by Karen Miller
Oh, how he resented their smug assurance. The Supreme Chancellor was right: sometimes the Jedi were so stupid. Not that Palpatine had ever come right out and said as much. But he’d come close once or twice, exclaiming over some slight or criticism shared with him out of lonely desperation.
When you lose the ability to touch the woman you love with both hands, Masters, then you can advise me on how I should feel. But since that’ll never happen, I wish you’d keep your ignorant opinions to yourselves.
“Anakin?” said Vokara Che. Her head-tails were twitching. Dedicated healers were the most sensitive Jedi of all. She could feel his disquiet, the fear and resentment that too often simmered so close to his surface. “You must not concern yourself. Obi-Wan will recover fully in time. Come with me now, so he can tell you for himself.”
With a deep-breathing effort he banished every emotion but relief. “Yes, Master.” Turning, he nodded at his Padawan. “Wait here for me, Ahsoka. I won’t be long.”
Ahsoka nodded, sitting bolt-upright and alert. “Yes, Master Skywalker,” she said. She sounded positively chirpy.
She thinks I don’t realize when she’s twisting my tail. Ah well, she’ll learn soon enough. I wonder if two hundred repetitions of Niman form level one will give her the hint?
Ahsoka’s bright expression dimmed, just a little bit. “Master? What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Mind your manners. I’ll be back soon.”
He followed Vokara Che out of the peaceful waiting chamber, with its soft blue lighting, its calm pink walls and deep blue carpets, to the place where they were keeping Obi-Wan.
It wasn’t the same room he’d been made to call home.
Standing before its closed door, Vokara Che raised a warning finger. “No excitement, Anakin. Don’t let him become agitated. Satisfy yourself that he is indeed recovered and come away. Since you’re the one who found him, you must know he has had a lucky escape.”
Oh yes. He knew. “I will, Master Vokara Che,” he promised. “Thank you.”
With a searching look and a sharp nod, she departed. He tugged his tunic straight, pressed the door release, and entered the room. It was discreetly lit, so as not to distress its occupant. There was a window looking out to the city, but its blind was drawn. No bustling nightlife for the convalescent.
Obi-Wan was in bed, propped up by a mountain of pillows. His hair and beard were neatly ordered and blood-free. That made a nice change. The wicked gash on his cheek had vanished, leaving behind it a thin pink line. The rest of his face was untroubled, but too pale. From the chest down his body was smothered in blankets, but to all outward appearances he was most definitely whole again. There was a datapad on the nightstand beside him. If he was reading, he really must be better.
Obi-Wan smiled. “Anakin.”
“Master,” he replied, then walked softly to the chair beside the bed and sat down. “You know, we really have to stop meeting like this.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Obi-Wan with a breath of laughter.
“So. What was the damage?”
“Various bumps and bruises,” Obi-Wan replied evasively. “A bit of scorching. A cut here and there.”
Anakin sat back, arms folded, one eyebrow skeptically raised. “And?”
“And really, there is no need to make a fuss,” said Obi-Wan, shifting uncomfortably. “I hardly think I look at death’s door. Do you?”
“Not now you don’t,” Anakin agreed. “But then, everyone knows Master Vokara Che is a genius. So—what else?”
It was almost comical to see the vaunted Master Kenobi wriggling like a tiska-worm on a hook. “Concussion,” he mumbled. “Broken hand. Broken leg. Broken shoulder. Cracked pelvis. Four broken ribs and a punctured lung. One or two internal organs jostled a bit.”
“Is that all?” Anakin snorted. “And to think I thought it was actually serious. That should teach me to overreact.”
Obi-Wan gave him a fulminating look.
“Sorry,” Anakin said, grinning. “That doesn’t work on me anymore.”
“Did it ever?” Obi-Wan retorted. Then he sighed. “I’m fine, Anakin. Truly. Thanks to you.”
Suddenly it wasn’t something he could joke about anymore. “You’re welcome, Obi-Wan. Please… just… don’t do anything like that again.”
“You mean ride a citibike at speed headfirst into an exploding terrorist bomb?” said Obi-Wan. “Well, I’ll certainly do my best. Repeating oneself becomes tedious, after all.”
“That’s one word for it.”
Silence, as they shared a wry grin.
“I made sure Master Yoda got your message,” Anakin said at last. “I don’t know if they believed it, but—”
“Oh yes,” said Obi-Wan, sobering. “They believed it, Anakin. They’re sending a battle group to intercept Grievous at Bothawui. Admiral Yularen has been appointed the ranking Republic military official, transferring from the Spirit of the Republic. Your flagship will be the Resolute. It’s one of three newly commissioned cruisers.”
What? His what? “I’m sorry. Did you say my flagship?”
There was no trace of amusement in Obi-Wan now. His expression was watchful; his eyes were guarded. “Yes.”
Anakin stared at him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was afraid. “That can’t be right. I’ve only just been made a Jedi Knight. I’m not ready to—”
“Then get ready,” said Obi-Wan. “You’re leaving as soon as those ships arrive. You, and your Padawan, and as many clone pilots and troops as we can spare. Given its sensitivity, the mission’s been classified at the highest level of security. The Supreme Chancellor’s being privately briefed by Master Yoda. No one else in the government will be told. Not until it’s over, one way or another.” He frowned, his tension humming through the Force. “I can’t possibly overemphasize the importance of this mission, Anakin. For the first time since the war started, we have the element of surprise. We may never get it again. This could be our only chance to take down Grievous once and for all.”
Anakin’s heart was pounding so hard he thought he might end up with broken ribs. “Yularen. He’s a good man. Who’ll command the other two cruisers?”
“The Council hasn’t decided yet.”
Hopefully no one likely to get bent out of shape because wet-behind-the-ears Anakin Skywalker was the Jedi in charge. “And Rex? Do I get Captain Rex?”
“If you want him.”
Oh, I want him all right. Rex and the 501st are mine. “Yes. Please.”
“Then you’ll be happy to know he’s on standby,” said Obi-Wan. “Captain Rex and his men will be ready to ship out when you are.”
“So you knew I’d want him?”
A brief smile. A shrug. “Of course. Don’t tell me you’re surprised. I know you, remember?”
Yes. Yes, Obi-Wan did. Not as well as he thought, but well enough. Still shocked by this unexpected news, Anakin sat back in his chair and stared at the black glove covering his prosthetic hand.
Why me? Master Yoda and the others don’t really trust me. They never have. Since Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan’s the only Jedi who’s stood up for me against the Council.
He looked up again. “This command should be yours, Master. You’ve got the experience, you’ve got the—”
“Concussion, broken hand, broken leg, and so on,” said Obi-Wan, impatient. “Or I did have a few hours ago. I’m not fit, Anakin. I won’t be fit for days. At least not fit enough to safely endure battle stress. And there’s a good chance Bothawui doesn’t have days. For all we know Grievous is bearing down on the Both system as we speak.”
“We still don’t have a fix on his location?”
“No,” said Obi-Wan. “And we don’t dare ask the Bothans in case they’ve been compromised. That means we’re flying blind on this one, Anakin.”
Anakin grinned. He couldn’t help it. Exultation was swiftly overtaking doubt. A battle group of my very own. Yes! “That’s fine by me. Flying blind is what I
do best.”
Obi-Wan didn’t return the grin. Instead he sat forward, his eyes anxious. “This isn’t a joking matter, Anakin! The fate of the Republic could rest on this mission. We can’t lose Bothawui to Grievous and Dooku. Countless lives in the Bothan system are depending on you. Was the battle at the Teth monastery amusing? All the clone troops who died there, all of Rex’s men—was losing them funny?”
Stung, Anakin pushed to his feet. “No! Of course it wasn’t.”
“Then take this seriously!”
“I am taking it seriously,” he retorted, indignant. “I know exactly how important this mission is, Master.”
The room’s soft lighting showed a fresh sheen of sweat on Obi-Wan’s pale face. “Do you, Anakin? Do you really? I hope so, for all our sakes. I hope—”
Frustrated, Anakin swung about, feeling the servos in his prosthetic hand pulse as its fingers clenched. “You don’t think I can do this, do you? Despite Christophsis you still see me as a kid, your apprentice. Snot-nosed Anakin who can’t be trusted to get the job done.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Obi-Wan, breathing heavily. “That’s your own fear talking, Anakin. You’d best defeat it before it defeats you.”
“I’m not afraid!” Anakin snapped back. “I know I can do this. I know I’m ready. I’ve changed. I’m not that greenie anymore, the Padawan who let himself get caught out twice on Geonosis.” He held up his gloved hand, clenched to a fist. “Trust me, Obi-Wan, I learned my lesson!”
“You learned that lesson, yes!” said Obi-Wan, blankets twisted in his fingers. “But it doesn’t mean you know everything yet, Anakin. You’re still young, there are still many things you must—”
The rest of his lecture was lost in a gasp. Appalled, Anakin saw his former Master’s face drain dead-white. Saw the sheen of sweat on him transform to a drenching. Felt pain explode through Obi-Wan like random, vicious Sith lightning.
“Master!” he exclaimed, and leapt for the bed.
Obi-Wan curled onto his side, knees snapped to his chest, teeth sunk into his lower lip. Anakin took hold of his shoulders and held him against the cruel, racking shudders.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, as Obi-Wan shook. “I shouldn’t have shouted. I didn’t mean what I said. You’re right, I’ve still got a lot to learn—from you, Obi-Wan. Nobody else has the patience to teach me. No other Jedi understands the way you do. Hang on… hang on…”
The chamber’s door slid open and Vokara Che entered like a whirlwind. “What is going on here? Anakin Skywalker, I told you not to agitate him! What did you say to him? What have you done?”
“Nothing,” said Obi-Wan, through chattering teeth. “He’s done nothing. It’s not his fault. Anakin—”
“I’m here, I’m sorry, I—”
“Stand back, you wretch!” snapped Vokara Che, ruthlessly shoving him aside, as fierce as he had ever seen her. Fiercer than he would have thought possible for such a gentle being. “Get out of my way!”
Stunned to silent obedience Anakin retreated, watching as Vokara Che pressed a dull green healing crystal to Obi-Wan’s chest. Then he felt a massive surge in the Force, heat and light and Vokara Che’s will combined. The crystal pulsed, bright as an emerald sun. Slowly, resentfully, Obi-Wan’s pain surrendered.
“There,” said Vokara Che, gentle again, her face and voice soothing. As familiar now as she’d been a stranger moments before. “There, you foolish Jedi. Be at peace, Master Kenobi. Be still. Sleep.”
Obi-Wan sighed, the sound almost a groan. “Anakin.”
“He’s gone,” she said firmly, darting a glare in Anakin’s direction. “You can rest.”
Frowning, Obi-Wan rolled his head on the pillows. “No—no—”
Ignoring Vokara Che’s reawakened anger, Anakin slipped around to the other side of the bed and took Obi-Wan’s hand in a firm clasp. “I’m not gone, Master. I’m here.”
Obi-Wan dragged open his eyes. They were dull, improperly focused. “You’re to meet with the Council first thing in the morning.” His voice was a grating whisper. “Final instructions. Be polite. Don’t gloat.”
Anakin nodded. “Yes, Master.”
Obi-Wan was fighting to remain conscious. “You can defeat Grievous, Anakin. I know it. Never doubt my faith in you.”
Frightened, he stared into Obi-Wan’s bloodless face. Echoes of his mother… her final, pain-racked words… “I won’t. I don’t. Master—”
He nearly leapt out of his skin when Vokara Che touched his shoulder across the narrow bed. “He’s not dying, Anakin,” the healer said with rough sympathy. “He’s exhausted. You’ve exhausted him. Now leave.”
There was nothing he could say to that. No protest he could make that wouldn’t be wrong, or selfish. He let go of Obi-Wan and turned for the door…
…where Ahsoka was standing, her thin, childish face shocked.
“Time to go,” he told her. “Come on.”
Chapter Nine
He left the Healing Halls without once looking back, Asoka trotting silent and uncertain by his side.
“Master Skywalker… Skyguy,” she ventured at last, in a whisper, as they took a swift-tube to the Temple’s Archives. “What’s going on?”
He glanced down at her. “We’ve got a mission.”
“I… kind of worked that out already. We’re going after Grievous, right?”
He nodded. “Right.”
She swallowed. “Alone? I mean, just you and me?”
“You, me, Captain Rex, a bunch of clone pilots and troopers and three Jedi cruisers.” Another glance down. “Ours is called the Resolute.”
“A battle group?” gasped Ahsoka. “We’ve got a battle group of our very own?”
He rapped his knuckles on top of her head. “I’ve got a battle group. You get to tag along, if you behave yourself.”
As the swift-tube thundered its way up Tranquillity Spire, Ahsoka jittered on her feet, a kind of nervous little dance. “Is Master Obi-Wan coming with us?”
Obi-Wan. His dreadful pain. Never doubt my faith in you. “No.”
“He looked bad. Will he be all right?”
“Of course,” he said, with quick confidence. “No Separatist terrorist can kill Obi-Wan.”
“Do you believe that, Skyguy?” she said, her voice small. “Or are you just saying it because you’re scared, and you want to feel better?”
Jaw dropped, he stared at her. Where does she come up with this stuff? “I believe it, Padawan,” he said repressively. “I never say anything I don’t believe.”
The swift-tube slid to a smooth stop, and its doors opened. The Jedi Archives occupied almost a third of Tranquillity Spire. He’d directed their swift-tube to the main entrance and reference carrels, where the data crystal catalogs were kept. Their arrival was noted by various Jedi who were diligently working on projects of their own, but nobody interrupted their tasks to speak with them.
“Here,” said Anakin, guiding Ahsoka to an empty desk. “I’ll get you started, and then I’m going to leave you for a while.”
Sliding into the seat, she pulled a face. “You’re always going off somewhere, Skyguy. When do I get to come?”
“You don’t,” he said curtly. “Now pay attention.”
She heaved a resigned sigh and watched as he accessed the primary Archive database, then engaged the privacy mode with his personal key. This way only the Council would see which archives had been accessed… and that was all right. They were in on the secret.
After what happened with the records on Kamino, and today’s terrorist attack, I’m not taking any chances.
“Master!” Ahsoka squeaked, as the primary directory guide to Bothawui came on screen. She straightened out of her morose slump. “Is that where Gr—”
“Not a word,” he told her, and tightened warning fingers on her shoulder. “Now, I want everything on our destination that you can dredge up, ready for me to look at when I get back. Okay?”
She was hyperalert again,
all her instincts firing. One of these millennia she’d make a pretty good Jedi, probably. Provided he could smooth the rough edges off her.
“Yes, Master,” she said. “You can trust me.”
He frowned down at her. Was I ever this young? Was this how I used to look to Obi-Wan? He doubted it. Slaves lost their innocence while they were still in the cradle. “Good girl,” he said, and patted her on the back. “I won’t be gone long.” More’s the pity. “If anyone asks what you’re doing, tell them to see me.”
She nodded. “Yes, Master.”
Satisfied she couldn’t go too far wrong here in the Archives, he took an airspeeder from the Temple docking complex and flirted with disaster all the way to Padmé’s apartment.
“Oh, Master Anakin! How wonderful to see you!” C-3PO said, tottering out on to the apartment’s veranda. “Look, Artoo-Detoo! Master Anakin’s here!”
Behind him, at the apartment’s open sliding transparisteel doors, the stubby blue astromech droid tooted and spun his dome.
Anakin stared at them. Threepio could be effusive, and usually was, he knew that, but—”Okay. What’s wrong?”
But before the droid could answer, Padmé emerged from her bedroom. When she saw him on the platform, her strained face crumpled and she held out her arms. “Anakin!”
Cursing, he shoved past 3P0 and nearly sent R2-D2 tumbling in his desperation to reach her. “What is it? What’s happened?”
She didn’t answer, just tightened her arms around him as though one of them were dying. Her breathing was ragged, her pulse erratic. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest. And now that she was in his arms, now that he was breathing in her subtle perfume, he could feel, too, the depths of her distress.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. He’d been so worried about Obi-Wan, angered by the Council, overwhelmed by the news of Bothawui, the battle group. An emotional cacophony had deafened him to the voice inside that whispered of Padmé whenever she was near. “I’m sorry, my love. I should’ve known you were upset.”
