Revenge of the Sith

by Matthew Stover

  But for now, a pretense of cordiality had to be maintained.

  "Utapau," Grievous said slowly, as though explaining to a child, "is a hostile planet under military occupation. It was never intended to be more than a stopgap, while the defenses of the base on Mustafar were completed. Now that they are, Mustafar is the most secure planet in the galaxy. The stronghold prepared for you can withstand the entire Republic Navy."

  "It should," Gunray muttered. "Construction nearly bankrupted the Trade Federation!"

  "Don't whine to me about money, Viceroy. I have no interest in it-"

  "You had better, General. It's my money that finances this entire war! It's my money that pays for that body you wear, and for those insanely expensive MagnaGuards of yours! It's my money—'"

  Grievous moved so swiftly that he seemed to teleport from the window to half a meter in front of Gunray. "How much use is your money," he said, flexing his hand of jointed duranium in the Neimoidian's face, "against this?"

  Gunray flinched and backed away. "I was only—I have some concerns about your ability to keep us safe, General, that's all. I—we—the Trade Federation cannot work in a climate of fear. What about the Jedi?"

  "Forget the Jedi. They do not enter into this equation."

  "They will be entering into that base soon enough!"

  "The base is secure. It can stand against a thousand Jedi. Ten thousand."

  "Do you hear yourself? Are you mad?"

  "What I am," Grievous replied evenly, "is unaccustomed to having my orders challenged."

  "We are the Leadership Council! You cannot give us orders! We give the orders here!"

  "Are you certain of that? Would you care to wager?" Grievous leaned close enough that he could see the reflection of his mask in Gunray's rose-colored eyes. "Shall we, say, bet your life on it?"

  Gunray kept on backing away. "You tell us we'll be safe on Mustafar—but you also told us you would deliver Palpatine as a hostage, and he managed to escape your grip!"

  "Be thankful, Viceroy," Grievous said, admiring the smooth flexion of his finger joints as though his hand were some species of exotic predator, "that you have not found yourself in my grip."

  He went back to the viewport and reassumed his original position, legs wide, hands clasped behind his back. To look on the sickly pink in Gunray's pale green cheeks for one second longer was to risk forgetting his orders and splattering the viceroy's brains from here to Ord Mantell.

  "Your ship is waiting."

  His auditory sensors clearly picked up the slither of Gunray's sandals retreating along the corridor, and not a second too soon: his sensors were also registering the whine of the control center's holocomm warming up. He turned to face the disk, and when the enunciator chimed to indicate the incoming transmission, he pressed the accept key and knelt. Head down, he could see only the scanned image of the hem of the great Lord's robes, but that was all he needed to see.

  "Yes, Lord Sidious."

  "Have you moved the Separatist Council to Mustafar?"

  "Yes, Master." He risked a glance out the viewport. Most of the council had reached the starship. Gunray should be joining them any second; Grievous had seen firsthand how fast the viceroy could run, given proper motivation. "The ship will lift off within moments."

  "Well done, my general. Now you must turn your hand to preparing our trap there on Utapau. The Jedi hunt you personally at last; you must be ready for their attack."

  "Yes, Master."

  "I am arranging matters to give you a second chance to do my bidding, Grievous. Expect that the Jedi sent to capture you will be Obi-Wan Kenobi."

  "Kenobi?" Grievous's fists clenched hard enough that his carpal electrodrivers whined in protest. "And Skywalker?"

  "I believe Skywalker will be... otherwise engaged."

  Grievous dropped his head even lower. "I will not fail you again, my Master. Kenobi will die."

  "See to it."

  "Master? If I may trouble you with boldness—why did you not let me kill Chancellor Palpatine? We may never get a better chance."

  "The time was not yet ripe. Patience, my general. The end of the war is near, and victory is certain."

  "Even with the loss of Count Dooku?"

  "Dooku was not lost, he was sacrificed—a strategic sacrifice, as one offers up a piece in dejarik: to draw the opponent into a fatal blunder."

  "I was never much the dejarik player, my Master. I prefer real war. "

  "And you shall have your fill, I promise you."

  "This fatal blunder you speak of—if I may once again trouble you with boldness..."

  "You will come to understand soon enough." Grievous could hear the smile in his Master's voice. "All will be clear, once you meet my new apprentice."

  Anakin finger-combed his hair as he trotted out across the restricted landing deck atop the Temple ziggurat near the base of the High Council Tower. Far across the expanse of deck stood the Supreme Chancellor's shuttle. Anakin squinted at it, and at the two tall red-robed guards that stood flanking its open access ramp.

  And coming toward him from the direction of the shuttle, shielding his eyes and leaning against the morning wind that whipped across the unprotected field—was that Obi-Wan?

  "Finally," Anakin muttered. He'd scoured the Temple for his former Master; he'd nearly giving up hope of finding him when a passing Padawan had mentioned that he'd seen Obi-Wan on his way out to the landing deck to meet Palpatine's shuttle. He hoped Obi-Wan wouldn't notice he hadn't changed his clothes.

  It wasn't like he could explain.

  Though his secret couldn't last, he wasn't ready for it to come out just yet. He and Padme had agreed last night that they would keep it as long as they could. He wasn't ready to leave the Jedi Order. Not while she was still in danger.

  Padme had said that his nightmare must be only a metaphor, but he knew better. He knew that Force prophecy was not absolute—but his had never been wrong. Not in the slightest detail. He had known as a boy that he would be chosen by the Jedi. He had known his adventures would span the galaxy. As a mere nine-year-old, long before he even understood what love was, he had looked upon Padme Amidala's flawless face and seen there that she would love him, and that they would someday marry.

  There had been no metaphor in his dreams of his mother. Screaming in pain. Tortured to death.

  I knew you would come to me, Annie... I missed you so much.

  He could have saved her.

  Maybe.

  It had always seemed so obvious to him—that if he had only returned to Tatooine a day earlier, an hour, he could have found his mother and she would still be alive. And yet—

  And yet the great prophets of the Jedi had always taught that the gravest danger in trying to prevent a vision of the future from coming to pass is that in doing so, a Jedi can actually bring it to pass—as though if he'd run away in time to save his mother, he might have made himself somehow responsible for her death.

  As though if he tried to save Padme, he could end up— blankly impossible though it was—killing her himself...

  But to do nothing... to simply wait for Padme to die...

  Could something be more than impossible?

  When a Jedi had a question about the deepest subtleties of the Force, there was one source to whom he could always turn; and so, first thing that morning, without even taking time to stop by his own quarters for a change of clothing, Anakin had gone to Yoda for advice.

  He'd been surprised by how graciously the ancient Jedi Master had invited him into his quarters, and by how patiently Yoda had listened to his stumbling attempts to explain his question without giving away his secret; Yoda had never made any attempt to conceal what had always seemed to Anakin to be a gruff disapproval of Anakin's very existence.

  But this morning, despite clearly having other things on his mind—even Anakin's Force perceptions, far from the most subtle had detected echoes of conflict and worry within the Master's chamber—Yoda had simply offered Anakin a pla
ce on one of the softly rounded pod seats and suggested that they meditate together.

  He hadn't even asked for details.

  Anakin had been so grateful—and so relieved, and so unexpectedly hopeful—that he'd found tears welling into his eyes, and some few minutes had been required for him to compose himself into proper Jedi serenity.

  After a time, Yoda's eyes had slowly opened and the deep furrows on his ancient brow had deepened further. "Premonitions... premonitions... deep questions they are. Sense the future, once all Jedi could; now few alone have this skill. Visions... gifts from the Force, and curses. Signposts and snares. These visions of yours..."

  "They are of pain," Anakin had said. "Of suffering." He had barely been able to make himself add: "And death."

  "In these troubled times, no surprise this is. Yourself you see, or someone you know?"

  Anakin had not trusted himself to answer. "Someone close to you?" Yoda had prompted gently.

  "Yes," Anakin had replied, eyes turned away from Yoda's too-wise stare. Let him think he was talking about Obi-Wan. It was close enough.

  Yoda's voice was still gentle, and understanding. "The fear of loss is a path to the dark side, young one."

  "I won't let my visions come true, Master. I won't."

  "Rejoice for those who transform into the Force. Mourn them not. Miss them not."

  "Then why do we fight at all, Master? Why save anybody?"

  "Speaking of anybody, we are not," Yoda had said sternly "Speaking of you, and your vision, and your fear, we are. The shadow of greed, attachment is. What you fear to lose, train yourself to release. Let go of fear, and loss cannot harm you."

  Which was when Anakin had realized Yoda wasn't going to be any help at all. The greatest sage of the Jedi Order had nothing better to offer him than more pious babble about Letting Things Pass Out Of His Life.

  Like he hadn't heard that a million times already. Easy for him—who had Yoda ever cared about? Really cared about? Of one thing Anakin was certain: the ancient Master had never been in love.

  Or he would have known better than to expect Anakin to just fold his hands and close his eyes and settle in to meditate while what was left of Padme's life evaporated like the ghost-mist of dew in a Tatooine winter dawn...

  So all that had been left for him was to find some way to respectfully extricate himself.

  And then go find Obi-Wan.

  Because he wasn't about to give up. Not in this millennium.

  The Jedi Temple was the greatest nexus of Force energy in the Republic; its ziggurat design focused the Force the way a lightsaber's gemstone focused its energy stream. With the thousands of Jedi and Padawans within it every day contemplating peace, seeking knowledge, and meditating on justice and surrender to the will of the Force, the Temple was a fountain of the light.

  Just being on its rooftop landing deck sent a surge of power through Anakin's whole body; if the Force was ever to show him a way to change the dark future of his nightmares, it would do so here.

  The Jedi Temple also contained the archives, the vast library that encompassed the Order's entire twenty-five millennia of existence: everything from the widest-ranging cosmographical surveys to the intimate journals of a billion Jedi Knights. It was there Anakin hoped to find everything that was known about prophetic dreams—and everything that was known about preventing these prophecies from coming to pass.

  His only problem was that the deepest secrets of the greatest Masters of the Force were stored in restricted holocrons; since the Lorian Nod affair, some seventy standard years before, access to these holocrons was denied to all but Jedi Masters.

  And he couldn't exactly explain to the archives Master why he wanted them.

  But now here was Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan would help him, Anakin knew he would—if only Anakin could figure out the right way to ask...

  While he was still hunting for words, Obi-Wan reached him. "You missed the report on the Outer Rim sieges."

  "I—was held up," Anakin said. "I have no excuse."

  That, at least, was true.

  "Is Palpatine here?" Anakin asked. It was a convenient-enough way to change the subject. "Has something happened?"

  "Quite the opposite," Obi-Wan said. "That shuttle did not bring the Chancellor. It is waiting to bring you to him."

  "Waiting? For me?" Anakin frowned. Worries and lack of sleep had his head full of fog; he couldn't make this make sense. He patted his robes vacantly. "But—my beacon hasn't gone off. If the Council wanted me, why didn't they—"

  "The Council," Obi-Wan said, "has not been consulted."

  "I don't understand."

  "Nor do I." Obi-Wan stepped close, nodding minutely back toward the shuttle. "They simply arrived, some time ago. When the deck-duty Padawans questioned them, they said the Chancellor has requested your presence."

  "Why wouldn't he go through the Council?"

  "Perhaps he has some reason to believe," Obi-Wan said carefully, "that the Council might have resisted sending you. Perhaps he did not wish to reveal his reason for this summons. Relations between the Council and the Chancellor are... stressed."

  A queasy knot began to tie itself behind Anakin's ribs. "Obi-Wan, what's going on? Something's wrong, isn't it? You know something, I can tell."

  "Know? No: only suspect. Which is not at all the same thing."

  Anakin remembered what he'd said to Padme about exactly that last night. The queasy knot tightened. "And?"

  "And that's why I am out here, Anakin. So I can talk to you. Privately. Not as a member of the Jedi Council—in fact, if the Council were to find out about this conversation... well, let's say, I'd rather they didn't."

  "What conversation? I still don't know what's going on!"

  "None of us does. Not really." Obi-Wan put a hand on Anakin's shoulder and frowned deeply into his eyes. "Anakin, you know I am your friend."

  "Of course you are—"

  "No. No of courses, Anakin. Nothing is of course anymore. I am your friend, and as your friend, I am asking you: be wary of Palpatine."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I know you are his friend. I am concerned that he may not be yours. Be careful of him, Anakin. And be careful of your own feelings."

  "Careful? Don't you mean, mindful?"

  Obi-Wan's frown deepened. "No. I don't. The Force grows ever darker around us, and we are all affected by it, even as we affect it. This is a dangerous time to be a Jedi. Please, Anakin—please be careful"

  Anakin tried for his old rakish smile. "You worry too much."

  "I have to—"

  "—because I don't worry at all, right?" Anakin finished for him.

  Obi-Wan's frown softened toward a smile. "How did you know I was going to say that?"

  "You're wrong, you know." Anakin stared off through the morning haze toward the shuttle, past the shuttle— Toward 500 Republica, and Padme's apartment. He said, "I worry plenty."

  The ride to Palpatine's office was quietly tense. Anakin had tried making conversation with the two tall helmet-masked fig­ures in the red robes, but they weren't exactly chatty.

  Anakin's discomfort only increased when he arrived at Palpatine's office. He had been here so often that he didn't even really see it, most times: the deep red runner that matched the softly curving walls, the long comfortable couches, the huge arc of window behind Palpatine's desk—these were all so familiar that they were usually almost invisible, but today—

  Today, with Obi-Wan's voice whispering be wary of Palpatine in the back of his head, everything looked different. New. And not in a good way.

  Some indefinable gloom shrouded everything, as though the orbital mirrors that focused the light of Coruscant's distant sun into bright daylight had somehow been damaged, or smudged with the brown haze of smoke that still shrouded the cityscape. The light of the Chancellor's lampdisks seemed brighter than usual, almost harsh, but somehow that only deepened the gloom. He discovered now an odd, accidental echo of memory, a new harmonic resonance ins
ide his head, when he looked at the curving view wall that threw into silhouette the Chancellor's single large chair.

  Palpatine's office reminded him of the General's Quarters on Invisible Hand.

  And it struck him as unaccountably sinister that the robes worn by the Chancellor's cadre of bodyguards were the exact color of Palpatine's carpet.

  Palpatine himself stood at the view wall, hands clasped behind him, gazing out upon the smoke-hazed morning.

  "Anakin." He must have seen Anakin's reflection in the curve of transparisteel; he had not moved. "Join me."

  Anakin came up beside him, mirroring his stance. Endless cityscape stretched away before them. Here and there, the remains of shattered buildings still smoldered. Space lane traffic was beginning to return to normal, and rivers of gnat-like speeders and air taxis and repulsor buses crisscrossed the city. In the near distance, the vast dome of the Galactic Senate squatted like a gigantic gray mushroom sprung from the duracrete plain that was Republic Plaza. Farther, dim in the brown haze, he could pick out the quintuple spires that topped the ziggurat of the Jedi Temple.

  "Do you see, Anakin?" Palpatine's voice was soft, hoarse with emotion. "Do you see what they have done to our magnificent city? This war must end. We cannot allow such... such..."

  His voice trailed away, and he shook his head. Gently, Anakin laid a hand on Palpatine's shoulder, and a hint of frown fleeted over his face at how frail seemed the flesh and bone beneath the robe. "You know you have my best efforts, and those of every Jedi," he said.

  Palpatine nodded, lowering his head. "I know I have yours, Anakin. The rest of the Jedi..." He sighed. He looked even more exhausted than he had yesterday. Perhaps he had passed a sleepless night as well.

  "I have asked you here," he said slowly, "because I need your help on a matter of extreme delicacy. I hope I can depend upon your discretion, Anakin."