But the Chancellor’s office was above most of the other buildings. From its windows, the skyscrapers looked less like mountains than like a forest of petrified evergreens. Today, though, a smoky brown haze hung over the forest. Gaps in the rows of spikes marked places where buildings had been destroyed in the battle. The Separatists have a lot to answer for, Anakin thought.
Chancellor Palpatine broke the silence at last. “Anakin, this afternoon the Senate is going to call on me to take direct control of the Jedi Council.”
Anakin’s eyes widened. Obi-Wan had said that the Chancellor would be given new powers, but Anakin hadn’t expected anything like this. “The Jedi will no longer report to the Senate?” he asked, not entirely believing it.
“They will report to me, personally,” Palpatine said. “The Senate is too unfocused to conduct a war.”
“I agree,” Anakin said quickly. Remembering Obi-Wan’s words, he added, “But the Jedi Council may not see it that way. With all due respect, sir, the Council is in no mood for more constitutional amendments.”
“In this case, I have no choice,” Palpatine said almost sadly. “This war must be won.”
“Everyone will agree on that,” Anakin said. Though sometimes I think the Jedi Council is so worried about politics that they’ve forgotten what the real problem is. As soon as he thought it, Anakin felt guilty. The Council had sent its own members into battle—and lost some of them, too. It’s being back on Coruscant instead of out in the field; it makes me feel hemmed in, Anakin thought. And...and other things. He didn’t want to think about the dreams right now.
Palpatine had been talking; Anakin brought his attention back to the conversation in time to hear the Chancellor ask, “Don’t you wonder why you’ve been kept off the Council?”
“My time will come,” Anakin said automatically. “When I am older, and, I suppose, wiser.” But my time won’t come, he thought. Not anymore. As soon as they find out about Padmé and the baby, I’m going to have to leave the Jedi. Suddenly he felt empty, the way he’d felt when he was nine and the Jedi Council had said he was too old for training. What will happen to me now? he had asked Master Qui-Gon Jinn. He had become Qui-Gon’s ward, but that hadn’t seemed enough, even when he was nine. The Council had relented after Qui-Gon’s death, but they’d never countenance this.
“I hope you trust me, Anakin,” the Chancellor said.
“Of course,” Anakin replied, feeling guilty. He didn’t trust the Chancellor enough to tell him about Padmé, or the baby. But he didn’t trust anyone enough to tell them that. Not yet.
“I need your help, son, “ Palpatine said.
Did I miss something? “What do you mean?”
“I fear the Jedi. The Council keeps pushing for more control. They’re shrouded in secrecy and obsessed with maintaining their autonomy—ideals I find simply incomprehensible in a democracy.”
Anakin barely kept from rolling his eyes in exasperation. Obi-Wan had said almost the same things about the Chancellor. Why couldn’t they all just stop, and get on with fighting the war? “I can assure you that the Jedi are dedicated to the values of the Republic, sir,” he said to Palpatine.
“Their actions will speak more loudly than their words,” Palpatine replied. “I’m depending on you.”
“For what?” Anakin asked, puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“To be the eyes, ears, and voice of the Republic,” Palpatine told him.
What does that mean? The Chancellor was the voice of the Senate, and the Senate was the voice of the Republic. Did Palpatine need a Jedi assistant? That didn’t make any sense.
“Anakin,” Palpatine said after a moment, “I’m appointing you to be my personal representative on the Jedi Council.”
Well, that was clear enough. Then the words sank in. “Me? A Master?” The youngest member of the Jedi Council ever! And maybe then they’ll let me stay, even if they find out—He wouldn’t finish that thought; the hope was too great and too fragile. Besides…“I am overwhelmed, sir, but the Council elects its own members. They will never accept this.”
“I think they will,” the Chancellor said with a quiet firmness that was utterly convincing. “They need you more than you know.”
It took all of Anakin’s self-control to keep from pacing up and down the hallway outside the Jedi Council chamber. His head was whirling. It had only been a few hours since Chancellor Palpatine had told him he wanted Anakin on the Jedi Council; it seemed like minutes since the Senate had given the Chancellor the powers that made Anakin’s appointment official. So why did it feel as if he’d been standing out here for days?
The door opened at last, and Anakin went in. The Council chamber seemed larger than Anakin remembered. He had been there many times since the beginning of the Clone Wars, to report on the missions he and Obi-Wan had conducted, but he didn’t remember it ever taking so long to cross to the center of the circle. The waiting Masters sat, expressionless, in their places—Mace Windu, Eeth Koth, Yoda, the holograms of Plo Koon and Ki-Adi-Mundi. Even Master Obi-Wan’s face gave no hint of the Council’s decision.
Finally, he reached the center of the floor, stopped, and bowed to the Council.
Mace Windu spoke at last, formally, as head of the Jedi Council. “Anakin Skywalker, we have approved your appointment to the Council as the Chancellor’s personal representative.”
“I will do my best to uphold the principles of the Jedi Order,” Anakin said with equal formality, but it was hard to contain his joy. He wanted to jump around and shout, or at least grin.
Master Yoda must have sensed some of Anakin’s feelings, for he gave him a stern look. “Allow this appointment lightly, the Council does not. Disturbing is this move by Chancellor Palpatine.”
“I understand,” Anakin said.
“You are on this Council,” Mace went on, “but we do not grant you the rank of Master.”
What?! Anger swept over Anakin, and with it all his formal control abandoned him. “How can you do this? I’m more powerful than any of you! How can I be on the Council and not be a Master?”
“Take your seat, young Skywalker,” Mace said, biting off the words with icy disapproval.
Anakin swallowed hard. Inside, he was still seething, but he forced out the words, “Forgive me, Master,” and went to one of the empty chairs. The Chancellor is depending on me; they’ll never trust either of us if they think I can’t control myself. But nobody has ever been on the Council who wasn’t a Master! And I’m good enough. Everybody knows it.
Ki-Adi-Mundi cleared his throat, and the meeting got down to business. “We have surveyed all systems in the Republic, and have found no sign of General Grievous.”
“Hiding in the Outer Rim, he is,” Yoda suggested. “The outlying systems, you must sweep.”
“It may take some time,” Obi-Wan said. “We do not have many ships to spare.”
“We cannot take ships from the front line,” Mace said.
Despite his anger, Anakin found himself nodding in agreement. The Republic was spread too thinly already.
“And yet, it would be fatal for us to allow the droid armies to regroup,” Obi-Wan said.
Anakin agreed with that, too.
“Master Kenobi, our spies contact, you must,” Yoda said. “Then wait.”
Anakin frowned. Wait? That will give General Grievous time to regroup. But if we don’t have enough fighters to send right away, what else can we do?
The blue hologram of Ki-Adi-Mundi raised a hand. “What of the droid landing on Kashyyyk?”
Everyone agreed that they couldn’t afford to lose Kashyyyk, the planet of the Wookiees. It was on the main navigation route for the whole southwestern quadrant. Anakin volunteered to lead an attack group at once; he knew that system well, so he figured it wouldn’t take long. But Mace Windu shook his head. “Your assignment is here with the Chancellor,” Mace told him.
Anakin swallowed his disappointment. He hadn’t re
alized that being the Chancellor’s representative would keep him away from the front lines. They won’t let me do the job I’m good at, he thought, and they won’t make me a Master so I can be good at this job. It isn’t fair!
It didn’t help to hear Yoda say, “Good relations with the Wookiees I have. Go, I will.” Or to hear Mace Windu’s instant agreement. All through the rest of the meeting, while the Council gave out assignments and planned the strategy of the war, Anakin’s anger simmered. He held on to his temper until the Council was over. But when he and Obi-Wan started down the hall toward the briefing rooms, he couldn’t resist venting his feelings.
“What kind of nonsense is this?” he grumbled. “Put me on the Council and not make me a Master? That’s never been done in the history of the Jedi! It’s insulting.”
“Calm down,” Obi-Wan said. “You’ve been given a great honor. To be on the Council at your age has never happened before.”
Anakin snorted. There’s never been a Jedi as strong as I am, either.
“Listen to me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, and the seriousness of his tone caught Anakin’s attention. “The fact is, you’re too close to the Chancellor, and the Council doesn’t like him interfering in Jedi affairs.”
Too close to the Chancellor? Does he think—“I swear to you, I didn’t ask to be put on the Council,” Anakin said. If that was what the other Jedi thought, no wonder they were making difficulties!
“But it’s what you wanted,” Obi-Wan said. “And regardless of how it happened, you find yourself in a delicate situation.”
“You mean divided loyalties.” But we’re all on the same side. Aren’t we?
Obi-Wan shook his head. “I warned you that there was tension between the Council and the Chancellor. I was very clear. Why didn’t you listen? You walked right into it.”
That was Obi-Wan, always looking for obscure motives and hidden meanings. But this time, Anakin thought, he was missing what was right in front of him. “The Council is upset because I’m the youngest ever to serve,” Anakin told him.
“No, it is not,” Obi-Wan said in exasperation. He hesitated, then said more quietly, “Anakin, I worry when you speak of jealousy and pride. Those are not Jedi thoughts. They’re dangerous, dark thoughts.”
“Master, you of all people should have confidence in my abilities,” Anakin said. Obi-Wan gave a small nod. Reassured, Anakin went on, “I know where my loyalties lie.”
Obi-Wan looked at Anakin, then turned away. “I hope so.”
Disturbed, Anakin waited for his former mentor to continue. When Obi-Wan said nothing, Anakin decided to push. “I sense there’s more to this talk than you’re saying.”
“Anakin, the only reason the Council has approved your appointment is because the Chancellor trusts you,” Obi-Wan said, and stopped again.
“And?” Anakin was getting tired of all these hints. Just for once, can’t you just come right out and say whatever it is?
“Anakin, look, I’m on your side,” Obi-Wan said unhappily. “I didn’t want to see you put in this situation.”
“What situation?” He couldn’t mean the appointment to the Council! Obi-Wan was his friend. He knew how much Anakin wanted a seat on the Council.
Obi-Wan stopped walking and turned to face Anakin. He hesitated, as if he was searching for the right words. Then he took a deep breath. “The Council wants you to report on all of the Chancellor’s dealings. They want to know what he’s up to.”
Anakin stared at Obi-Wan, stunned. A tiny part of his mind whispered, Don’t ever ask Obi-Wan to come right out and say something, ever again, but most of him was trying to absorb what Obi-Wan had just said. “They want me to spy on the Chancellor?”
Obi-Wan nodded.
“That’s treason!”
“We are at war, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said sadly. “And the Jedi Council is sworn to uphold the principles of the Republic, even if the Chancellor does not.”
Something is very wrong here. “Why didn’t the Council give me this assignment when we were in session?” Anakin demanded.
Obi-Wan looked even more unhappy than before. “This is not an assignment for the record. The Council asked me to approach you on this personally.”
They knew. They knew they shouldn’t be asking this. Anakin’s head was spinning. “The Chancellor is not a bad man, Obi-Wan,” he said desperately. “He befriended me. He’s watched out for me ever since I arrived here.” Surely, Obi-Wan would understand. We’re on the same side! Why can’t anyone else see that? We should be spying on…on General Grievous and the Separatists, not on a good man who’s working for the same things we are!
But Obi-Wan was shaking his head. “That is why you must help us, Anakin.” But he couldn’t face Anakin as he continued, “We owe our allegiance to the Senate, not to its leader…who has managed to stay in office long after his term expired.”
Anakin stared in disbelief. They can’t blame the Chancellor for that! “Master, the Senate demanded that he stay longer.”
“Use your feelings, Anakin,” Obi-Wan urged. “Something is out of place here.”
“You’re asking me to do something against the Jedi Code,” Anakin pointed out bitterly. “Against the Republic. Against a mentor…and a friend. That’s what’s out of place here. Why are you asking this of me?”
“The Council is asking you,” Obi-Wan said.
Anakin stared at his friend, feeling ill. I promised myself, I promised, just yesterday, that I would never break the Jedi Code again. And now the Jedi Council itself was telling him that the Code wasn’t important if it got in the way of what they wanted. Obi-Wan was asking him to do this. “I know where my loyalties lie,” Anakin repeated, feeling the hollowness of the words that, only moments ago, he had meant with all his heart.
Obi-Wan took that as an answer, and nodded in evident relief. But as he followed his former Master down the long hall, Anakin wondered how much of an answer it really was.
The sun was setting when Padmé finally returned from the Senate. Outwardly, the entire Senate supported Chancellor Palpatine without reservation, but there was enormous tension below the surface. Most of her days now were spent discussing whether something should be done about the Chancellor, and if so, what that something should be. Padmé herself had grown more and more uneasy with Palpatine’s steadily increasing power.
She had worked with Palpatine and trusted him for years, ever since her term as the elected Queen of Naboo, when he had been Naboo’s representative in the Senate. She herself had challenged former Senate Chancellor Valorum, opening the way for Palpatine to take control. Would I have done the same things, she wondered, if I had known what Palpatine was going to do with that control, once he had it?
She didn’t know the answer to that; but she was sure that she had to do something about what was happening now. She was aware that the talks bordered on treason. After all, Chancellor Palpatine had done nothing illegal. Padmé often found herself wondering what her Jedi friends would think if they knew what she was doing. Most of all, she wondered what Anakin would think.
The airspeeder pulled up at the landing platform, and Padmé gave herself a shake. Enough work for one day. Her back ached and her feet hurt; the robes that hid her pregnancy were heavy and hot; and she was almost too tired to think. She had earned a rest. And she couldn’t help hoping that Anakin would slip away from the Jedi Temple again. He couldn’t come every night, she knew that, but he’d been away so long.…
She dismissed Captain Typho and her two handmaidens almost as soon as she was out of the speeder. “I’ll be up in a while,” she told them. C-3PO hovered uncertainly as they left, until she sent him to check the security droids.
When she was alone at last, Padmé sighed in relief and went out to the veranda to watch the sunset. She leaned against the railing, glad that for once she didn’t have to think about what to say and whether it would provoke some thin-skinned fellow Senator.
She wasn’t sure
how long she’d been standing there when she sensed someone else on the veranda. Uneasy, she turned and found Anakin standing close behind her. “You startled me!” she complained, even as she held out her arms for a quick hug.
“How are you feeling?” Anakin asked when they broke apart at last.
Padmé laughed. “He keeps kicking.”
“He?” Anakin’s eyes widened. “Why do you think it’s a boy?”
“My motherly intuition,” Padmé teased. Even if she’d consulted a medical droid, she wouldn’t have asked. Wondering whether she carried a boy or a girl had been one of the few, secret pleasures she had during the long months Anakin had been away. She took her husband’s hand and set it against her stomach, so that he could feel the tiny, unseen foot beating against the walls that enclosed its owner.
Anakin’s eyes widened. “Whoa!” He looked at her and grinned. “With a kick that strong, it’s got to be a girl.”
She laughed, acknowledging the way he’d turned her teasing back on her, and he laughed with her. This is how it should be, always, she thought, leaning into his arms. And there was more good news to share, that would prolong the happy moment. “I heard about your appointment, Anakin,” she said. “I’m so proud of you.”
To her surprise, his expression darkened. “I may be on the Council,” he said angrily, “but they refused to accept me as a Jedi Master.”
The fragile moment of happiness evaporated. “Patience,” she told him. “In time, they will recognize your skills.”
“They still treat me as if I were a Padawan learner,” Anakin said, as if he hadn’t heard her. He clenched his fists. “They fear my power; that’s the problem.”
“Anakin!” She didn’t like it when he got this way, angry and resentful and eager to place the blame on someone else. But there isn’t always someone to blame—it can just be the way things are. You have to deal with it and move on.
“Sometimes, I wonder what’s happening to the Jedi Order,” Anakin went on, and now he sounded sad, almost hurt, instead of angry. “I think this war is destroying the principles of the Republic.”
Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith Page 5