Star Wars: Episode III: Revenge of the Sith

by Matthew W. Stover

  Bail leaned forward. His eyes were hard as chips of stone. “Palpatine no longer has to worry about controlling the Senate. By placing his own lackeys as governors over every planet in the Republic, he controls our systems directly.’’’’ He folded his hands, and squeezed them together until his knuckles hurt. “He’s be­come a dictator. We made him a dictator.”

  And he’s my husband’s friend, and mentor, Padme thought. I shouldn’t even be listening to this.

  “But what can we do about it?” Terr Taneel asked, still gaz­ing down at her robe with a worried frown.

  “That’s what we asked you here to discuss,” Mon Mothma told her calmly. “What we’re going to do about it.” Fang Zar shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not sure I like where

  this is going.”

  “None of us likes where anything is going,” Bail said, half ris­ing “That’s exactly the point. We can’t let a thousand years of democracy disappear without a fight!”

  “A fight?” Padme said. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing— Bail, you sound like a Separatist!”

  “I—” Bail sank back into his seat. “I apologize. That was not my intent. I asked you all here because of all the Senators in the galaxy, you four have been the most consistent—and influential— voices of reason and restraint, doing all you could to preserve our poor, tattered Constitution. We don’t want to hurt the Republic. With your help, we hope to save it.”

  “It has become increasingly clear,” Mon Mothma said, “that Palpatine has become an enemy of democracy. He must be stopped.”

  “The Senate gave him these powers,” Padme said. “The Sen­ate can rein him in.”

  Giddean Danu sat forward. “I fear you underestimate just how deeply the Senate’s corruption has taken hold. Who will vote against Palpatine now?”

  “I will,” Padme said. She discovered that she meant it. “And I’ll find others, too.”

  She’d have to. No matter how much it hurt Anakin. Oh, my love, will you ever find a way to forgive me?

  “You do that,” Bail said. “Make as much noise as you can— keep Palpatine watching what you’re doing in the Senate. That should provide some cover while Mon Mothma and I begin building our organization—”

  “Stop.” Padme rose. “It’s better to leave some things unsaid. Right now, it’s better I don’t know anything about... any­thing.”

  Don’t make me lie to my husband was her unspoken plea. She tried to convey it with her eyes. Please, Bail. Don’t make me lie to him. It will break his heart.

  Perhaps he saw something there; after a moment’s indeci­sion, he nodded. “Very well. Other matters can be left for other times. Until then, this meeting must remain absolutely secret Even hinting at an effective opposition to Palpatine can be as we’ve all seen, very dangerous. We must agree never to speak of these matters except among the people who are now in this room. We must bring no one into this secret without the agree­ment of each and every one of us.”

  “That includes even those closest to you,” Mon Mothma added. “Even your families—to share anything of this will expose them to the same danger we all face. No one can be told. No one.”

  Padme watched them all nod, and what could she do? What could she say? You can keep your own secrets, but I’ll have to tell my Jedi husband, who is Palpatine’s beloved protege...

  She sighed. “Yes. Yes: agreed.”

  And all she could think as the little group dispersed to their own offices was Oh, Anakin—Anakin, I’m sorry...

  I’m so sorry.

  Anakin was glad the vast vaulted Temple hallway was de­serted save for him and Obi-Wan; he didn’t have to keep his voice down.

  “This is outrageous. How can they do this?”

  “How can they not?” Obi-Wan countered. “It’s your friend­ship with the Chancellor—the same friendship that got you a seat at the Council—that makes it impossible to grant you Mastery. In the Council’s eyes, that would be the same as giving a vote to Palpatine himself!”

  He waved this off. He didn’t have time for the Council’s political maneuvering—Padme didn’t have time. “I didn’t ask for this. I don’t need this. So if I wasn’t friends with Palpatine I’d be a Master already, is that what you’re saying?”

  Obi-Wan looked pained. “I don’t know.”

  “I have the power of any five Masters. Any ten. You know it, and so do they.”

  “Power alone is no credit to you—”

  Anakin flung an arm back toward the Council Tower. “They’re the ones who call me the chosen one! Chosen for what? To be a dupe in some slimy political game?”

  Obi-Wan winced as if he’d been stung. “Didn’t I warn you, Anakin? I told you of the... tension... between the Council and the Chancellor. I was very clear. Why didn’t you listen? You walked right into it!”

  “Like that ray shield trap.” Anakin snorted. “Should I blame this on the dark side, too?”

  “However it happened,” Obi-Wan said, “you are in a very... delicate situation.”

  “ What situation? Who cares about me? I’m no Master, I’m just a kid, right? Is that what it’s about? Is Master Windu turning everyone against me because until I came along, he was the youngest Jedi ever named to the Council?” “No one cares about that—”

  “Sure they don’t. Let me tell you something a smart old man said to me no so long ago: Age is no measure of wisdom. If it were, Yoda would be twenty times as wise as you are—” “This has nothing to do with Master Yoda.” “That’s right. It has to do with me. It has to do with them all being against me. They always have been—most of them didn’t even want me to be a Jedi. And if they’d won out, where would they be right now? Who would have done the things I’ve done? Who would have saved Naboo? Who would have saved Kamino? Who would have killed Dooku, and rescued the Chancellor? Who would have come for you and Alpha after Ventress—”

  “Yes, Anakin, yes. Of course. No one questions your accom­plishments. It’s your relationship to Palpatine that is the prob­lem. And it is a very serious problem.”

  “I’m too close to him? Maybe I am. Maybe I should alienate a man who’s been nothing but kind and generous to me ever since I first came to this planet! Maybe I should reject the only man who gives me the respect I deserve—”

  “Anakin, stop. Listen to yourself. Your thoughts are of jeal­ousy, and pride. These are dark thoughts, Anakin. Dangerous thoughts, in these dark times—you are focused on yourself when you need to focus on your service. Your outburst in the Council was an eloquent argument against granting you Mastery. How can you be a Jedi Master when you have not mastered yourself?”

  Anakin passed his flesh hand over his eyes and drew a long, heavy breath. In a much lower, calmer, quieter tone, he said, “What do I have to do?”

  Obi-Wan frowned. “I’m sorry?”

  “They want something from me, don’t they? That’s what this is really about. That’s what it’s been about from the begin­ning. They won’t give me my rank until I give them what they want.”

  “The Council does not operate that way, Anakin, and you know it.”

  Once you’re a Master, as you deserve, how will they make you do their bidding?

  “Yes, I know it. Sure I do,” Anakin said. Suddenly he was tired. So incredibly tired. It hurt to talk. It hurt even to stand here. He was sick of the whole business. Why couldn’t it just be over? “Tell me what they want.”

  Obi-Wan’s eyes shifted, and the sick fatigue in Anakin’s guts turned darker. How bad did it have to be to make Obi-Wan un­able to look him in the eye?

  “Anakin, look, I’m on your side,” Obi-Wan said softly. He looked tired, too: he looked as tired and sick as Anakin felt. “I never wanted to see you put in this situation.” “What situation?” Still Obi-Wan hesitated.

  Anakin said, “Look, whatever it is, it’s not getting any better while you’re standing here working up the nerve to tell me. Come on, Obi-Wan. Let’s have it.”

  Obi-Wan glanced around
the empty hall as if he wanted to make sure they were still alone; Anakin had a feeling it was just an excuse to avoid facing him when he spoke.

  “The Council,” Obi-Wan said slowly, “approved your ap­pointment because Palpatine trusts you. They want you to report on all his dealings. They have to know what he’s up to.”

  “They want me to spy on the Supreme Chancellor of the Re­public?” Anakin blinked numbly. No wonder Obi-Wan couldn’t look him in the face. “Obi-Wan, that’s treason!”

  “We are at war, Anakin.” Obi-Wan looked thoroughly mis­erable. “The Council is sworn to uphold the principles of the Re­public through any means necessary. We have to. Especially when the greatest enemy of those principles seems to be the Chancel­lor himself!”

  Anakin’s eyes narrowed and turned hard. “Why didn’t the Council give me this assignment while we were in session?”

  “Because it’s not for the record, Anakin. You must be able to understand why.”

  “What I understand,” Anakin said grimly, “is that you are trying to turn me against Palpatine. You’re trying to make me keep secrets from him—you want to make me lie to him. That’s what this is really about.”

  “It isn’t,” Obi-Wan insisted. He looked wounded. “It’s about keeping an eye on who he deals with, and who deals with him.”

  “He’s not a bad man, Obi-Wan—he’s a great man, who’s holding this Republic together with his bare hands—”

  “By staying in office long after his term has expired. By gath­ering dictatorial powers—”

  “The Senate demanded that he stay! They pushed those pow­ers on him—”

  “Don’t be naive. The Senate is so intimidated they give him anything he wants!”

  “Then it’s their fault, not his! They should have the guts to stand up to him!”

  “That is what we’re asking you to do, Anakin.”

  Anakin had no answer. Silence fell between them like a ham­mer.

  He shook his head and looked down at the fist he had made of his mechanical hand.

  Finally, he said, “He’s my friend, Obi-Wan.”

  “Yes,” Obi-Wan said softly. Sadly. “I know.”

  “If he asked me to spy on you, do you think I would do it?”

  Now it was Obi-Wan’s turn to fall silent.

  “You know how kind he has been to me.” Anakin’s voice was hushed. “You know how he’s looked after me, how he’s done everything he could to help me. He’s like family.’’’’

  “The Jedi are your family—”

  “No.” Anakin turned on his former Master. “No, the Jedi are your family. The only one you’ve ever known. But I’m not like you—I had a mother who loved me—”

  And a wife who loves me, he thought. And soon a child who will love me, too.

  “Do you remember my mother? Do you remember what hap­pened to her—?”

  —because you didn’t let me go to save her? he finished silently. And the same will happen to Padme, and the same will happen to our child.

  Within him, the dragon’s cold whisper chewed at his strength. All things die, Anakin Skywalker. Even stars burn out.

  “Anakin, yes. Of course. You know how sorry I am for your mother. Listen: we’re not asking you to act against Palpatine. We’re only asking you to ... monitor his activities. You must be­lieve me.”

  Obi-Wan stepped closer and put a hand on Anakin’s arm.

  With a long, slowly indrawn breath, he seemed to reach some difficult decision. “Palpatine himself may be in danger,” he said. “This may be the only way you can help him.” “What are you talking about?”

  “I am not supposed to be telling you this. Please do not re­veal we have had this conversation. To anyone, do you under­stand?”

  Anakin said, “I can keep a secret.”

  “All right.” Obi-Wan took another deep breath. “Master Windu traced Darth Sidious to Five Hundred Republica before Grievous’s attack—we think that the Sith Lord is someone within Palpatine’s closest circle of advisers. That is who we want you to spy on, do you understand?”

  A fiction created by the Jedi Council... an excuse to harass their political enemies...

  “If Palpatine is under the influence of a Sith Lord, he may be in the gravest danger. The only way we can help him is to find Sidious, and to stop him. What we are asking of you is not trea­son, Anakin—it may be the only way to save the Republic!”

  If this Darth Sidious of yours were to walk through that door right now ... I would ask him to sit down, and I would ask him if he has any power he could use to end this war

  “So all you’re really asking,” Anakin said slowly, “is for me to help the Council find Darth Sidious.”

  “Yes.” Obi-Wan looked relieved, incredibly relieved, as though some horrible chronic pain had suddenly and inexplica­bly eased. “Yes, that’s it exactly.”

  Locked within the furnace of his heart, Anakin whispered an echo—not quite an echo—slightly altered, just at the end: I would ask him to sit down, and I would ask him if he has any power he could use—

  —to save Padme.

  The gunship streaked through the capital’s sky.

  Obi-Wan stared past Yoda and Mace Windu, out through the gunship’s window at the vast deployment platform and the swarm of clones who were loading the assault cruiser at the far end.

  “You weren’t there,” he said. “You didn’t see his face. I think we have done a terrible thing.”

  “We don’t always have the right answer,” Mace Windu said. “Sometimes there isn’t aright answer.”

  “Know how important your friendship with young Anakin is to you, I do.” Yoda, too, stared out toward the stark angles of the assault cruiser being loaded for the counterinvasion of Kashyyyk; he stood leaning on his gimer stick as though he did not trust his legs. “Allow such attachments to pass out of one’s life, a Jedi must.”

  Another man—even another Jedi—might have resented the rebuke, but Obi-Wan only sighed. “I suppose—he is the chosen one, after all. The prophecy says he was born to bring balance to the Force, but...”

  The words trailed off. He couldn’t remember what he’d been about to say. All he could remember was the look on Anakin’s face.

  “Yes. Always in motion, the future is.” Yoda lifted his head and his eyes narrowed to thoughtful slits. “And the prophecy, misread it could have been.”

  Mace looked even grimmer than usual. “Since the fall of Darth Bane more than a millennium ago, there have been hun­dreds of thousands of Jedi—hundreds of thousands of Jedi feed­ing the light with each work of their hands, with each breath, with every beat of their hearts, bringing justice, building civil society, radiating peace, acting out of selfless love for all living things—and in all these thousand years, there have been only two Sith at any time. Only two. Jedi create light, but the Sith do not create darkness. They merely use the darkness that is always there. That has always been there. Greed and jealousy, aggression and lust and fear—these are all natural to sentient beings. The legacy of the jungle. Our inheritance from the dark.”

  “I’m sorry, Master Windu, but I’m not sure I follow you. Are you saying—to follow your metaphor—that the Jedi have cast too much light? From what I have seen these past years, the galaxy has not become all that bright a place.”

  “All I am saying is that we don’t know. We don’t even truly understand what it means to bring balance to the Force. We have no way of anticipating what this may involve.”

  “An infinite mystery is the Force,” Yoda said softly. “The more we learn, the more we discover how much we do not

  know.”

  “So you both feel it, too,” Obi-Wan said. The words hurt him. “You both can feel that we have turned some invisible corner.”

  “In motion, are the events of our time. Approach, the crisis does.”

  “Yes.” Mace interlaced his fingers and squeezed until his knuckles popped. “But we’re in a spice mine without a glow rod. If we stop walking
, we’ll never reach the light.”

  “And what if the light just isn’t there?” Obi-Wan asked. “What if we get to the end of this tunnel and find only night?”

  “Faith must we have. Trust in the will of the Force. What other choice is there?”

  Obi-Wan accepted this with a nod, but still when he thought of Anakin, dread began to curdle below his heart. “I should have argued more strongly in Council today.”

  “You think Skywalker won’t be able to handle this?” Mace Windu said. “I thought you had more confidence in his abilities.”

  “I trust him with my life,” Obi-Wan said simply. “And that is precisely the problem.”

  The other two Jedi Masters watched him silently while he tried to summon the proper words.

  “For Anakin,” Obi-Wan said at length, “there is nothing more important than friendship. He is the most loyal man I have ever met—loyal beyond reason, in fact. Despite all I have tried to teach him about the sacrifices that are the heart of being a Jedi he—he will never, I think, truly understand.”

  He looked over at Yoda. “Master Yoda, you and I have been close since I was a boy. An infant. Yet if ending this war one week sooner—one day sooner—were to require that I sacrifice your life, you know I would.”

  “As you should,” Yoda said. “As I would yours, young Obi-Wan. As any Jedi would any other, in the cause of peace.”

  “Any Jedi,” Obi-Wan said, “except Anakin.”

  Yoda and Mace exchanged glances, both thoughtfully grim. Obi-Wan guessed they were remembering the times Anakin had violated orders—the times he had put at risk entire operations, the lives of thousands, the control of whole planetary systems— to save a friend.

  More than once, in fact, to save Obi-Wan.

  “I think,” Obi-Wan said carefully, “that abstractions like peace don’t mean much to him. He’s loyal to people, not to prin­ciples. And he expects loyalty in return. He will stop at nothing to save me, for example, because he thinks I would do the same for him.”

  Mace and Yoda gazed at him steadily, and Obi-Wan had to lower his head.

  “Because,” he admitted reluctantly, “he knows I would do the same for him.”