by James Luceno
He waved off the gunship, and it roared away toward the countless fires that painted red the approach of night.
“A shuttle is on its way. Chancellor, we’ll have you on the Senate floor within the hour. The HoloNet has already been notified that you will want to make a statement.”
“I will. I will, indeed.” Palpatine touched Mace on the arm. “You have always been of great value to me, Master Windu. Thank you.”
“The Jedi are honored to serve the Senate, sir.” There might have been the slightest emphasis on the word Senate. Mace remained expressionless as he subtly moved his arm away from the Chancellor’s hand. He looked at Obi-Wan. “Is there anything else to report, Master Kenobi? What of General Grievous?”
“Count Dooku was there,” Skywalker interjected. He had a look on his face that Mace couldn’t decipher, proud yet wary—even unhappy. “He’s dead now.”
“Dead?” He looked from Anakin to Obi-Wan and back again. “Is this true? You killed Count Dooku?”
“My young friend is too modest; he killed Count Dooku.” Smiling, Kenobi touched the lump on his head. “I was … taking a nap.”
“But …” Mace blinked. Dooku was to the Separatists what Palpatine was to the Republic: the center of gravity binding together a spiral galaxy of special interests. With Dooku gone, the Confederacy of Independent Systems would no longer really be a confederacy at all. They’d fly to pieces within weeks.
Within days.
Mace said again, “But …”
And, in the end, he couldn’t think of a but.
This was all so astonishing that he very nearly—almost, but not quite—cracked a smile.
“That is,” he said, “the best news I’ve heard since …” He shook his head. “Since I can’t remember. Anakin—how did you do it?”
Inexplicably, young Skywalker looked distinctly uncomfortable; that newly confident presence of his collapsed as suddenly as an overloaded deflector, and instead of meeting Mace’s eyes, his gaze flicked to Palpatine. Somehow Mace didn’t think this was modesty. He looked to the Chancellor as well, his elation sinking, becoming puzzlement tinged with suspicion.
“It was … entirely extraordinary,” Palpatine said blandly, oblivious to Mace’s narrowing stare. “I know next to nothing of swordplay, of course; to my amateur’s eye, it seemed that Count Dooku may have been … a trace overconfident. Especially after having disposed of Master Kenobi so neatly.”
Obi-Wan flushed, just a bit—and Anakin flushed considerably more deeply.
“Perhaps young Anakin was simply more … highly motivated,” Palpatine said, turning a fond smile upon him. “After all, Dooku was fighting only to slay an enemy; Anakin was fighting to save—if I may presume the honor—a friend.”
Mace’s scowl darkened. Fine words. Perhaps even true words, but he still didn’t like them.
No one on the Jedi Council had ever been comfortable with Skywalker’s close relationship with the Chancellor—they’d had more than one conversation about it with Obi-Wan while Skywalker had still been his Padawan—and Mace was less than happy to hear Palpatine speaking for a young Jedi who seemed unprepared to speak for himself. He said, “I’m sure the Council will be very interested in your full report, Anakin,” with just enough emphasis on full to get his point across.
Skywalker swallowed, and then, just as suddenly as it had collapsed, that aura of calm, centered confidence rebuilt itself around him. “Yes. Yes of course, Master Windu.”
“And we must report that Grievous escaped,” Obi-Wan said. “He is as cowardly as ever.”
Mace accepted this news with a nod. “But he is only a military commander. Without Dooku to hold the coalition together, these so-called independent systems will splinter, and they know it.” He looked straight into the Supreme Chancellor’s eyes. “This is our best chance to sue for peace. We can end this war right now.”
And while Palpatine answered, Mace Windu reached into the Force.
To Mace’s Force perception, the world crystallized around them, becoming a gem of reality shot through with flaws and fault lines of possibility. This was Mace’s particular gift: to see how people and situations fit together in the Force, to find the shear planes that can cause them to break in useful ways, and to intuit what sort of strike would best make the cut. Though he could not consistently determine the significance of the structures he perceived—the darkening cloud upon the Force that had risen with the rebirth of the Sith made that harder and harder with each passing day—the presence of shatterpoints was always clear.
Mace had supported the training of Anakin Skywalker, though it ran counter to millennia of Jedi tradition, because from the structure of fault lines in the Force around him, he had been able to intuit the truth of Qui-Gon Jinn’s guess: that the young slave boy from Tatooine was in fact the prophesied chosen one, born to bring balance to the Force. He had argued for the elevation of Obi-Wan Kenobi to Mastership, and to give the training of the chosen one into the hands of this new, untested Master, because his unique perception had shown him powerful lines of destiny that bound their lives together, for good or ill. On the day of Palpatine’s election to the Chancellorship, he had seen that Palpatine was himself a shatterpoint of unimaginable significance: a man upon whom might depend the fate of the Republic itself.
Now he saw the three men together, and the intricate lattice of fault lines and stress fractures that bound them each to the other was so staggeringly powerful that its structure was beyond calculation.
Anakin was somehow a pivot point, the fulcrum of a lever with Obi-Wan on one side, Palpatine on the other, and the galaxy in the balance, but the dark cloud on the Force prevented his perception from reaching into the future for so much as a hint of where this might lead. The balance was already so delicate that he could not guess the outcome of any given shift: the slightest tip in any direction would generate chaotic oscillation. Anything could happen.
Anything at all.
And the lattice of fault lines that bound all three of them to each other stank of the dark side.
He lifted his head and looked to the sky, picking out the dropping star of the Jedi shuttle as it swung toward them through the darkening afternoon.
“I’m afraid peace is out of the question while Grievous is at large,” the Chancellor was saying sadly. “Dooku was the only check on Grievous’s monstrous lust for slaughter; with Dooku gone, the general has been unleashed to rampage across the galaxy. I’m afraid that, far from being over, this war is about to get a very great deal worse.”
“And what of the Sith?” Obi-Wan said. “Dooku’s death should have at least begun the weakening of the darkness, but instead it feels stronger than ever. I fear Master Yoda’s intuition is correct: that Dooku was merely the apprentice to the Sith Lord, not the Master.”
Mace started walking toward the small-craft dock where the Jedi shuttle would land, and the others fell in with him.
“The Sith Lord, if one still exists, will reveal himself in time. They always do.” He hoped Obi-Wan would take the hint and shut up about it; Mace had no desire to speak openly of the investigation in front of the Supreme Chancellor.
The less Palpatine knew, the better.
“A more interesting puzzle is Grievous,” he said. “He had you at his mercy, Chancellor, and mercy is not numbered among his virtues. Though we all rejoice that he spared you, I cannot help but wonder why.”
Palpatine spread his hands. “I can only assume the Separatists preferred to have me as a hostage rather than as a martyr. Though it is of course impossible to say; it may merely have been a whim of the general. He is notoriously erratic.”
“Perhaps the Separatist leadership can restrain him, in exchange for certain …” Mace let his gaze drift casually to a point somewhere above the Chancellor’s head. “… considerations.”
“Absolutely not.” Palpatine drew himself up, straightening his robes. “A negotiated peace would be a recognition of the CIS as the legitimate government
of the rebellious systems—tantamount to losing the war! No, Master Windu, this war can end only one way. Unconditional surrender. And while Grievous lives, that will never happen.”
“Very well,” Mace said. “Then the Jedi will make the capture of General Grievous our particular task.” He glanced at Anakin and Obi-Wan, then back to Palpatine. He leaned close to the Chancellor and his voice went low and final, with a buried intensity that hinted—just the slightest bit—of suspicion, and warning. “This war has gone on far too long already. We will find him, and this war will end.”
“I have no doubt of it.” Palpatine strolled along, seemingly oblivious. “But we should never underestimate the deviousness of the Separatists. It is possible that even the war itself has been only one further move,” he said with elegant, understated precision, “in some greater game.”
As the Jedi shuttle swung toward the Chancellor’s private landing platform at the Senate Offices, Obi-Wan watched Anakin pretending not to stare out the window. On the platform was a small welcome-contingent of Senators, and Anakin was trying desperately to look as if he wasn’t searching that little crowd hungrily for a particular face. The pretense was a waste of time; Anakin radiated excitement so powerfully in the Force that Obi-Wan could practically hear the thunder of his heartbeat.
Obi-Wan gave a silent sigh. He had entirely too good an idea whose face his former Padawan was so hoping to see.
When the shuttle touched down, Master Windu caught his eye from beyond Anakin’s shoulder. The Korun Master made a nearly invisible gesture, to which Obi-Wan did not visibly respond; but when Palpatine and Anakin and R2 all debarked toward the crowd of well-wishers, Obi-Wan stayed behind.
Anakin stopped on the landing deck, looking back at Obi-Wan. “You coming?”
“I haven’t the courage for politics,” Obi-Wan said, showing his usual trace of a smile. “I’ll brief the Council.”
“Shouldn’t I be there, too?”
“No need. This isn’t the formal report. Besides—” Obi-Wan nodded toward the clot of HoloNet crews clogging the pedestrian gangway. “—someone has to be the poster boy.”
Anakin looked pained. “Poster man.”
“Quite right, quite right,” Obi-Wan said with a gentle chuckle. “Go meet your public, Poster Man.”
“Wait a minute—this whole operation was your idea. You planned it. You led the rescue. It’s your turn to take the bows.”
“You won’t get out of it that easily, my young friend. Without you, I wouldn’t even have made it to the flagship. You killed Count Dooku, and single-handedly rescued the Chancellor … all while, I might be forgiven for adding, carrying some old broken-down Jedi Master unconscious on your back. Not to mention making a landing that will be the standard of Impossible in every flight manual for the next thousand years.”
“Only because of your training, Master—”
“That’s just an excuse. You’re the hero. Go spend your glorious day surrounded by—” Obi-Wan allowed himself a slightly disparaging cough. “—politicians.”
“Come on, Master—you owe me. And not just for saving your skin for the tenth time—”
“Ninth time. Cato Neimoidia doesn’t count; it was your fault in the first place.” Obi-Wan waved him off. “See you at the Outer Rim briefing in the morning.”
“Well … all right. Just this once.” Anakin laughed and waved, and then headed briskly off to catch up with Palpatine as the Chancellor waded into the Senators with the smooth-as-oiled-transparisteel ease of the lifelong politician.
The hatch cycled shut, the shuttle lifted off, and Obi-Wan’s smile faded as he turned to Mace Windu. “You wanted to speak with me.”
Windu moved close to Obi-Wan’s position by the window, nodding out at the scene on the landing platform. “It’s Anakin. I don’t like his relationship with Palpatine.”
“We’ve had this conversation before.”
“There is something between them. Something new. I could see it in the Force.” Mace’s voice was flat and grim. “It felt powerful. And incredibly dangerous.”
Obi-Wan spread his hands. “I trust Anakin with my life.”
“I know you do. I only wish we could trust the Chancellor with Anakin’s.”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, frowning. “Palpatine’s policies are … sometimes questionable. But he dotes on Anakin like a kindly old uncle on his favorite nephew.”
Mace stared out the window. “The Chancellor loves power. If he has any other passion, I have not seen it.”
Obi-Wan shook his head with a trace of disbelief. “I recall that not so long ago, you were something of an admirer of his.”
“Things,” Mace Windu said grimly, “change.”
Flying over a landscape pocked with smoldering wreckage where once tall buildings filled with living beings had gleamed in the sun, toward a Temple filled with memories of so many, many Jedi who would never return from this war, Obi-Wan could not disagree.
After a moment, he said, “What would you have me do?”
“I am not certain. You know my power; I cannot always interpret what I’ve seen. Be alert. Be mindful of Anakin, and be careful of Palpatine. He is not to be trusted, and his influence on Anakin is dangerous.”
“But Anakin is the chosen one—”
“All the more reason to fear an outsider’s influence. We have circumstantial evidence that traces Sidious to Palpatine’s inner circle.”
Suddenly Obi-Wan had difficulty breathing. “Are you certain?”
Mace shook his head. “Nothing is certain. But this raid—the capture of Palpatine had to be an inside job. And the timing … we were closing in on him, Master Kenobi! The information you and Anakin discovered—we had traced the Sith Lord to an abandoned factory in The Works, not far from where Anakin landed the cruiser. When the attack began, we were tracking him through the downlevel tunnels.” Mace stared out the viewport at a vast residential complex that dominated the skyline to the west. “The trail led to the sub-basement of Five Hundred Republica.”
Five Hundred Republica was the most exclusive address on the planet. Its inhabitants included only the incredibly wealthy or the incredibly powerful, from Raith Sienar of the Sienar Systems conglomerate to Palpatine himself. Obi-Wan could only say, “Oh.”
“We have to face the possibility—the probability—that what Dooku told you on Geonosis was actually true. That the Senate is under the influence—under the control—of Darth Sidious. That it has been for years.”
“Do you—” Obi-Wan had to swallow before he could go on. “Do you have any suspects?”
“Too many. All we know of Sidious is that he’s bipedal, of roughly human conformation. Sate Pestage springs to mind. I wouldn’t rule out Mas Amedda, either. The Sith Lord might even be hiding among the Red Guards. There’s no way to know.”
“Who’s handling the questioning?” Obi-Wan asked. “I’d be happy to sit in; my perceptions are not so refined as some, but—”
Mace shook his head. “Interrogate the Supreme Chancellor’s personal aides and advisors? Impossible.”
“But—”
“Palpatine will never allow it. Though he hasn’t said so …” Mace stared out the window. “… I’m not sure he even believes the Sith exist.”
Obi-Wan blinked. “But—how can he—”
“Look at it from his point of view: the only real evidence we have is Dooku’s word. And he’s dead now.”
“The Sith Lord on Naboo—the Zabrak who killed Qui-Gon—”
Mace shrugged. “Destroyed. As you know.” He shook his head. “Relations with the Chancellor’s Office are … difficult. I feel he has lost his trust in the Jedi; I have certainly lost my trust in him.”
“But he doesn’t have the authority to interfere with a Jedi investigation …” Obi-Wan frowned, suddenly uncertain. “Does he?”
“The Senate has surrendered so much power, it’s hard to say where his authority stops.”
“It’s that bad?”
Mace’s jaw locked. “The only reason Palpatine’s not a suspect is because he already rules the galaxy.”
“But we are closer than we have ever been to rooting out the Sith,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “That can only be good news. I would think that Anakin’s friendship with Palpatine could be of use to us in this—he has the kind of access to Palpatine that other Jedi might only dream of. Their friendship is an asset, not a danger.”
“You can’t tell him.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Of the whole Council, only Yoda and myself know how deep this actually goes. And now you. I have decided to share this with you because you are in the best situation to watch Anakin. Watch him. Nothing more.”
“We—” Obi-Wan shook his head helplessly. “We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
“You must keep this one.” Mace laced his fingers together and squeezed until his knuckles crackled like blasterfire. “Skywalker is arguably the most powerful Jedi alive, and he is still getting stronger. But he is not stable. You know it. We all do. It is why he cannot be given Mastership. We must keep him off the Council, despite his extraordinary gifts. And Jedi prophecy … is not absolute. The less he has to do with Palpatine, the better.”
“But surely—” Obi-Wan stopped himself. He thought of how many times Anakin had violated orders. He thought of how unflinchingly loyal Anakin was to anyone he considered a friend. He thought of the danger Palpatine faced unknowingly, with a Sith Lord among his advisers …
Master Windu was right. This was a secret Anakin could not be trusted to keep.
“What can I tell him?”
“Tell him nothing. I sense the dark side around him. Around them both.”
“As it is around us all,” Obi-Wan reminded him. “The dark side touches all of us, Master Windu. Even you.”
“I know that too well, Obi-Wan.” For one second Obi-Wan saw something raw and haunted in the Korun Master’s eyes. Mace turned away. “It is possible that we may have to … move against Palpatine.”
“Move against—?”
“If he is truly under the control of a Sith Lord, it may be the only way.”
