Revenge of the Sith

by Matthew Stover

  Angry? Not at all. He was sure he wasn't angry. He kept telling himself he wasn't angry, and he made himself believe it.

  Anakin walked into the Council Chamber, head lowered in a show of humility and respect. But down inside him, down around the nuclear shielding that banked his heart, he was hiding.

  It wasn't anger he was hiding. His anger was only camouflage.

  Behind his anger hid the dragon.

  He remembered too well the first time he had entered this Chamber, the first time he had stood within a ring of Jedi Masters gathered to sit in judgment upon his fate. He remembered how Yoda's green stare had seen into his heart, had seen the cold worm of dread eating away at him, no matter how hard he'd tried to deny it: the awful fear he'd felt that he might never see his mother again.

  He couldn't let them see what that worm had grown into.

  He moved slowly into the center of the circle of brown-toned carpet, and turned toward the Senior Members.

  Yoda was unreadable as always, his rumpled features composed in a mask of serene contemplation.

  Mace Windu could have been carved from stone.

  Ghost-images of Ki-Adi-Mundi and Plo Koon hovered a centimeter above their Council seats, maintained by the seats' internal holoprojectors. Agen Kolar sat alone, between the empty chairs belonging to Shaak Ti and Stass Allie.

  Obi-Wan sat in the chair that once had belonged to Oppo Rancisis, looking pensive. Even worried.

  "Anakin Skywalker." Master Windu's tone was so severe that the dragon inside Anakin coiled instinctively. "The Council has decided to comply with Chancellor Palpatine's directive, and with the instructions of the Senate that give him the unprecedented authority to command this Council. You are hereby granted a seat at the High Council of the Jedi, as the Chancellor's personal representative."

  Anakin stood very still for a long moment, until he could be absolutely sure he had heard what he thought he'd heard.

  Palpatine had been right. He seemed to be right about a lot of things, these days. In fact—now that Anakin came to think of it—he couldn't remember a single instance when the Supreme Chancellor had been wrong.

  Finally, as it began to sink in upon him, as he gradually allowed himself to understand that the Council had finally decided to grant him his heart's desire, that they finally had recognized his accomplishments, his dedication, his power, he took a slow, deep breath.

  "Thank you, Masters. You have my pledge that I will uphold the highest principles of the Jedi Order."

  "Allow this appointment lightly, the Council does not." Yoda's ears curled forward at Anakin like accusing fingers. "Disturbing is this move by Chancellor Palpatine. On many levels."

  They have become more concerned with avoiding the oversight of the Senate than they are with winning the war...

  Anakin inclined his head. "I understand."

  "I'm not sure you do." Mace Windu leaned forward, staring into Anakin's eyes with a measuring squint. Anakin was barely paying attention; in his mind, he was already leaving the Council Chamber, riding the turbolift to the archives, demanding access to the restricted vault by authority of his new rank—

  "You will attend the meetings of this Council," the Korun Master said, "but you will not be granted the rank and privileges of a Jedi Master."

  "What?"

  It was a small word, a simple word, an instinctive recoil from words that felt like punches, like stun blasts exploding inside his brain that left his head ringing and the room spinning around him—but even to his own ears, the voice that came from his lips didn't sound like his own. It was deeper, darker, clipped and oiled, resonating from the depths of his heart.

  It didn't sound like him at all, and it smoked with fury.

  "How dare you? How dare you?"

  Anakin stood welded to the floor, motionless. He wasn't even truly aware of speaking. It was as if someone else were using his mouth—and now, finally, he recognized the voice.

  It sounded like Dooku. But it was not Dooku's voice.

  It was the voice of Dooku's destroyer.

  "No Jedi in this room can match my power—no Jedi in the galaxy! You think you can deny Mastery to me?"

  "The Chancellor's representative you are," Yoda said. "And it is as his representative you shall attend the Council. Sit in this Chamber you will, but no vote will you have. The Chancellor's views you shall present. His wishes. His ideas and directives. Not your own."

  Up from the depths of his furnace heart came an answer so far transcending fury that it sounded cold as interstellar space. "This is an insult to me, and to the Chancellor. Do not imagine that it will be tolerated."

  Mace Windu's eyes were as cold as the voice from Anakin's mouth. "Take your seat, young Skywalker."

  Anakin matched his stare. Perhaps I'll take yours. His own voice inside his head, had a hot black fire that smoked from the depths of his furnace heart. You think you can stop me from saving my love? You think you can make me watch her die? Go ahead and Vaapad this, you—

  "Anakin," Obi-Wan said softly. He gestured to an empty seat beside him. "Please."

  And something in Obi-Wan's gentle voice, in his simple, straightforward request, sent his anger slinking off ashamed, and Anakin found himself alone on the carpet in the middle of the Jedi Council, blinking.

  He suddenly felt very young, and very foolish. "Forgive me, Masters." His bow of contrition couldn't hide the blaze of embarrassment that climbed his cheeks.

  The rest of the session passed in a haze; Ki-Adi-Mundi said something about no Republic world reporting any sign of Grievous, and Anakin felt a dull shock when the Council assigned the task of coordinating the search to Obi-Wan alone.

  On top of everything else, now they were splitting up the team?

  He was so numbly astonished by it all that he barely registered what they were saying about a droid landing on Kashyyyk—but he had to say something, he couldn't just sit here for his whole first meeting of the Council, Master or not—and he knew the Kashyyyk system almost as well as he knew the back alleys of Mos Espa. "I can handle it," he offered, suddenly brightening. "I could clear that planet in a day or two—"

  "Skywalker, your assignment is here.'" Mace Windu's stare was hard as durasteel, and only a scrape short of openly hostile.

  Then Yoda volunteered, and for some reason, the Council didn't even bother to vote.

  "It is settled then," Mace said. "May the Force be with us all."

  And as the holopresences of Plo Koon and Ki-Adi-Mundi winked out, as Obi-Wan and Agen Kolar rose and spoke together in tones softly grave, as Yoda and Mace Windu walked from the room, Anakin could only sit, sick at heart, stunned with helplessness.

  Padme—oh, Padme, what are we going to do?

  He didn't know. He didn't have a clue. But he knew one thing he wasn't going to do.

  He wasn't going to give up.

  Even with the Council against him—even with the whole Order against him—he would find a way.

  He would save her.

  Somehow.

  "I am no happier than the rest of you about this," Padme said, gesturing at the flimsiplast of the Sector Governance Decree on Bail Organa's desk. "But I've known Palpatine for years; he was my most trusted adviser. I'm not prepared to believe his intent is to dismantle the Senate."

  "Why should he bother?" Mon Mothma countered. "As a practical matter—as of this morning—the Senate no longer exists."

  Padme looked from one grim face to another. Giddean Danu nodded his agreement. Terr Taneel kept her eyes down, pretending to be adjusting her robes. Fang Zar ran a hand over his unruly gray-streaked topknot.

  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!"

&n
bsp; 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.