by Karen Miller
“Master Yoda.”
Yoda slapped his gimer stick on the table, hopped into the chair opposite, and tipped his head to one side. “Anakin. Welcome home.”
This wasn’t home. Padmé’s apartment was home. This was—his halfway house. The place he’d fetched up in between the slave quarters on Tatooine and the bed he sometimes—not often enough—shared with his beautiful wife.
He nodded, cautious. Had Yoda sensed his dismay? “Thank you, Master.”
“For the Kothlis engagement much praise have you earned,” said Yoda. “Save Obi-Wan and your Padawan you did, as well as the spynet facility.”
Praise from Yoda was rare. He should be thrilled… but he wasn’t. Because I’m tired? Or because it’s too little, too late? “So the facility is secure? Grievous didn’t get the chance to steal what he was after?”
“This the Bothans have told us,” said Yoda. “Their word on the matter must we accept.”
“You doubt them?”
Yoda pursed his lips. “Say that I did not.”
“You implied it.”
“Late it is, young Skywalker,” said Yoda, aggravating as ever. “Rest now you should. With Palpatine we meet in only a few hours. Ignore that conference you cannot. Asked for you especially the Chancellor has.”
Palpatine. The only person in his life, aside from Padmé, who didn’t scold him for his difficulties with the Jedi Council and its impossible expectations.
“Of course not, Master. I’ll be there.”
“Travel to the Senate with Obi-Wan and myself you shall.”
“Master Windu’s not attending the meeting?”
“To Kothlis has Master Windu gone,” said Yoda. “His expertise have the Bothans requested.”
Oh. Well, he wasn’t about to lose sleep over that. Mace Windu made him profoundly uncomfortable. One minute critical, the next blithely reciting the old Chosen One prophecy, using it as justification to get his way in an argument.
Master Windu needs to make up his mind about me.
“Actually, ah, I have another question, Master Yoda.”
“Recovering your Padawan is,” said Yoda gravely. “Your Clone Captain Rex and his sergeant also. Serious their injuries were, but in sufficient time were they treated.”
Relief warred with annoyance. “The Kaminoans gave you details? They wouldn’t tell me a thing.”
Yoda’s ears lifted. “Surprised by that are you?”
No, he was—yes, admit it, angry—but there wasn’t any point saying so. He’d only get another lecture about mastering his feelings. “What about the other casualties?”
Sighing, Yoda shook his head. “Troubling that news is. Four have died. Two may yet die. Recover the rest will.”
They would recover—only to be thrown back into the meat grinder of this galactic civil war. A war the Jedi should have prevented. “Did you actually speak with Ahsoka or just—”
“Resting, she was. Speak with her tomorrow you may.”
Hearing that, Anakin felt the tight knot of tension under his ribs dissolve. “Thank you, Master Yoda. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to my quarters.” Standing, he collected his emptied plate and used cutlery. “Good night.”
Yoda nodded. “Good night, young Skywalker.”
But after taking a couple of steps toward the refuse station he hesitated. Go on. You might as well. You might not get another chance. He turned back. “Okay. Obi-Wan’ll kill me for saying this but I don’t care. Master Yoda—”
Yoda’s luminous eyes, which so often seemed disapproving, warmed. “Worry not for Obi-Wan, young Anakin. This night he spends in the Halls of Healing. Deep, untroubled sleep he requires and deep, untroubled sleep he shall have.”
“No kidding,” he said, impressed despite himself. “How did you manage that?”
“After nine hundred years a few tricks for dealing with wayward young Jedi have I learned,” said Yoda, close to outright amusement. “Forget that you should not, hmmm?”
It wasn’t often he and Yoda shared a joke. “No, Master. I won’t,” he said, grinning. But instead of leaving it there, he hesitated.
“Something else worries you, Anakin?” said Yoda, his head tilting again. “About Obi-Wan?”
“No. Yes. Maybe.” He blew out a sharp breath. “I know you can’t betray confidences, Master. I know certain things must be kept privileged. Medical things. But—” And suddenly he wasn’t sure what to say next.
Yoda’s amusement faded. “Concerned you are that fully recovered from his encounter with the Sith on Zigoola, Obi-Wan is not.”
Yoda’s speech might be as twisty as a demented corkscrew but it never failed to hit the nail on the head. “And?”
“Zigoola,” Yoda said thoughtfully. His eyes narrowed. “Your fault that misadventure was not, young Skywalker.”
It wasn’t an answer. Nor was it the first time someone tried to excuse him, but repetition didn’t make it any easier to believe. If he hadn’t lost R2 in the battle to save Bothawui—if he hadn’t had to waste so much time looking for the little droid—
I never would’ve let Zigoola happen. I’d have sensed ancient Sith on that planet long before they could do any damage. I should’ve been there.
“Yes, Master. Thank you. But that doesn’t tell me about Obi-Wan.”
Yoda retrieved his gimer stick and hopped to the ground. “Observant you are, young Skywalker,” he said, large eyes still half lidded in that inscrutable way of his. “Sleep well. Weary also are you. Mindful of that you must be.”
Anakin watched the ancient Jedi tap-tap-tap his way out of the dining hall.
So, what… was that a yes? A no? Or a work it out for yourself?
Disgruntled, and suddenly so tired he was seeing double, he dumped his dirty plate and cutlery at the refuse station and staggered off to his quarters.
“Anakin!” W, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine came forward to meet him as though they were the only two men in his executive suite. “How gratifying to see you unharmed after your recent battle. Allow me to congratulate you on your fine showing against that monster, Grievous. You continue a credit to the Jedi Order.”
Uncomfortably aware that they weren’t alone, Anakin nodded. “Thank you, Supreme Chancellor. It’s good to see you again, sir.”
“Anakin, are you not well?” Palpatine peered anxiously into his face. “You’re looking a trifle weary. This terrible war—it’s taxing all of us, I know, but—” He turned. “I hope you’re not asking too much of this young man, Master Yoda. The more I learn of his exploits on the front lines, defending our Republic, the more I come to believe we’ll not win this fight without him.”
Anakin stared at the carpeted floor. He didn’t dare flick a look at Obi-Wan or Master Yoda, who by rights Chancellor Palpatine should have greeted first. His friendship with the Chancellor meant a great deal to him but sometimes—like right now—he wished Naboo’s former Senator would remember that the Jedi liked to keep things calm and understated; that they were greatly attached to ceremony and the proper protocols.
But Yoda didn’t appear perturbed. “Correct you are, Supreme Chancellor. Most valuable to our cause young Skywalker is.”
“As, of course, is Master Kenobi,” said Palpatine, offering Obi-Wan a gracious nod. “Please don’t think I’m unaware of your contributions. Indeed, I had a long conversation with Kothlis’s interim leader a short while ago and he specifically mentioned your heroic defense of the spynet facility. I’m told you were wounded in that engagement?”
Now it was Obi-Wan’s turn to squirm. Nothing irked him more than being singled out, especially by a politician. “A few scratches, Supreme Chancellor. The matter’s hardly worth mentioning.”
“And you’d much rather I’d not mentioned it?” said Palpatine, amused. “Master Kenobi, you are far too modest. I think—”
“Forgive me, Supreme Chancellor,” said Bail Organa, as Mas Amedda ushered him into Palpatine’s office. “I’m so sorry to delay you.”
Anakin turned h
is head, just a little, to watch the Senator from Alderaan join them in front of Palpatine’s desk. An interesting man. His presence in the Force was dynamic. Intense. Padmé trusted him implicitly, and more than once had urged him to do the same. And of course, after Zigoola, Obi-Wan had complete faith in him, too.
I’ve no reason not to trust him. The three people I trust most in my life trust him. I don’t know. He just seems… awfully smooth.
Palpatine didn’t appear put out by the politician’s late arrival. “Nothing wrong, I hope, Senator?”
“No, no,” said Organa. “I was held up at one of the checkpoints.”
“How delightfully ironic,” said Palpatine with a small, wicked smile. “My head of Republic security falling afoul of a security check.”
“Yes,” said Organa, charmingly rueful. “It serves me right for not following my own recommendations. Again, sir, my apologies.”
“Accepted,” said Palpatine. “And now that we’re all here, my friends, let us get down to business.”
Ordinarily, visitors to the Supreme Chancellor’s office remained standing. This time, however, Palpatine led them to an offset alcove where chairs and a sofa had been arranged, conversation-style.
“Master Yoda,” said Organa, following. “Good to see you again.”
“And you, Senator,” said Yoda.
“Senator,” said Obi-Wan, with a noncommittal nod.
Organa nodded back. “Master Kenobi.”
And that was very restrained. Very formal. But still watching closely, Anakin saw something warmer pass between Obi-Wan and his unlikely friend. And something else, too—the merest shiver through the Force. Uncertainty. A hint of danger.
Uh-oh. What are they up to now?
But there wasn’t time to ponder that, because everyone else was seated. So he took his own place, folded his hands in his lap, and sat back, waiting to see what happened next.
“So,” said Palpatine, congeniality set aside in the face of grim reality. “Kothlis. A desperately close-run affair, I’m afraid. Grievous’s bold attack almost succeeded. And there is every reason to suspect he’ll try again as soon as he has regrouped. My friends, we cannot afford to lose the Kothlis spynet to our enemy.”
Bail Organa nodded. “I agree. It was sheer luck the Special Operations Brigade picked up that chatter about the impending attack. If not for random chance, Kothlis would now be in Separatist hands—and we need its capabilities, now more than ever with the war not going our way. We can’t rely only on Bothawui, Special Ops, and our clone agents for intel. The conflict’s spread too far.”
“Exactly, Senator,” said Palpatine, approving. “Which is why I have decided—after consultation with Kothlis’s interim government—to establish a permanent GAR presence in their system and on their soil.”
Anakin saw Yoda and Obi-Wan exchange discreetly alarmed looks. “A permanent presence, Chancellor?” said Yoda, ears lowered. “Using which troops?”
“Our best and brightest, of course,” said Palpatine, eyebrows raised.
“From the front lines you would divert resources?”
“Master Yoda—” Palpatine throttled impatience. “Given Kothlis’s importance I don’t see I have any choice. Do you?”
“In theory your suggestion is sound, Chancellor,” said Obi-Wan carefully. “But in practice I fear it might prove to be a miscalculation. Conditions on the front lines are extremely difficult. We’ve already lost too many of our most experienced clone soldiers and pilots. To take more out of rotation and station them permanently on—”
“Master Kenobi,” said Palpatine, one hand raised. His voice was chilly now, his eyes hard. “Perhaps you should consider that while I have not seen action on the front lines, as Supreme Chancellor of our grand Galactic Republic I do have a firm grasp of this conflict’s big picture. I would not have taken this step did I not consider it unavoidable.”
Obi-Wan’s face went still. “Of course, Supreme Chancellor.”
“My friends…” Palpatine’s intent gaze swept across their faces. “I regret the difficulties losing these troops will cause you. But unless I’ve been misinformed there are more clones due out of production within the next few months. Can we not hold fast until they reach us?”
Yoda sighed. “We can, Chancellor—if convinced you are that we must.”
“I am convinced, Master Yoda,” said Palpatine. “I know that, as a rule, I leave the strategic planning to you and your Jedi Council and the GAR war cabinet—but in this case I feel compelled to intervene. It was only thanks to young Master Skywalker that Kothlis—and before it Bothawui—did not fall into Separatist hands. But Anakin is only one man—and the Jedi cannot expect him to save the day every day.”
Anakin closed his eyes. Please, please, stop talking now, Chancellor. Really. Just stop.
Bail Organa broke the excruciating silence. “I agree, Supreme Chancellor, that the spynet facility on Kothlis is an asset that must be protected. But with all due respect, Master Kenobi also has a valid point. So might I suggest a compromise?”
Palpatine leaned back in his chair, fingers delicately steepled. “Of course, Senator. Please, it’s not my intention to dictate to any of you. I requested this meeting so we might have a free and frank exchange of views on our desperate situation. If you can think of another way to protect Kothlis, believe me—I’ll seize it with both hands.”
There was no mistaking the Chancellor’s sincerity. Anakin flicked a look at Obi-Wan and Yoda, willing them to see Palpatine’s point of view.
They can’t make this personal. He’s the Supreme Chancellor, it’s his job to make difficult decisions. The Jedi serve the Republic, not the other way around. And if this is how we serve today—then so be it.
“I suggest,” Organa said slowly, “that a mix of experienced front-line troops and newer soldiers be sent to secure Kothlis. And that once the newer troops have been trained by those experienced personnel, the latter be returned to the front lines without delay.”
“That’s an interesting suggestion, Senator,” said Palpatine. “Master Yoda, your thoughts?”
Yoda smoothed one small hand over his seamed, roughly domed head. “An ideal arrangement it is not, but better than the alternative I think. Accept Senator Organa’s compromise I do. On one condition.”
Palpatine frowned. “Which is?”
“Of this arrangement a three-month review must be held, Supreme Chancellor. To save Kothlis and lose the civilized galaxy is not an outcome to be desired.”
“And if Kothlis isn’t prepared to accept this compromise, or the imposition of a three-month trial period?”
“Supreme Chancellor you are,” said Yoda, smiling grimly. “Explain to them you can that no choice do they have.”
“I’ll certainly do my best, Master Yoda,” said Palpatine, very dry. “Now—if we might address our second pressing issue? How was Grievous able to infiltrate our shipyard and sabotage our warships’ communications systems? How was he able to jam fighter and gunship transmissions? That argues he has access to our coded frequencies, which is alarming.”
“I can offer no explanation at this time, Supreme Chancellor,” Organa said flatly. “But a task force comprising military and civilian intel agents is working all hours to find one. My office is coordinating. As soon as I have answers, sir, you’ll have them.” He looked at Yoda. “And you, Master Yoda. I’m acutely aware of the danger the Jedi and the troops they command are in so long as this security breach remains unresolved.”
“Greatly appreciated your efforts are, Senator,” said Yoda. “Outwit Grievous we must. If help from the Jedi you require, ask for it. Every assistance shall we give you.”
“I hesitate to suggest this,” said Palpatine, “but should we consider standing our forces down until we can be sure GAR communications are safeguarded?”
“Stand down?” said Anakin, startled. “We can’t. We’d lose too much ground to the Separatists. We’d be telling Grievous he won. Chancellor—”
“Anakin,” said Obi-Wan.
“It’s all right, Master Kenobi,” said Palpatine. “He’s right, I fear, and I was mistaken to suggest it. No matter the dangers we cannot retreat. Instead, we must bear the consequences of courage. And we will.” He favored them with a weary smile. “Thank you all, for your time and your advice. Now we must trust to the Force to see us victorious.”
The meeting broke up, amid promises and assurances of constant mutual updates. Then Palpatine cleared his throat.
“Master Yoda—I wonder if I might trespass upon your goodwill and ask that Anakin remain behind for a few moments?”
Yoda’s nod was as close to a respectful bow as he would likely ever get. “Certainly. Young Skywalker—”
“Master,” Anakin said, with his own version of a deferential nod.
“To the Temple you will return once finished is your business here. Your report on Kothlis I have yet to hear.”
“Of course, Master.”
Obi-Wan said nothing, only raised an eyebrow then followed Master Yoda out of Palpatine’s office, Senator Organa by his side. As the doors closed behind them, the Supreme Chancellor turned.
“Anakin, Anakin.” He shook his head, ruefully smiling. “I embarrassed you, didn’t I?”
He felt heat rush into his face. “No, sir, I—”
“Yes, I did,” said Palpatine. “You can say it. I won’t bite.” He gestured. “Let’s sit down again, shall we? Have you eaten breakfast? It wouldn’t surprise me if you hadn’t—I was forced to convene this meeting at a most uncivilized hour.”
“No, thank you, Chancellor,” he said, dropping back into his chair. “I’m fine.”
Palpatine frowned. “Are you sure? I don’t like to think of you neglecting yourself, Anakin. You work so hard, risk your life for the rest of us on a daily basis. You mustn’t be careless of your own well-being. As Supreme Chancellor I’ve quite enough worries to be going on with, young man. If you’ve any regard for me at all, you’ll not make yourself another one.”
Any regard? He couldn’t speak for a moment. This is the most important man in the galaxy… and he speaks to me as though I’m his own flesh and blood. He has cared about me since I was a boy.