The Clone Wars: Wild Space

by Karen Miller

  As usual, its crimson opulence threatened to oppress. An unexpected choice of color scheme for such a humble man. Palpatine had laughed about it, embarrassed. “When I think of my new responsibilities I grow cold with fear,” he’d said. “Red grants me the illusion that I am warm.”

  Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan was waiting in Palpatine’s otherwise empty office antechamber. He was dressed not in his usual lavish attire, but in a plain dark-hued tunic and trousers of a distinctly military cut. A sign of the times, perhaps. As he was a member of the Loyalist Committee, and a man closely involved with the debates over the Republic’s security, it was not surprising that he was also summoned.

  “Master Yoda!” he said, leaping to his feet. “What a mercy to see you safely returned from Geonosis.” He hesitated, his relieved smile fading. “Is it true—I’m given to understand we were victorious, but… that you suffered many Jedi casualties.”

  Yoda nodded. “True it is, Senator.”

  “Ah,” said Organa, resuming his seat. “I am very sorry to hear that. Please, accept my condolences.”

  He was a good man, genuinely moved. “Thank you.”

  Organa hesitated, then added, “The clone troopers, Master Yoda. They were effective?”

  “Most effective, Senator. The difference, they made.”

  “Well, I’m glad of that, for the Jedi’s sake, but even so it’s troubling,” Organa murmured. “Because now the Separatists know we have the means with which to hurt them. Defeat them. I fear Senator Amidala was right after all. They will interpret the formation of this Grand Army of the Republic as an outright declaration of war. Any attempt now to solve this crisis diplomatically will be seen by them as nothing more than a stalling tactic, a ruse to buy time so we can consolidate our new forces.”

  “Accurately have you summed up the situation, Senator,” said Yoda, grimly approving. “All around us the shadows of war gather. Much suffering do I see in the months ahead.”

  Organa pushed to his feet again and began pacing the antechamber. “There must be some way to prevent it, Master Yoda. I refuse to accept that our great and noble Republic can just allow itself to slide without resistance into unchecked bloodshed! The Senate has to act, it has to stop this violence before it spreads. If we allow grief and anger over Geonosis to push us into retaliation, if we give ourselves permission to say this death justifies that one, then we truly are lost. And the Republic is doomed.”

  Before Yoda could reply, the doors to Palpatine’s office opened and Mas Amedda stepped into the antechamber.

  “Master Yoda, Senator Organa,” he said politely. “The Supreme Chancellor will see you now.”

  Chapter Two

  Palpatine was standing by the vast transparisteel window behind his desk, soberly gazing at the endlessly complicated ribbons of traffic seething across Coruscant’s cityscape. Hearing their entrance he turned, gravely smiling.

  “Master Yoda. I lack the words to express my profound relief that you have survived the carnage on Geonosis. In truth, I never dreamed the Separatists would take their petty disagreements with the Republic to such extreme and heartbreaking ends.”

  “Surprised also am I, Supreme Chancellor,” Yoda replied. “Unforeseen was this development.”

  Palpatine returned to his chair. “Unforeseen, yes,” he murmured as Mas Amedda took his accustomed place at his superior’s right hand. “And by the Jedi, no less. That must be a matter of some concern for you.” He leaned forward, his expression intent. “Master Yoda, before we discuss the specifics of what transpired on Geonosis, I must know one thing: how fares my young friend Anakin? I was most alarmed to learn he’s been hurt.”

  “Hurt, yes, Supreme Chancellor,” said Yoda. “But dying he is not.”

  Palpatine sat back and passed an unsteady hand across his face. “Truly, he is protected by the Force.” His voice caught, and he shivered. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to forgive my emotion. Anakin is very dear to me. Having watched him grow up from small boyhood, watched him develop into such a fine young man, so courageous, so powerful, such a credit to the Jedi Order, I take a close personal interest in his well-being. I do hope…” He faltered. “I hope you don’t consider my concern for him—my affection—to be an intrusion, Master Yoda. Naturally I don’t wish to do anything that might impede Anakin’s progress as a Jedi.”

  Yoda stared at the floor, both hands grasping his gimer stick. There was no easy answer to that. Yes, he was concerned by Palpatine’s attachment to the boy. No matter how well-meaning, no matter how genuine and heartfelt, the Supreme Chancellor’s care for Obi-Wan’s apprentice was problematic. The root cause of all young Skywalker’s difficulties was his need for emotional connections. His friendship with Palpatine only complicated matters. But the man was Supreme Chancellor. And he meant well.

  Sometimes politics had to take precedence.

  “An intrusion, Supreme Chancellor? No,” he said. “Value your interest young Skywalker does.”

  “As I value him, Master Yoda,” said Palpatine. “I wonder…” He paused, delicately. “Might I inquire as to the exact nature of his injuries?”

  Yoda glanced at Bail Organa, so far unacknowledged. Did it bother him? If so, he was masterful at concealing his feelings.

  A good man he is. Discreet and loyal. Still, discuss Jedi business before him I would rather not. And yet refuse to answer Palpatine I cannot.

  He tapped his fingers on his gimer stick, then nodded. “His right arm has young Skywalker lost. Cut off in a lightsaber duel.”

  “A duel?” Palpatine repeated, incredulous. “With whom? Who would be rash enough to draw a lightsaber on Anakin? Who in all the galaxy possesses the skill and knowledge to defeat a Jedi with his abilities?”

  Again, unwelcome, the shafting pain of failure and regret. Yoda made himself meet Palpatine’s horrified gaze, unflinching. “Count Dooku it was, Chancellor. True are the first reports we received from Master Kenobi. An enemy of the Republic has Count Dooku become.”

  Palpatine turned to Mas Amedda, whose hands were spread wide in shocked dismay. Then he looked back, his mouth pinched, his eyes brilliant with distress. “Master Yoda, I scarcely know what to say. Count Dooku has betrayed the Jedi Order. He has betrayed us all. I don’t understand. How could he do something so wicked?”

  Yoda frowned. He certainly wasn’t going to talk of the Sith in front of Bail Organa. “Seduced by dreams of power is Dooku. A great tragedy this is.”

  Palpatine breathed out a pained sigh. “Tell me the rest, Master Yoda. Though I know it will break my heart, I must hear of Geonosis.”

  It was a tale told swiftly, without embellishment or emotion. When it was done, Palpatine removed from his chair once more to stand staring through the transparisteel window into Coruscant’s teeming sky, hands clasped behind his back, chin sunk to his velvet-and-brocade-covered chest.

  “Do you know, my friends,” he said at last, breaking the heavy silence, “there are times when I begin to doubt I have the strength to go on.”

  “Never say it!” Mas Amedda exclaimed. “Without your leadership the Republic could not survive!”

  “Perhaps that was true, once,” Palpatine admitted. “But if I, as Supreme Chancellor, can fail so terribly that these blind and foolish Separatists are emboldened enough to deal us such a blow…”

  “Supreme Chancellor, you are far too hard on yourself,” said Bail Organa swiftly. “If there is blame here, it belongs to this treacherous Count Dooku and the leaders of the various guilds and unions that support him, who manipulate events and the weaker, more gullible systems to their own advantage. They are the ones who have failed the Republic, not you. The blood spilled on Geonosis stains their hands, not yours. From the very beginning of this dispute you have done nothing but strive to find a peaceful solution.”

  “And I have failed!” Palpatine retorted, swinging around. “Who knows better than I, Bail, how important it is for this violence to end? I, a man whose home planet was invaded, who
was forced to stand by, helpless, as an impotent Supreme Chancellor and a dilatory Senate allowed the people they were sworn to protect die in the name of Trade Federation greed. Ten years have passed since that dreadful time, but how have my circumstances changed, I ask you? They haven’t! Though I stand before you the Supreme Chancellor of this Republic, I am still helpless. We are facing the gravest threat in our history. Republic citizens are dying, Jedi are dying, because I failed to act in time to prevent this tragedy.”

  “Not true,” said Organa. “The only person with the power to prevent this tragedy was Dooku. And he chose to perpetrate an atrocity instead. No blame falls to you, Supreme Chancellor. You’re owed our gratitude for having the courage to take the difficult but necessary step of commissioning the clone army. Without it, Master Yoda and his Jedi would doubtless have been slaughtered to the last. And where would the Republic be then?”

  Slowly, Palpatine sat down. “I confess you surprise me, Bail. Given your close relationship with Senator Amidala, I wasn’t entirely certain you agreed with my decision.”

  Organa looked taken aback. “It’s true I respect and admire the Senator from Naboo,” he said. “Since serving with her on the Loyalist Committee I’ve come to appreciate her unique qualities. But I have always thought our Republic must be defended… despite the very real risks that entails.”

  “And I appreciate your ongoing support,” Palpatine replied, his faint smile pained. “Especially as I must ask you to shoulder even more responsibility. Senator Organa, I feel the Loyalist Committee has served its purpose. We need a new committee now, one that can oversee all matters pertaining to Republic security. It should consist of yourself, as chair, and three or four Senators whom you can trust absolutely. Will you see to it? Will you take the lead?”

  Organa nodded. “Of course, Supreme Chancellor. I’m honored that you’d ask.”

  “Excellent,” said Palpatine, his expression serious. “And Master Yoda, once you’ve taken care of any Jedi business arising from the Battle of Geonosis, you, your fellow Councilors, and I must convene a formal war committee so that we might bring this unpleasantness to a swift and decisive conclusion. For the sake of the Republic we must win this conflict.”

  Yoda frowned. Deeper Jedi involvement with government matters? It was the last thing he desired. But Palpatine was right about one thing. “Agree with you, I do, Supreme Chancellor. Ended this war must swiftly be, and the peace well prepared for.”

  “Then I shall delay you no longer,” said Palpatine, standing. “Thank you for coming so promptly to see me, when I know you must surely prefer to be with your wounded Jedi. Please, when you see him, tell Anakin he’s in my thoughts.”

  “Of course, Supreme Chancellor,” said Yoda. “And hesitate to send for me you should not, if of any further assistance I can be.”

  Palpatine smiled. “Do not doubt it for an instant, Master Yoda. Believe me when I say that you and the Jedi are never far from my plans.”

  Dismissed, Yoda and Bail Organa withdrew from Palpatine’s office. Regretting the lack of his repulsorlift chair, Yoda contemplated the long walk to the docking complex and swallowed a sigh.

  “I’m leaving myself now,” said Organa. “Can I take you back to the Jedi Temple, Master Yoda?”

  “A kind offer that is,” Yoda replied, nodding. “Accept it I will. Much to do there, I have. With no time to waste.”

  And at the top of his list, regrettably, was what would surely prove to be a difficult conversation with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

  Scant moments after entering the Temple’s Halls of Healing, he was ushered to meet with Master Vokara Che in her private chamber.

  “Master Yoda,” said the revered Twi’lek, smiling gently with cool, watchful eyes. “It’s a great relief to see you unharmed. I understand you dueled with Dooku. It has been a long time since you drew your lightsaber in battle.”

  He gave her a small, one-shouldered shrug. He was sore and weary, but those things would pass. “Unhurt am I, Vokara Che. Worry you need not. Of our wounded Jedi tell me. How do they fare?”

  Most were healed, or healing. Anakin was the worst affected, but he was resting comfortably enough—all things considered. He remained in a deep healing trance, to counteract the shock of his injury, while the final adjustments were made to his prosthetic arm. Tragically, the lightsaber damage inflicted upon his severed forearm made reattachment of the limb impossible.

  “But I anticipate he’ll make a full recovery,” Vokara Che concluded. “Although doubtless he’ll struggle a little at first.”

  A prosthetic arm. Yoda felt his spirits sink, although he’d been expecting the news. A Jedi’s connection with the Force flowed through the midi-chlorians in his blood. The loss of a limb had been known to affect a Jedi’s powers. True, Anakin Skywalker possessed more midi-chlorians than any Jedi in history, but even so…

  “See him now, I will,” he said heavily. “And Obi-Wan also.”

  Vokara Che frowned, her head-tails gently twitching. “Yes. Of course. Master Yoda… about Obi-Wan…”

  “Tell me you need not, Vokara Che. Himself he blames for Skywalker’s hurt.”

  They’d both known Obi-Wan from infancy. Expression rueful, she nodded. “Should we expect anything less from him?”

  They should not, Yoda thought. No Jedi could have undertaken the daunting task of training Anakin Skywalker more seriously than had Obi-Wan Kenobi. Burdened by his promise to a dying man, by the knowledge that he trained a child of prophecy, by the ongoing fear that he would make a mistake, let Qui-Gon down, not a day passed when Obi-Wan did not find a way to make Anakin’s faults and failures his own.

  Sighing, Yoda slid down from his chair. “Counsel Obi-Wan, I will.”

  Vokara Che smiled, relieved, and stood. “Good.” Then the smile faded. “First, however…” She cleared her throat. “I’m not sure if you are aware of this, but Senator Amidala accompanied Obi-Wan and his apprentice here. We treated her, of course, but not before there was a certain… unpleasantness. She was very concerned about Anakin. Insisted on seeing him. Heated words were exchanged when I refused. There might be an official complaint. I am sorry.”

  Yoda felt his embattled spirits sink farther. Senator Amidala. Another problem, another mystery, another piece of the puzzle that was Anakin Skywalker.

  With an effort, he wrenched himself free of worry. “Concerned you need not be, Vokara Che. Now, to see young Skywalker please take me. Then will I speak with Master Kenobi.”

  With the debilitating pain of his lightsaber wounds at last a memory, Obi-Wan paced the confines of his healing chamber and cursed the hard-won discipline that prevented him from finding the nearest healer so he could demand that he be shown to Anakin’s room at once.

  “Master Kenobi,” said a stern, familiar voice. Yoda. He turned.

  “Your Padawan sleeps,” said Yoda, in the open doorway. “Safe from pain he is for now. Sit, now, so talk we may.”

  Disobeying Yoda was unthinkable. Obi-Wan sank cross-legged to the floor, hands folded in his lap.

  “Forgive me, Master,” he murmured. “I am not in full control of my emotions.”

  “Need you to tell me that, do I?” said Yoda. “I think I do not.”

  Though the reproof was cutting, still it contained an undercurrent of dry humor. Obi-Wan risked an upward glance, to see that Yoda’s expression was not one of unmingled disapproval. A certain gentleness lurked in his luminous eyes.

  “Forgive me,” he said again. “I meant no disrespect.”

  “Hmmph,” said Yoda, and again he tapped his gimer stick to the floor. “Pleased I am to see you are healed, Master Kenobi, for to your duties you must return. Much there is to be done, with war threatening.”

  Though it might earn him an even more stinging reprimand, Obi-Wan had to speak. “Master Yoda, my place is here with Anakin. He is wounded because of me.”

  “He is wounded because of Dooku,” retorted Yoda. “And because disobey you he did. A child no longer
is Anakin Skywalker. A man he is now, and a man he must be. His own faults must he accept and make amends for.”

  “I believe Anakin has already made amends, Master Yoda. He is maimed. He nearly died.”

  “And your fault that is not!”

  It should have made a difference to hear Yoda say so. It should have eased the crushing burden of his grief and guilt. But it didn’t. Nothing did. Nothing could.

  Anakin is my Padawan. It is my duty to protect him.

  “Protect him from himself you cannot, Obi-Wan,” said Yoda gently. “Protect you from yourself, could Qui-Gon, when mistakes you made as his apprentice?”

  Melida/Daan. So long ago now, and rarely thought of. Swallowing, he met Yoda’s stern gaze. “No.”

  “Learn the error of your ways you did,” said Yoda. “Learn, too, will your apprentice. A task for you I have, Obi-Wan. When it is completed, return here you can.”

  Obi-Wan nodded. “Thank you, Master.”

  But instead of detailing this task, Yoda began to pace the small chamber, the tapping of his gimer stick loud in its silence. “Know do you, Obi-Wan, why reluctant I was for Skywalker to become your apprentice?”

  Did he know? Not for certain. And once he and Qui-Gon had prevailed over the Council, and Anakin had been made his Padawan, Yoda’s objections had no longer mattered.

  “Ah… no, Master,” he said cautiously.

  Yoda flicked him a skeptical glance. “Hmmm. Then tell you I will. Reluctant I was because the same flaw you share, Obi-Wan. The flaw of attachment.”

  What? “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  Yoda snorted. “Yes, you do. Melida/Daan, attachment that was. Your promise to Qui-Gon Jinn, that you would train Anakin? From attachment it sprang. Great affection you felt for him. Great affection you feel for Anakin Skywalker. Run deep your feelings do, Obi-Wan. Mastered them completely you have not. Mastered his own young Skywalker has not. Suspect I do that strict with him about attachments you have not always been.”