by Karen Miller
Anakin. He felt an uneasy ripple in the Force. His apprentice-in-waiting was threatened. He could feel it. The future he had foreseen remained unaltered—the time was swift approaching when Anakin would become his strong right hand—but that did not mean the boy could never come to harm. His encounter with Dooku had made that quite plain.
Be strong, Anakin. Be bold and resolute. I cannot openly aid you yet—but from the shadows I shall protect you as best I can.
“I will make no bones about it,” he said austerely. “You have both disappointed me, and shown a distressing lack of judgment. I expect much better, from both of you.”
Giving them a moment to ponder that rebuke, he resumed his seat. Left them standing, like petitioners, like subjects.
“I have no doubt you believed you were acting in my best interests, and the best interests of our Republic,” he said. “That much at least does you credit. But let me make myself abundantly clear: I am in no need of your protection. Is that understood?”
“Supreme Chancellor,” Organa murmured, his gaze still downcast.
“Understood it is,” said Yoda, outwardly meek. The Jedi’s true feelings were unreadable. “Supreme Chancellor.”
“Then we shall not speak of this again,” he said, grandly magnanimous. “Instead, Master Yoda, tell me how you suggest we proceed. You say Master Kenobi requests an all-out assault on this planet, Lanteeb. Do you concur with his assessment? I was under the impression that our deployment capabilities remain woefully compromised.”
And now Yoda could not so perfectly contain his emotions. They colored the Force with delectable doubt. “True it is that trouble the communications sabotage still causes our fleet.”
“Not to mention those cruisers still in dry dock undergoing repairs from your encounter at Kothlis,” he added. “So my question remains—is a full-scale attempt to retake Lanteeb even feasible?”
“We may have no choice,” said Organa. “Durd’s bioweapon has the potential to turn the tide of this war.”
Yes, I know. That was the whole point.
“What of Master Kenobi and young Anakin? Can they thwart this appalling Neimoidian before we’re forced to launch a planetary assault?” Sidious shook his head. “You say you’re hopeful, Master Yoda. Can you give me more hope than that?”
“No,” said Yoda. “In flux this situation is, Supreme Chancellor. Further meditate upon it I must.”
“I see. Senator Organa?”
Organa could hide nothing from him. He felt the man’s sickening doubt, his growing alarm, the fear for his Jedi friend. There was also guilt for having held his tongue so long. Such a maelstrom of emotion was highly entertaining—and useful in keeping the senator off balance and less effective in his work.
Twice now Organa’s instincts have interfered with my plans. I shall have to keep a closer eye on this man.
“Delaying an assault on Lanteeb is risky,” Organa said slowly. “If we’re caught off guard and Dooku launches a bioweapon attack? I don’t want to think about the consequences, Supreme Chancellor.”
He pretended to ponder that deeply. “I agree, Senator. Any delay in apprehending this criminal Lok Durd and dismantling his weapons production facility could lead to a catastrophic Separatist attack. But—and herein lies our dilemma—there is also significant risk in acting. Should word of this terrible new weapon get out, countless systems would be thrown into panic. It’s possible we’d see mass defections from the Republic to the Separatists in an effort to appease Count Dooku and his thuggish allies. And what of our current military engagements? If we redeploy the few functional cruisers we have, then we abandon helpless civilians to Separatist predations. And won’t that damage faith in the Jedi and this government at a time when that faith is being sorely tested?”
“How then do you suggest we proceed, Supreme Chancellor?” said Yoda. “Which risk is least risky, do you say?”
“Both choices are unpalatable, Master Yoda,” he replied. Again, he pretended to consider their options. “If we were not talking of Master Kenobi and young Anakin, I believe I would authorize an immediate assault on Lanteeb. But we are talking of those two particular Jedi… and the three of us know what they’re capable of, especially when their backs are pressed hard to the wall.”
Organa stared at him. “Are you sure? They’re just two men, trapped on a hostile planet with no backup, no reliable communications, and only a lightsaber each, and they’re facing unlimited firepower from a droid army.”
“Not two men, Senator,” he said gently. “Two Jedi. Those two Jedi. And yes, that’s the gamble I wish to take. I have absolute faith in them. I’d give my life into their keeping without a second thought. Wouldn’t you?”
“Of course I would,” said Organa. “But we’re not risking ourselves, we’re risking the lives of those entrusted to our care. Supreme Chancellor—”
Sidious stood. “Your point is taken, Senator. Alas, no matter what choice we make, countless thousands of lives are in danger.”
“True that is,” said Yoda heavily. “And agree with your caution I do, Supreme Chancellor.”
“So you share my faith in Master Kenobi and Anakin?” he said. “You believe they can save us? Again?”
Yoda remained silent for some time, his eyes half lidded. “Believe I do that more time they should be given,” he said at last. “Unclear to us the situation on Lanteeb is.”
“But Master Yoda, it’s not unclear to them,” Organa protested. “And they’ve asked that we act.”
Sidious raised a warning hand. “And act we will, Senator. But first I believe we should give our Jedi friends the chance to complete their mission. If we can somehow succeed in thwarting this Separatist plot without further alarming the public or redeploying our already overtaxed GAR forces, then I would consider ourselves triply blessed.”
Swallowing emotion, Organa nodded. “Obviously, Supreme Chancellor, the final decision is yours.”
“I fear it must be,” he said. “I wish I could put this matter before the entire Senate, my friends. I wish I could lift some of this burden from your shoulders. But if this terrible war has taught me nothing else, it has taught me that above all things circumspection is paramount. There are wheels within wheels, endlessly spinning. To win we must, as the saying goes, play our cards very close to our chests. But—” Again he lifted his hand, and let a whisper of censure creep back into his voice. “—never so close that I cannot see them. I trust I won’t need to remind you of that again.”
“No, Supreme Chancellor,” said Organa, so pleasingly contrite. “You won’t. Thank you.”
“Master Yoda?”
“Tell you I will, Chancellor, the moment contact we again make with Kenobi and Skywalker,” said the old Jedi fool. “If successful they are, no action will we need to take. But if fail to stop Lok Durd they should, then an attack upon Lanteeb we must launch.”
“Agreed,” Sidious said. “And in the meantime—what can be done to aid the work of this scientist?”
“Nothing, Supreme Chancellor,” said Organa. “Doctor Netzl has everything he requires. And he’s a genius. He will come up with an answer to the bioweapon.”
“I hope you’re right, Senator,” he said, frowning. “For all our sakes. Keep me apprised of every development, no matter how trivial.”
And that was their dismissal. As soon as they’d been escorted from his apartment he tried to make contact with his apprentice, but Dooku did not answer the summons. Even as he raged, he realized it was likely not an insolent defiance. It just felt like one, coming on the heels of these most recent revelations. He left his signature on his apprentice’s comm station and withdrew to meditate upon Anakin and his current plight. Dooku would return the comm as soon as he saw his Master’s mark.
At which time he will feel my wrath. For I have not labored these many long years to have my plans disrupted by a weak corruptible like him.
* * *
THE FIRST TINGES of dawn were touching Coruscan
t’s night sky as Bail navigated his speeder back to the Jedi Temple. He waited for Yoda to say something, but the Jedi Master remained silent, almost withdrawn. Finally, with the Temple looming large before them, he cleared his throat.
“I think Palpatine had a right to be angry, Master Yoda. Ultimately, the safety of the Republic is his responsibility.”
Yoda glanced at him. “No, Senator. In all our hands does the safety of this Republic lie. To give away personal responsibility is to make freedom a hostage. Protect the Republic we all must, with every decision we make.” A longer, sideways measuring look. “When began this did, agree not to tell Palpatine of your suspicions you did.”
Trust Yoda to bring that up. “Yes, because that’s all they were then. Suspicions. And with our ongoing security issues I felt that such extreme caution was warranted. But we’ve gone way past suspicions, Master Yoda.” He eased back on the speeder’s control yoke, preparing to slip into the dedicated Temple traffic lane. “If I might ask—were you ever intending to tell him?”
“I was,” said Yoda, as they smoothly switched slipstreams. “When successfully completed the mission was.”
“He has so much faith in them. Obi-Wan and Anakin.” Bail shook his head. “I think it scares me a little. Not because I don’t believe they’re brilliant. I do. It’s just—”
“The Jedi are not creatures of myth and magic,” said Yoda. He almost sounded sad. “They are flesh and blood. They bleed. They break. Too much you fear we ask of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker.”
“Yes. I do.” He looked at Yoda. “Don’t you?”
Yoda answered with silence.
Well, that’s reassuring.
After returning the Jedi Master to the Temple, Bail made his way to Padmé’s apartment. He desperately wanted to see Tryn, find out how close his sequestered friend was to a breakthrough on the antidote, but it was too early. Really it was too early to see Padmé, but she’d never forgive him for holding back his news of Obi-Wan and Anakin. Well—of Anakin in particular. He was almost convinced now that if her interest lay anywhere, it was with the younger man.
And if that doesn’t stir up a nest of gundarks, I don’t know what will. Oh, Padmé.
To his surprise he found her already awake, dressed in a forest-green bodysuit and throwing clothes into a suitcase. She was distinctly unamused.
“I’m sorry, Bail,” she said, as he halted in her bedroom doorway. “I’m abandoning you with the most awful schedule of meetings, I know. But the Queen has made it abundantly clear that if I don’t fix this mess with the Artisans’ Guild there are going to be interplanetary repercussions.”
“What?” He crossed the chamber’s threshold and stood at the foot of the bed. “I thought you said you’d resolved that dispute.”
“I did resolve that dispute!” she retorted, snatching a pair of shoes from her wardrobe. “But now it’s back to being unresolved.” She threw the shoes into her suitcase. “I swear, the next barve who tells me he’s got an artistic temperament and can’t be expected to observe the civilities is going to find himself—”
With an enormous effort she discarded the rest of the threat, exhaled a deep breath, and dropped to the edge of the bed. Even at this early hour, and so angry, she looked immaculately beautiful as usual. Casting him a rueful glance, she shook her head.
“I’m sorry. You’ve caught me in a very bad moment.”
“No need to apologize,” he said, trying to smile. “Sometimes being a senator is like being nibbled to death by Tartarian mice.”
“True,” she said. “In fact I—” And then she seemed to register that he was standing in her bedroom. “Bail? It’s the crack of dawn. What are you—”
Then she realized what it had to be.
“They’re in trouble. How bad is it? Have they been—are they—”
“Not dead,” he said quickly. “Not hurt. I don’t think, anyway. Just trapped.”
“On Lanteeb?”
He nodded. “They’re still trying to stop Durd.”
“And then what?” Her voice was faint, all her passionate energy smothered by fear. “How are they going to get off that planet?”
“I don’t know.”
“The Jedi won’t rescue them?”
“Padmé, I don’t know.”
Leaping up, she began an agitated pacing. “They rode to the rescue on Geonosis. They have to—they can’t just—” Her face hardened. “Well, if the Jedi Council won’t help them, I will. Because I am not going to leave them stranded there.” She whirled around, her gaze hot on him. “And you’ll help. Because you got them into this, Bail. You sent them on this wild bantha chase to Lanteeb and just because it turns out you were right and there was trouble brewing there, that is no excuse for you to—”
“Padmé, Padmé, cool your thrusters!” he said, holding out both hands. “You can’t go charging in like a random blaster bolt. The situation is unbelievably volatile. One wrong move and we could get them killed! Is that what you want?”
“Of course not,” she snapped. “What I want is them home again, on Coruscant, safe and sound. What I want is—”
She turned her back to him, her shoulders shaking, as though she were weeping, or trying very hard not to.
Stang. “Padmé,” he said carefully. “Talk to me. Whatever’s wrong, if it’s a secret it’ll stay that way. Please. Let me help.”
He didn’t dare say anything more. The truth had to come from her. No matter what he suspected, she had to be the one to cross that line.
For the longest time she didn’t speak. Then, at last, she turned. Her eyes were dry, her face composed and self-contained. She wasn’t smiling, but there was a warmth in the steady look she gave him.
“You are so sweet to care, Bail. Thank you,” she said, her voice low and steady. “And I hate to be churlish—but I need to finish packing and be on my way to the spaceport. Given everything our poor Republic’s enduring at the moment I realize the temperamental tantrums of a bunch of glassblowers must sound trivial—even petty. But Naboo prizes its artisans, and Queen Jamillia is relying on me to resolve what is—to them—a genuine crisis.”
In other words, Bail, mind your own business. He nodded. “Where is it you’re going?”
“Bonadan,” she said, turning back to the suitcase. “The Queen’s sure we can break the current deadlock if I can convince the Silver Sand Consortium board members to sit down with me and discuss the glassblowers’ concerns.”
He had to grin. “I take it the glassblowers themselves haven’t been invited to the meeting?”
“I’m told,” said Padmé, very restrained, “that thanks to their last temper tantrum, if even one glassblower is found within fifty parsecs of Bonadan Four, the Silver Sand Consortium will pass legislation banning all sales of silica to Naboo—in perpetuity.”
“That must have been some tantrum.”
“Queen Jamillia is surprised we didn’t hear it in the Senate chamber.” With a sigh, Padmé closed the suitcase and clicked shut its latches. Then her lips tightened, and she stepped back from the bed. “I’ll have my secured private comlink with me, of course,” she added, not looking at him. “If you get word—I don’t care what time it is—would you—”
“You know I will,” he said. “Whatever I hear, whenever I hear it, I’ll comm you straightaway, I promise.”
“Thank you. I—” Her lips tightened again and suddenly it seemed she was once more on the verge of tears.
If he took a step toward her, if he touched her or offered any kind of sympathy, she’d break. And she wouldn’t like him for it.
“I’ll be on my way then,” he said, with a kind of forced cheer that made him feel slightly ill. “If the nibbling gets too much and you need to have a temper tantrum of your own, you know where to find me.”
“Yes, I do,” she said softly. “Thank you, Bail.”
Padmé’s fussy protocol droid insisted on seeing him to the apartment’s front door. As it activated the latch a
nd stood back, perfectly deferential, he went to leave—then hesitated. Turning, he stared into its glowing photoreceptors, feeling foolish. The thing was a droid. It wasn’t alive. And yet…
“If you think she’s in trouble, See-Threepio, you comm me,” he said, keeping his voice down. “Day or night. You understand?”
The droid stared at him blankly. But was it also judging him? Measuring him? Deciding if it could trust him? Stang. It’s a droid.
At last the machine nodded. “Senator.”
So was that a yes or a no? He couldn’t tell and he wasn’t about to ask. He’d just have to wait and see. But as he navigated the traffic streams to his own apartment, only vaguely aware of yet another glorious Coruscant sunrise, he found himself praying hard it was a yes—and praying even harder that somehow the two impossible friends he and Padmé had in common would manage to find a way out of their latest predicament. Because he did not want to think about having to give her bad news.
Oh, Padmé. Dear Padmé. It’s such a big galaxy. Was there nobody else you could fall in love with?
* * *
IT TOOK DOOKU nearly two hours to make contact from Umgul. Waiting for him, Sidious ordered Mas Amedda to rearrange Palpatine’s schedule. As a rule he was in his Senate executive suite no later than 0730 every morning—an example of diligence too few senators could bring themselves to emulate. They thought he didn’t notice.
Of course, they thought wrong.
While he waited for Dooku’s comm he sank himself deep within the ebb and flow of the dark side to explore its possibilities and search for the most advantageous way to exploit what had happened. Setbacks were inevitable. What counted was how one dealt with them.
Over the years he’d become an expert in transforming defeat into victory, in turning a retreat into an advance—from a different direction. He had no doubt he could turn Dooku’s failure with Lanteeb into some kind of advantage. In the long view, of course, it would make no difference. He was destined to rule an empire, and no Jedi could change that.