The Clone Wars: Wild Space

by Karen Miller

  “It was never that I disagreed with your stand, Padmé,” said Bail, looking at her. “Not in principle. It was only that I feared—”

  “I was being naïve?” She shrugged. “I know that. And perhaps I was. Certainly I’d be a hypocrite now, wouldn’t I, to complain about the army when it saved my life.”

  “As well as lives on every planet the Separatists now wish to rip from the Republic by force,” Palpatine added. “Including, it would seem, Coruscant itself. This is why I want you with me, Bail. So you can see what we’re fighting for. Your scruples are worthy… but are they worth innocent lives? Come. I have an airspeeder waiting for us.”

  There was no question of declining Palpatine’s invitation. Padmé nodded at Bail, then fell into step beside him to follow Palpatine out of the committee chamber’s rarely used executive exit.

  As they made their way through a labyrinth of corridors to his private shuttle bay, the Supreme Chancellor beckoned her to his side. “I wonder if you’ve heard about our good friend Master Kenobi.”

  “Yes, Chancellor. Do you know how he is?”

  “Alas, no,” said Palpatine. “I spoke briefly with Master Yoda a short time ago, and all he could tell me was that the Temple’s healers were doing their best.”

  She nodded. “I see.” Oh, Anakin. “But did Master Yoda at least sound… hopeful?”

  “Hopeful?” said Palpatine. “I’m afraid I can’t say, my dear. Mostly he sounded like Master Yoda. Convoluted and inscrutable. Still—” He patted her shoulder. “The Temple’s healers did a splendid job with young Anakin. We must have faith they can do the same for Master Kenobi.”

  Padmé nodded again, feeling numb. “Yes. We must.”

  Palpatine sighed. “I can only imagine how poor Anakin is feeling,” he said, his voice catching. “He’s terribly fond of Master Kenobi, you know, even though our esteemed Jedi friend is so frequently disapproving. I do wish there was something I could do for him. Find a way to ease his pain. For you know, as much as I respect and admire the Jedi, Padmé, at times their insistence on emotional detachment almost seems… well… unkind. And Anakin—my goodness—he’s not like other Jedi, is he? He’s far more sensitive. More easily hurt. He needs people who love him, people whom he knows care for him, not despite his passionate nature but because of it.” He sighed again. “At least, knowing him as I do, from such a young age, that’s what I believe. But then I’m not a Jedi.”

  It was a moment before she could trust herself to speak. “However strange and difficult their ways seem to us, Chancellor, I’m sure the Jedi believe that what they’re doing is right.”

  “Oh, I’m sure, too,” said Palpatine. “But I wonder how many ill things are done by those who believe that what they’re doing is right? Ah—here we are.”

  They’d reached their destination at last: Palpatine’s discreet and private shuttle bay. Padmé breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the distraction.

  But at least I’m not the only one who realizes Anakin will be upset. At least Palpatine is allowed to be his friend. Perhaps he can help Anakin until we see each other again.

  The Supreme Chancellor led the way onto the shuttle platform, dismissing the waiting guard with a nod. The first thing she noticed was the lack of crisscrossing traffic. Startled, she halted. She’d never seen Coruscant’s skies empty before.

  “Yes,” said Palpatine softly. “A sobering sight, isn’t it?”

  It certainly was. Almost… unnatural. “And you’re quite sure we don’t need to extend the no-fly zone past the Senatorial and administration sectors?”

  “As sure as I can be,” said Palpatine. “What do you think, Senator Organa?”

  Bail was frowning at the lonely buildings before them. “I think the disruption we have is more than enough victory granted to the terrorists, Supreme Chancellor. And the faster we can get the traffic moving again, the greater damage we do to their confidence.”

  Palpatine patted him on the shoulder. “My sentiments exactly.”

  Docked in front of them was a sleek, dark crimson open airspeeder, a four-seater, understated but with a whisper of power about it. Nimbly for a man of his age, Palpatine slid into the driver’s seat and looked at his guests expectantly.

  “You’re going to fly us?” said Bail, comically surprised. “Sir, I can—”

  “No, no, that won’t be necessary,” said Palpatine, waving aside his concern. “Actually, I’m quite an accomplished pilot. And every so often I enjoy carting myself about the place. Not that this is a pleasure trip, obviously. But I’d like you both to concentrate on the results of the Separatists’ attack.” Taking in their continued hesitation, he added, “Did you want to see my license? It is current, I promise. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

  Padmé grinned. She couldn’t help it. Here was the Palpatine she remembered of old. Energetic, unexpected, with a sly sense of the ridiculous. She turned to Bail. “The Chancellor’s right, Senator. We’ll be quite safe. He won several cups for airspeeder racing back on Naboo.”

  “He did?” said Bail, relaxing. “I don’t recall that being mentioned in the Senate.”

  “Oh yes,” said Palpatine drily. “What a useful recommendation for my candidacy. Likes to drive dangerous machines very fast.”

  “Well, if you do, Supreme Chancellor, you’re not alone,” said Bail. “I’ve been known to break a speed limit myself, once or twice.”

  Palpatine’s smile was conspiratorial. “And it shall remain our secret, my friend. Now, Senators, if you’d care to join me?”

  Gravely courteous, Bail let Padmé go first. She settled herself in the rear of the speeder and he settled in beside her, maintaining as polite a distance as possible given the snugness of the backseat. Palpatine touched a button on the console, and the airspeeder was immediately enveloped in a high-security trans-shield. Then he took hold of the control yoke and swooped them away from the shuttle port, away from the Senate Building, and into the eerily subdued Coruscant sky.

  The airspeeder’s transponder, identifying its pilot as the Republic’s Supreme Chancellor, kept them comfortably free of interfering security personnel. With only a fraction of his attention needed for piloting, Palpatine let his senses weave around his passengers as they stared down at the city, nervously anticipating the destruction to come. Since surprising them in deep conversation the other day, after the Senate sitting, he’d begun to wonder if a problem wasn’t developing. What he learned now was… illuminating. And alarming.

  She loves Anakin, there’s no question of it. She stinks of love for him. It’s nauseating. Useful, but nauseating. But does she realize she’s attracted to Organa? No. I don’t think so. He’s a friend. She admires him. Her heart belongs to Anakin. But Anakin will soon be torn from her. War will keep them apart. And male friends can sometimes become far more.

  It was the merest danger, not even the hint of a hint, hardly worth his consideration. But he hadn’t achieved what he’d achieved by leaving anything to chance. The smallest suggestion of an impediment to his plans could not be ignored.

  And what of this lump of a Senator, this dull, worthy Bail? He’s married, but his barren wife remains distant on Alderaan. He’s an honorable dolt; he would never betray her. Yet he has feelings for Naboo’s brave little former Queen. Respect and admiration are a dangerous mix. These Senators work closely together, and that can make for fertile ground.

  An interesting conundrum, then. On the one hand there was Anakin, influenced by Kenobi who stubbornly, inconveniently, refused to die. And on the other hand his Padmé, slavishly devoted, but at the same time vulnerable to the constant presence of Bail Organa.

  Though she remain faithful, discontent and distance might start a rot. And Anakin is faithful, too. He rails against Kenobi but would die for him in a blink.

  The time had come to kill two birds with one stone.

  “Oh no,” said Anakin’s wife, almost weeping. “Oh, Bail. Look. It’s the Central Court complex. What’s left of it.”<
br />
  Obligingly, Palpatine swooped the airspeeder groundward, affording them a closer view of the terrorist bombs’ most satisfying results. Not even transparisteel windows and duranium-reinforced outer walls had been able to withstand the powerful blasts. The judicial buildings were ruined, peeled apart like ripe tilly-fruit.

  And the destruction didn’t end there. Littered across the wide, spacious concourse was the twisted wreckage of airspeeders, gondolas, shuttles, and citibikes, blown out of the sky and fallen groundward again in a bitter, bloody rain. Over there, in the main fountain—how delightful—an entire broken maxibus. Not even smoke damage and charring could disguise the spilled, splashed gore. The falling vehicles had further damaged the surrounding court buildings. Coruscant’s judicial processes would be crippled for weeks, if not months. Tensions would rise. Dissatisfaction would spread, cancerous, through the city’s fragile fabric.

  The more entrenched is a society in its comforts, its safe routines, the more easily is it disrupted. The more swiftly does it fall. Soft fools. They have no idea. The corruption of affluence has rotted them from the inside out.

  Overwhelmed by the carnage, security had yet to take away all the bodies. They lay on the sidewalk, their horrors decently shrouded.

  “How many dead, Supreme Chancellor?” Organa asked, pathetically moved. “How many injured? Do we have any idea of the final casualty tally?”

  “Alas,” Palpatine said, his voice mimicking sadness. “That information is incomplete. But I think it’s safe to say that we have lost more brothers and sisters today than our hearts can easily bear.”

  He engaged the airspeeder’s hovermode, and they lingered above the destruction. Shifting in his seat, he watched Padmé’s tears brim and fall, silvering her cheeks. Watched Bail Organa take her hand, comforting, his own eyes slicked with angry grief.

  “Never again,” said Organa, jaw clenched. “We cannot allow this to happen again. We have to find out how it happened at all.”

  “That won’t be easy, I’m afraid,” Palpatine said, shaking his head. “Coruscant is such an open, unsuspecting society. We have always trusted one another. I fear we won’t want to question that trust. I fear that in fearing to lose what makes us great, we’ll leave ourselves open to more attacks like this one.”

  “How were the Separatists able to bypass the security measures?” Padmé whispered. “There are procedures in place, methods of detecting explosives and tracking questionable characters. We know we have enemies out there. How did they get so close to us?”

  “Because, my dear Senator, we trusted too much,” he replied. “We made assumptions. We did not ask the right questions, at the right time, of the right people.”

  Organa dragged his bleak stare away from the destruction. “You’re saying we’ve been betrayed from within.”

  “No!” said Padmé. “No, I don’t believe that. I won’t believe it.”

  Palpatine released a heavy sigh. “I think we must consider it, milady. Painful as it may be, we must look at one another. Quietly. Discreetly. We don’t wish to start a panic. We certainly don’t wish for the innocent to suffer. But under the circumstances a little inconvenience, a little discomfort, cannot be considered an onerous sacrifice.”

  “Spy on our own people? We can’t,” said Padmé, revolted. “Supreme Chancellor, what you’re suggesting is the very antithesis of democratic rule.”

  He gestured down at the bodies, the ruin, the toiling personnel tasked with clearing up the mess. “Tell that to the widows and orphans created today, Padmé,” he said softly. “Tell that to the husbands who must soon bury their wives. The parents who must say farewell to their precious children. Tell them justice is not as important as protecting our feelings.”

  Even distressed, she was beautiful. “We didn’t resort to this on Naboo, after the Trade Federation. We turned toward each other, not on each other.”

  He shrugged. “Coruscant is not Naboo, my dear. Find me another way, and I shall pursue it with alacrity. Until then, my only duty is assuring that attacks like this never happen again.” He waited a moment for reality to sink in. “As the leading lights of the Security Committee, can I count on your support, Senators? Will you help me unmask the vile criminals responsible for such pain and ruin?”

  “We don’t have a choice, Padmé,” said Organa. He was still holding her hand.

  Realizing that, she pulled herself free. “You like this idea? You’re comfortable with it?”

  “Of course not. I hate it,” he said fiercely. And then he pointed through the trans-shield. “But I hate that more. It’s the lesser of two evils, Senator. Just like the formation of the Republic’s Grand Army, or making deals with the Hutts. It’s the lesser of two evils… and to save lives, we’ll have to live with it.”

  And thus do the honorable weak cut their own throats.

  Outwardly solemn, inwardly laughing, Palpatine disengaged the airspeeder’s hovermode and proceeded to the next bomb site… just in case their resolve should falter.

  “So,” said Yoda, regarding Mace Windu with half-shuttered eyes. “Believe this Dexter Jettster, do you?”

  Cross-legged on the chamber’s other meditation pad, Mace shook his head and sighed. “Obi-Wan believes him.”

  “And in Obi-Wan you believe.”

  Mace frowned. “Don’t you?”

  It was Yoda’s turn to sigh. “Yes.”

  “Then what do you propose we do?”

  What, indeed? That was the question.

  The deliberations following Anakin’s angry departure from the Council Chamber had been brief. Those absent Masters caught up in desperate missions of their own had declared their faith in Yoda’s judgment and swiftly withdrawn from the holoconference. The others present in the Council Chamber had echoed their support and also retired, leaving just himself and Mace Windu to make the final decision. Of them all, they were the most experienced in war, the best strategic thinkers. Of them all, they were closest to Palpatine. And guiding Palpatine during this crisis was one of the Jedi’s greatest tasks.

  “Blunder blindly toward Grievous we must not,” he said at last. “A wily adversary he is. A creature steeped in malice and hatred. Stop at nothing he will to see us defeated. Slaughter tens of thousands to distract us from our goal he would.”

  Glumly, they considered that. Already Grievous had proven himself capable of such a barbaric tactic. On a smaller scale, so far, but its success had promised greater destruction to come. His battle droids had razed an entire township on Ord Mantell in order to divert Republic troops so he could effect an escape.

  Stoic Ki-Adi-Mundi had wept, reporting it. Wept for the fathers, cut down without a chance. Wept for the murdered mothers with their babies in their arms.

  The problem with Grievous—the greatest challenge they faced—was that his army was devoid of emotion. Machines felt nothing. They could kill, and kill, and keep on killing, and never sicken of the blood.

  “It seems he has an endless supply of ships and battle droids,” said Mace, grimacing. “Clearly he and Dooku have been planning this war for months. Who knows, perhaps years. We’re desperately playing catch-up while this self-styled general and his army stay three easy steps ahead of us at every turn.”

  “Be careful,” Yoda warned him sharply. “Despair a Jedi should not feel.”

  Mace stared, startled. Then he nodded. “Forgive me, Master. You’re right. With everything that’s happened I was allowing myself to feel… overwhelmed.”

  Yoda considered him. Mace was courageous often to the point of madness. Fierce, dedicated, disciplined, and obstinate in the face of defeat. To see him despondent was chilling.

  “Recover Obi-Wan will, Master Windu,” he said. “Dwell on his hurts you must not. Distractions we cannot afford. Not when Grievous we must defeat.”

  For a moment Mace said nothing. Then he lifted his gaze. “Don’t you find it alarming that Obi-Wan wasn’t able to sense trouble before the explosions? When was the last time you
can remember a Jedi blindly walking into something like that? You can’t. It doesn’t happen, Yoda. Not without interference. Whoever this Darth Sidious is, whatever mask he wears to walk among us, his influence is growing. The confusion of the dark side is growing. It’s spreading like poison. Obi-Wan Kenobi is one of our best. If he can’t see clearly…”

  Yoda said nothing. Students had to find their own way.

  “I’m sorry, Yoda,” Mace said, at last. “It’s just… to the Jedi Knights and Padawans, even to the other Masters and Council members, I am the solemn and wise Mace Windu. Nothing disrupts my calm. No danger disturbs me. But I am a man, as well as a Jedi. Here, alone with you, I can admit the truth. I must admit it. I am afraid.”

  “Then release your fears, Mace Windu,” Yoda retorted. “You know the mantra. You know the truth. Fear leads to anger.”

  “To hate, then to suffering,” said Mace, nodding. “It leaves us vulnerable to the dark side. Yes. I know. And I know I have to control my emotions. Especially now, with the dark side surrounding us. I am trying, Yoda, I am—”

  “Ha!” said Yoda, and slapped his meditation pad. “Do or do not!”

  “There is no try,” Mace finished, with a wry smile. “You’re right.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m weary. It’s no excuse, but I am.”

  He looked it. Ever since Geonosis he had pushed himself to his limits. Left those limits behind and kept on brutally pushing. He felt the pain of every lost and wounded Jedi. Every Republic defeat was a stab wound through his heart. Despite his own severe self-discipline, Yoda worried for him.

  If rest he does not, kill him this war will without spilling a single drop of his blood.

  “Your mentor I have been, Mace,” he said gently. “Your friend I am now. To your fears you must not surrender. The dark side this is, attacking you. Fight it you must, for need you we do. Need you I do. Defeat the dark side alone I cannot.”

  Mace breathed in deeply, then let out the breath in a slow, shuddering sigh. “You’re not alone, Yoda, and you never will be. I will never let the dark side win.” He sat up straight, fresh purpose in his face. “Grievous is a slippery customer. If we chase him, we’re more likely to lose him. We’re going to have to get him to come to us. If we blockade the Bothan system… broadcast our presence there…”