RPGs was a flaming hulk, dangling from the edge of the landing pad. Even less remained of the gunship that had delivered Palpatine to the complex. Fatalities of the surprise attack—one in a series of terrible surprises now—had been removed from the scene, but the pad boasted a company of reinforcements, as well as two AT-STs that had been air-dropped by wide-winged LAAT carriers.
This time Mace and Kit didn’t wait for the gunship to touch down. Jumping from five meters up, they raced across the brightly illuminated landing platform and directly into the access tunnel. Steps into the tunnel, their worst fears were realized when they saw three troopers hauling away a MagnaGuard, holed by more blaster bolts than would have been needed to demolish a police skimmer.
The hijacked gunship had rescued Grievous after his fall from the mag-lev, Mace told himself. But had the fall been deliberate—part of an increasingly elaborate ruse—or had Grievous originally planned to abduct Palpatine from the train?
Either way, how had the cyborg general known how many of his forces to commit to such a daring plan?
Unless, of course, he had received prior intelligence on the number of Red Guards in Palpatine’s detail, and the number of troopers and other combatants stationed in the bunker complex.
Every meter of the tunnel presented Mace and Kit with fresh evidence of the ferocious fight that had taken place, in the form of slaughtered commandos and others. Without limbs, beheaded, shocked to death by EMP weapons …
Mace stopped counting after he reached forty.
The heavy, hexagonal entrance that was the terminus of the bloodstained tunnel was open. If the fight leading to the door had been fierce, the one inside the ravished bunker had been savage. Stass Allie, her face and hands blistered and her robes singed, was kneeling by the bodies of the four Jedi Knights with whom Mace had spoken briefly during the mag-lev evacuation. Only Grievous could be held accountable for what had been done to them. The same was true for those Red Guards whose corpses had been burned open by lightsaber.
Grievous had taken the blades with which the Jedi had fought.
Here, too, were the shells of two more MagnaGuards.
But Palpatine was missing.
“Sir, the Supreme Chancellor was gone by the time we arrived,” a commando explained. “His captors exited the complex by way of the south tunnels.”
Mace and Kit glanced at the door that led to those tunnels, then turned to Shaak Ti, who was standing by the bunker’s holoprojector table as if lost. When Mace hurried over to her, she practically collapsed in his arms.
“I fought Grievous on Hypori,” she said weakly. “I knew what he was capable of. But this … And taking Palpatine …”
Mace supported her. “There will be no negotiations. The Supreme Chancellor won’t allow it.”
“The Senate may not see it that way, Mace.” Shaak Ti composed herself and gazed around. “Grievous had help. Help from someone close to the top.”
Kit nodded. “We’ll find out who. But our first priority is to rescue the Supreme Chancellor.”
Mace looked at the commando. “How did they leave the complex?”
“I can show you,” Shaak Ti said. Turning, she activated a security recording that had captured Grievous and several of his humanoid guards dragging Palpatine to the south landing pad, butchering the handful of troopers posted there, scrambling into a waiting tri-winged shuttle, lifting off into sunset clouds …
“How were they allowed through the shield?” Mace asked the commando.
“Same way they entered the bunker, General.”
Mace hadn’t even thought to ask. Had assumed they had burned their way in—
“They had the entry codes to the bunker, sir, as well as codes issued earlier today that permitted them to clear the screen.”
Mace and Kit glanced at each other in angry bewilderment.
“What is the shuttle’s location now?” Kit asked.
The commando conjured a 3-D image from the holoprojector.
“Sector I-Thirty-Three, sir. Outbound autonavigation trunk P-seventeen. Gunships are in pursuit.”
Mace’s eyes widened in alert. “Do your gunners know that the Supreme Chancellor is aboard? Do they realize they can’t fire on the shuttle?”
“They have orders to disable if possible, sir. The shuttle is shielded and well armored, in any case.”
“Who else knows of the abduction?” Kit thought to ask. “Has this been released or leaked to the media?”
“Yes, sir. Moments ago.”
“On whose orders?” Mace fumed.
“The Supreme Chancellor’s top advisers.”
Shaak Ti forced an exhale. “All of Coruscant will panic.”
Mace squared his shoulders. “Commander, scramble every available starfighter. That ship cannot be allowed to reach the Separatist fleet.”
Dooku hadn’t fled alone. The only indications of Tythe’s invasion were the hulking remains of Separatist and Republic warships, tumbling indolently in starlight.
“We were all beginning to wonder if you were going to return,” a human crew chief said by way of welcoming Obi-Wan and Anakin back to the assault cruiser’s ventral landing bay.
Obi-Wan descended the ladder affixed to the starfighter’s cockpit. “When did the Separatists jump?”
“Less than an hour, local. Guess they had enough of the pounding we were giving them.”
Leaping to the deck, Anakin laughed nastily. “Believe whatever you want.”
The crew chief furrowed his brow in uncertainty.
“Do we know where they’re headed?” Obi-Wan asked quickly.
The crew chief turned to him. “Most of the capital ships jumped Rimward. A few appear to be headed for the Nelvaan system—thirteen parsecs from here.”
“What are our orders?”
“We’re still waiting to find out. The fact is, we haven’t received any communications from Coruscant since the start of the battle.”
Anakin took a sudden interest in the crew chief’s remarks.
“Could be local interference,” Obi-Wan said.
The cr
ew chief looked dubious. “Several other battle groups reported that they have been unable to communicate with Coruscant.”
Anakin shot Obi-Wan an embittered look and began to storm away.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, following in his footsteps.
Anakin whirled on him. “We were wrong to come here, Master. I was wrong to come here. It was all a feint, and we fell for it. We’re being kept away from Coruscant. I can feel it.”
Obi-Wan folded his arms across his chest. “You wouldn’t be saying that if we’d captured Dooku.”
“But we didn’t, Master. That’s what counts. And now no communication with Coruscant? You don’t even see it, do you?”
Obi-Wan regarded him carefully. “See what, Anakin?”
Anakin started to speak, then cut himself off and began again. “You should keep me fighting. You shouldn’t give me time to think.”
Obi-Wan rested his hands on Anakin’s shoulders. “Calm yourself.”
Anakin shrugged him off, a new fire in his eyes. “You’re my best friend. Tell me what I should do. Forget for a moment that you’re wearing the robes of a Jedi and tell me what I should do!”
Stung by the gravity in Anakin’s voice, Obi-Wan fell silent for a moment, then said: “The Force is our ally, Anakin. When we’re mindful of the Force, our actions are in accord with the will of the Force. Tythe wasn’t a wrong choice. It’s simply that we’re ignorant of its import in the greater scheme.”
Anakin lowered his head in sadness. “You’re right, Master. My mind isn’t as fast as my lightsaber.” He stared at his artificial limb. “My heart isn’t as impervious to pain as my right hand.”
Obi-Wan felt as if someone had knotted his insides. He had failed his apprentice and closest friend. Anakin was suffering, and the only balm he offered were Jedi platitudes. His body heaved a stuttering breath. He had his mouth open to speak when the crew chief interrupted.
“General Skywalker, something has your astromech very flustered.”
Obi-Wan and Anakin swung to Anakin’s starfighter.
“Artoo?” Anakin said in a concerned tone.
The astromech tooted, shrilled, chittered.
“Does he understand droid?” the crew chief asked Obi-Wan as Anakin hurried past him.
“That droid,” Obi-Wan said.
Anakin began to scale the cockpit ladder. “What is it, Artoo? What’s wrong?”
The droid whistled and zithered.
Throwing himself into open cockpit, Anakin toggled switches. Obi-Wan had just reached the base of the ladder when he heard Palpatine’s voice issuing through the cockpit annunciators.
“Anakin, if you are receiving this message, then I have urgent need of your help …”
The crew chief’s comlink toned.
Obi-Wan glanced from the crew chief to Anakin and back again.
“What is it?” he asked in a rush.
“Tight-beam comm from Coruscant,” the crew said. He listened for another moment, then added, in obvious disbelief: “Sir, the Separatists have invaded!”
Obi-Wan gaped at him.
Above him, Anakin lifted his face to the high ceiling and let out a sustained snarl. Glaring down at Obi-Wan, he said: “Why does fate target the people who are most important to me?”
“I—”
“Crew chief!” Anakin cut him off. “Refuel and rearm our starfighters at once!”
Grievous had a good lead on them.
Seated in the copilot’s seat of a Republic cruiser, Mace accepted that the shuttle couldn’t be intercepted before it left Coruscant’s envelope. And perhaps not before it was in the protective embrace of the Separatist fleet.
Regardless, the hot scrambled starfighters were giving all they had to the chase.
Having access to high-clearance codes, Grievous could have plotted a proprietary launch vector for the shuttle. But by doing so he would have put the shuttle at risk of arrest by disabling fire or tractor beam. Instead, he had elected to avail himself of the protection afforded by starship traffic in one of the outbound autonavigation trunks.
Police, governmental, and emergency vessels were permitted to use free-travel lanes that paralleled the trunks, but even with that advantage, Mace and Kit’s cruiser was still several kilometers behind the rising shuttle. Below, vast areas of darkness stained the usual circuit board perfection of night-side Coruscant.
That the vessels surrounding it were compelled by orbital tractor beam arrays to adhere to standard launch velocities benefited the shuttle. The tri-wing benefited even more from the fact that Grievous was almost as adept at handling a ship as he was a lightsaber. Each time flights of starfighters attempted to hem him in, Grievous would lead them on spiraling chases through the thick traffic, inserting the shuttle between ships, initiating collisions, resorting to firing the shuttle’s meager weapons when necessary.
Recalled from the battle outside the well, Agen Kolar, Saesee Tiin, and Pablo-Jill had come closest to incapacitating the shuttle, but, twice now, Grievous had managed to evade them by bringing the shuttle’s laser cannons to bear on cargo pods and strewing local space with debris. Even when the three Jedi had gotten near enough to launch disabling runs, the shuttle’s shielding and armor had absorbed the bursts.
With the pursuit closing rapidly on the rim of the gravity well, the Jedi pilots were executing maneuvers they had been reluctant to employ deeper in the atmosphere. Weaving among the vessels, the starfighters fired on the shuttle at every opportunity, scorching its wings and tail, as the shield generator became overtaxed. Grievous was unable to match them maneuver for maneuver, but his response to the attacks was to target any innocent in his sights, ultimately forcing the Jedi to fall back once again.
Punching through Coruscant’s sheath of gases, the autonavigation trunk branched like the crown of a shade tree. Thrusters flared as endangered ships slued and rolled onto vectors meant to distance them from the fray. With local space crosshatched with plasma trails and brilliant with explosions, escape was scarcely an option. Even so, many ships were attempting to follow the curve of the gravity well toward Coruscant’s bright side, while others veered for the safety of Coruscant’s moons, and still others sped for the nearest jump points.
Except for the shuttle, which accelerated straight for Grievous’s flagship.
Calling full power from the cruiser, Kit Fisto joined the three Jedi starfighters in a flat-out race for the shuttle. By then, too, several Republic frigates and corvettes were diverting from the principal battle to assist in the interception.
Despite his earlier misgivings, Mace thought for a moment that they might succeed.
Then he watched in disquiet as five hundred droid fighters—gushing from the great curving arms of a Trade Federation battleship—swarmed forward to safeguard the shuttle in its flight to freedom.
Three among a crowd several hundred strong standing in the Nicandra Plaza, Padmé, Bail, and Mon Mothma watched the late-breaking news report on the Embassy Mall’s HoloNet monitor. When word of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s capture had first been rumored, then verified, all anyone in the crowd could ask was, How, in three short years, had it come to this?
The armies of chaos were parked in stationary orbit above Coruscant, and the beloved leader of the Galactic Republic seized. For so many, what had been an abstraction was stark reality, playing out overhead, for all of Coruscant and half the galaxy to watch.
Now that time had passed, however, Padmé had begun to notice a change in the crowd. Though a climactic battle was raging as near as the night sky’s frightening fireworks, most Coruscanti preferred to keep their gaze fixed on the real-time images of battle. That way, it was almost like watching an exciting HoloNet drama.
Would the starfighters be able to overtake the shuttle in which Palpatine was being held captive by a cyborg monster? Might the shuttle or the flagship that was its destination explode? What would become of the Republic should the Supreme Chancellor be killed, or Coruscant occupied by ten of tho
usands of battle droids? Would the Jedi and their clone army fly to the rescue?
When Padmé could take no more of the 3-D images or the remarks of the audience, she wended her way to the perimeter of the crowd to take hold of a handrail at the plaza’s edge, and to lift her eyes to the strobing sky.
Anakin, she said to herself, as if she could reach him with a thought.
Anakin.
Tears coursed down her cheeks, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Her sadness was personal now, not for Palpatine, though his abduction hollowed her. She wept for a future she and Anakin might have had. For the family they might have been. More than ever she wished that she hadn’t been a featured player in the events that had shaped the war, but merely one of the crowd.
Come home to me before it’s too late.
Her gaze lowered, she caught sight of C-3PO, parting company with a silver protocol droid that disappeared into the crowd.
“What was that about, Threepio?” she asked as he approached.
“A most curious encounter, Mistress,” C-3PO said. “I think that shiny droid fancies himself something of a seer.”
Padmé looked at him askance. “In what way, Threepio?”
“In essence, he told me to flee while it was still possible. He said that dark times are coming, and that the line that separates good and bad will become blurred. That what seems good now will prove evil; and that what seems evil, will prove good.”
Sensing there was more, Padmé waited.
C-3PO’s photoreceptors locked on Padmé. “He said further that I should accept a memory wipe if it is ever offered to me, because the only alternative will be to live in fear and confusion for the rest of my days.”
Slapped by fire, the tri-winged shuttle fairly crawled toward the docking bay of the Invisible Hand. Grievous held to his treacherous course, even while contingency plans formed in his mind. Wings of Trade Federation droid fighters had burned a path for the shuttle through areas of intense combat, but the vulnerable little ship was not yet in the clear. Many of Grievous’s impassioned pursuers were so busy defending themselves that they no longer represented a threat, but three starfighters had managed to stay with the shuttle, and were continuing to harry it with surgical fire.
