The Clone Wars: Wild Space

by Karen Miller

  Yoda pursed his lips, considering that. “A lure, you would make of our people?”

  “It’s risky, I know,” said Mace. “But Grievous is arrogant. If we dare him to come after us…”

  “Resist temptation he might not. A bold plan this is, Master Windu.”

  “Bold and risky. But we’ve been on the defensive long enough. It’s time we took the fight to him.” More wry amusement lit Mace’s strained face. “Even if it’s in a sneaky, backhanded way.”

  “Made his move upon Bothawui, Grievous has not,” Yoda murmured. “Ready to attack it he might not yet be. Your plan could force his hand to our advantage.”

  Mace shook his head, his momentary enthusiasm dimming. “The only problem is, we’re already fighting Separatist fires on too many fronts. Our resources are at their limits.”

  Yoda stroked his chin. “Three new cruisers at the shipyards of Allanteen Six, there are.”

  “Earmarked to patrol the Mid Rim, yes,” said Mace. “Once Ki-Adi-Mundi comes home.”

  “No. Deploy them instead to protect Bothawui, we must.”

  “Under whose command?” said Mace, frowning. “Neither of us can go, we’re needed here, and we can’t spare anyone from their current campaigns. As for Obi-Wan, even with our best healers working on him he won’t be fit enough for at least—” Sudden understanding dawned, and his spine snapped even straighter. “Anakin? Yoda, I don’t think so. He may be the Chosen One, but that doesn’t make him ready to command a battle group.”

  Yoda swallowed a sigh. Mace might be right, but this was war. There was no such thing as the ideal time for a promotion. “Acquit himself well on Christophsis and Teth, young Skywalker did. Allow his past on Tatooine to interfere with his mission there he did not. Matured he has.”

  Mace snorted. “I noticed precious little maturity in him when he spoke to the Council earlier.”

  “Worry for Obi-Wan that was. Disappoint us Anakin Skywalker will not.”

  Mace unfolded from his meditation pad and restlessly paced the small chamber. “Yoda, are you sure?”

  “Sure?” Half closing his eyes, Yoda sought in the Force for some sense of rightness about this decision. Fought his way past the pall of the dark side to the still-light place wherein he’d dwelled most of his long, eventful life. “Sure of anything can anyone be in these troubled times?” He shook his head. “Right, I think I am. But before a final decision I make, speak to his former Master I will.”

  Swinging around from the shaded window, Mace stared at him. “Now? Yoda, he’s not strong enough. You heard what Vokara Che said. He nearly died.”

  “Nearly is nearly, Mace,” said Yoda, and with a grunt got to his feet. “Strong enough he will be. Know, does Obi-Wan Kenobi, that desperate times these are.”

  Mace nodded slowly. It was almost a bow. “Whatever you think is best, Master.”

  There was no best about any of this. There was only what they could do at any given moment.

  Yoda summoned his hoverchair and went to see Obi-Wan.

  Chapter Eight

  The aftermath of deep healing was an off sensation. Floaty. Disconnected. An almost unpleasant feeling of being adrift. There was pain, or an echo of pain, somewhere nearby. Hazy memories shifted behind his closed eyes, like cloud-shadows dancing over an empty meadow.

  Explosions. Flames leaping. Shock. An impact. Falling… falling… in slow motion. Watching the rooftop coming closer and closer, no hope of avoiding it. Oh dear, this is going to hurt rather a lot, isn’t it? And then darkness, reaching for him. Sucking him down. Swallowing him alive. Death, beckoning. No… no… not yet. Not now. I’m too busy. Another time.

  Despite the pain, despite the drifting, he thrashed feebly on his rooftop. It felt soft now, which was wrong. And there was silence. That was wrong. Where were the sirens? Where was the screaming? Hadn’t it been noisy?

  Where am I?

  “Be still you must, Obi-Wan,” said an imperious, familiar voice. “Or scolded by Master Vokara Che will you be.”

  His eyelids were dreadfully heavy. Someone had turned them to lead. But he found the strength to drag them open, because Yoda was here. Wherever here was.

  “Master,” he whispered, and was shocked to hear his voice so thin, so insubstantial. Squinting against the mellow light, he let his gaze roam around him. Saw pale walls. A high ceiling. Smelled sweet incense in the warm air. Nonsense resolved itself into sense.

  Oh. That’s right. I’m in the Halls of Healing. I was only here a few weeks ago… and now I’m back? How very inefficient of me.

  “Speak do not, Obi-Wan,” said Yoda firmly, in his hoverchair by the bed. “Listen instead.”

  Obi-Wan nodded, cautiously. Something was niggling at him, something important. “Yes, Master. But Master—”

  “Fret you must not,” said Yoda. “Dexter Jettster’s message we have heard.”

  Message? There was a message? His memory was fragmented, splinters scattered here and there. A single word. Bothawui. Fear. Urgency. Dex’s tense, unhappy face. Grievous. Grievous. Grievous is coming.

  Horrified, he tried to sit up. Cried out instead as his mended body protested. The healing chamber disappeared in waves of bright and blinding pain.

  “Be still, Obi-Wan!” Yoda commanded. “A relapse do you desire?”

  There was no time to be still. Bothawui’s time was running out. “Master, we must defend the Bothans,” he said, his teeth gritted as he struggled to banish weakness. “Assign me a battle group. Let me take it to the Bothan system, let me—”

  “No,” said Yoda, leaning close, one small hard hand pushing him flat to the mattress. His face was stern, his gaze piercing. Centuries of authority blazed in his eyes. “Finished healing you have not. Young Skywalker a battle group will lead to Bothawui.”

  Anakin? In charge of a battle group? No—no—it was too soon, it was too much to ask of him, too great a burden to place on such young shoulders. The danger was too great. They can’t choose Anakin.

  “Obi-Wan,” said Yoda, and poked his healed shoulder with a finger. “Remember our talk of attachment, hmmm? Let go of your fears for Anakin you must. Look at him as a Jedi Knight you must. Not your Padawan. Not the boy you knew, and trained, and protected. A man he is now. Look at the man.”

  The man who had overcome his crippling injury. Put aside love for the sake of duty. Triumphed on Christophsis and Tatooine. The man who was born to bring balance to the Force. The man whose potential was unmatched in Temple history. The man whose sheer brilliance was growing daily.

  “Mistaken am I, Obi-Wan?” Yoda asked softly. “The wrong man is Anakin Skywalker, to battle General Grievous?”

  Wrong? No. No. Not wrong. But—

  You always knew this day would come. All this means is that it’s come a little sooner.

  “No, Master Yoda,” he said. “You’re not mistaken. He’s grown since Geonosis. Since his mistake in rushing to face Dooku. He’s more settled. More self-controlled. His focus is where it belongs now. He’s learned to let go of his attachments. If anyone can take down that monster Grievous, it’s Anakin.”

  Yoda’s eyes closed. His head dipped. He sighed.

  “Then lead a battle group to Bothawui, young Skywalker will.” He produced a datapad from a pocket in his hoverchair and tossed it onto the bed. “The mission details, these are. Tell him you can, when allowed to visit you he is.”

  “Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan whispered. His eyes closed, against his will. And then he felt the gentle touch of a small, ancient hand, lightly skimming over his head as he slid toward sleep.

  “Rest, Obi-Wan,” said Yoda. “For need you at full strength our suffering Republic does.”

  “A battle group?” said Palpatine, hands neatly folded on his desk. “To the Bothan system? Why? Has something happened, Master Yoda, of which I haven’t been made aware?”

  He watched closely as Yoda considered his reply, the garish night-lights of Coruscant flickering over his wrinkled face. The stench of
the light side in him was enough to make a man vomit.

  How I long for the day when I can squash this disgusting little creature. The dark side willing it will be soon, now. Very soon.

  “Intelligence have we received,” said Yoda. “A whisper of trouble. Against Bothawui a threat is made… by General Grievous.”

  Palpatine permitted himself to reveal horror. Inside he felt a nasty sting. How had the Jedi learned of this? Someone, somewhere, would have to be punished. “And you’d deploy a whole battle group on the strength of a whisper?”

  “Yes, Chancellor. A chance to vanquish Grievous this is.”

  Well, that was hardly what he wanted to hear. Grievous was proving more useful with each passing day. Slaughtering Jedi and clones with gleeful abandon. Obliterating whole townships. Sowing misery and discord wherever he went.

  If Dooku hadn’t found him, I’d have been forced to invent him.

  “I see,” he said gravely. “Then it’s no wonder you wanted a private meeting, Master Yoda. With terrorists in the administration precincts, we must not risk this news leaking. I congratulate the Jedi on their efficient intelligence network. But do we have ships to spare for this mission? I rather thought we were pressed.”

  “We do,” said Yoda. “From Allanteen Six they will arrive tomorrow.”

  Then he would have to arrange some kind of unfortunate accident. A tiny spot of sabotage that would destroy the cruisers on their way to Bothawui, and subsequently be traced back to the shipyards. The resulting recriminations and investigations, not to mention the loss of morale, would slow cruiser production significantly, thus hampering the Republic’s efforts to bring the Separatists to their knees.

  For the war must continue. The Republic’s not nearly weak enough yet. And as for Grievous… he’s not done serving me.

  It amused him to think such things with Yoda standing mere feet away. Standing there sublimely oblivious to the enemy under his nose. The Jedi were so arrogant, so self-important, so drunk on the sense of their own superiority—none more so than their beloved Yoda.

  But your domination of the galaxy is in its dying days, my puny friend. In time… in so little time… I will snuff out the light.

  “Supreme Chancellor?” said Yoda.

  “Forgive me,” he said wearily. “It’s been a hectic day. Another full session of the Senate, and it’s not long ended.” He frowned. “I’m afraid there’s been some agitation. Questions raised as to how much longer the fighting will continue.”

  “Doing everything within our power we are, Chancellor, to end this destructive conflict,” said Yoda, pricked—as intended—by the gentle complaint. The subtly implied criticism.

  It’s the slow drip of water that wears away the stone. Thus are the foundations of any edifice undermined. Sudden onslaughts inspire heroic defenses… but nobody notices a constant, whispering trickle. Not until the house falls down.

  “Oh, I know, Master Yoda,” he said, exquisitely sympathetic. “I completely understand. And I did explain to the Senators just how hard the Jedi are trying to achieve victory.” He smiled. “We must hope that this time, at Bothawui, you succeed in defeating that dreadful Grievous and end his rampage of terror. Tell me, who have you chosen to lead the charge against him? Not Master Kenobi, by any chance?”

  Say yes. Say yes, little toad. That would be such an elegant solution. And I could eliminate Organa at some other time.

  “No. Lead the battle group Anakin Skywalker will.”

  Anakin? Staring, Palpatine felt an unpleasant, unaccustomed emotion. Surprise. “Well. What a singular honor.”

  And I did not see it coming.

  How… disconcerting. And how unwelcome the news. Anakin pitted against Grievous? What were the Jedi thinking? Yes, he’d acquitted himself well in his last mission, but even so. To give him command of a battle group was folly.

  He’s not ripe yet. He’s not ready to be plucked. These Jedi fools will waste him. They will waste him, and he’s mine.

  “Master Yoda…” He steepled his fingers. “Are you quite certain young Anakin is ready for such a task?”

  “Yes,” said Yoda flatly.

  And that was a lie. Yoda was a master at masking his emotions, but not even he could hide them from the greatest Sith Lord ever known. He was worried… and backed into a corner.

  “I see,” Palpatine said. “Well, I only hope, for all our sakes, you’re not asking too much of Anakin too soon.”

  From the look on his face, Yoda didn’t relish his decision being questioned. Nobody crossed him these days, that was his trouble. The Jedi bowed and scraped before him, choking on their flattery.

  Not that I’m complaining. It makes him so much easier to deceive.

  “Ready for the challenge young Skywalker is,” pronounced Yoda. “Have faith in him the Jedi Council does.”

  “As do I, Master Yoda. Thank you for keeping me apprised of this crucial development. Naturally, given the extremely sensitive nature of the mission, I shall keep its details to myself. And I would count it as a personal favor if you made sure to tell me how Anakin is faring.”

  “Apprised we will keep you, Supreme Chancellor,” said Yoda, taking his leave. At last.

  Once he was alone, Palpatine activated his holointercom. “See that I’m not disturbed again for any reason,” he told Mas Amedda. “I shall tell you when I am available again.”

  “Of course, Supreme Chancellor,” Mas Amedda said, bowing. Then his image winked out.

  Palpatine swiveled his chair until he faced his office’s transparisteel wall. Normal traffic flow had not yet been restored to the administration sector. That strange gap in the sky continued, exaggerated now that night was fallen, further unsettling the people of Coruscant. He could feel their dismay seething, their fears building, their confidence eroding: a bouquet like fine wine upon his palate.

  Then the bouquet soured slightly. Destroying the battle group was obviously out of the question now. Ah well. Never mind. As Yoda was so tediously fond of saying: Always in motion the future is. He’d have to adjust his plans, that was all. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor would it be the last. In the larger scheme of things it made no difference. Now or later, Kenobi would die. And the Republic would fall. He had foreseen it.

  On the other hand…

  Perhaps I should merely cripple the cruisers. Scuttle the Bothawui mission entirely. For if there’s even the slightest chance of losing Anakin to Grievous… or Grievous to him…

  Guaranteed his privacy, he plunged his consciousness into the dark side. Searched the shifting matrix of the future… sifted possible from probable… likely outcomes from unlikely… seeking, seeking, always seeking…

  When at length he emerged from his trance, he was smiling. Anakin would not destroy Grievous at Bothawui. Neither would he perish by the creature’s hand. No, thanks to this new assignment his secret apprentice would merely grow in stature, in speed, and in breathtaking skill, never once suspecting whom and what he truly served. As for Grievous, he—it—would continue on its bloodthirsty way, cutting a swath through the ranks of the Jedi. The war would continue, slowly but surely unraveling the Republic. Laying it to waste, for his delectation.

  Equally important, the dark side had shown him how to rid himself of Kenobi and that stalwart fool, Organa. A nudge here. A string pulled there. Pathetic friendships, so easily exploited. Trust and loyalty, the currency of weaklings. And best of all, the instrument of their destruction already existed. He hardly needed to lift a finger. An ancient planet, hidden and safeguarded by the Sith for centuries. A sarlacc of space, hungry for Jedi prey.

  Retrieving his Sith robe and holotransmitter, he transformed into Darth Sidious and contacted Dooku.

  “Darth Tyranus, the opportunity to eliminate two important enemies has arisen.”

  Dooku bowed. “That is good news, Master. How can I serve?”

  “The infiltration of Bail Organa’s private intelligence network. It holds?”

  “Yes, M
aster. Of course.”

  “Then contact your agent. I have information for our dupe of Alderaan. Information that will lead him and Obi-Wan Kenobi to their doom.”

  Dooku’s hologram chuckled. “What a tragedy, Master.”

  The fool was overconfident. He imagined himself an equal. “The tragedy will be yours, Tyranus, if you should fail,” Sidious snapped, with a sting of the dark side, and smiled to see how Dooku cringed. “Now, my apprentice, pay very close attention…”

  “Anakin…,” said a soft female voice. A gentle hand touched his shoulder. “Anakin, wake up.”

  He opened his eyes, leapt from slumber to wakefulness within a heartbeat. Not his mother. Vokara Che. “Yes, Master.”

  The Temple’s leading healer was smiling. “Master Kenobi is awake, Anakin. It’s very late, but you may visit with him briefly.”

  Beside him, Ahsoka stirred, then uncurled in her chair. Like him, she had the knack of instant alertness. It was a Jedi thing, but also owed something to their particular backgrounds: his as a slave, hers as a Togruta. Whatever the reason, it came in handy.

  He glanced at her, a warning to keep quiet, no comments about how long they’d been waiting. Then he nodded at Vokara Che. “Yes, Master. Thank you. Before I see him, is there anything I should know? Anything I should prepare for?”

  “A perceptive question, Anakin,” said Vokara Che, warm with approval. “He is mended well enough… but as you know, the body has its own wisdom. Recovery cannot be rushed.”

  As if he needed the reminder. Even now, after time and so much healing, he sometimes felt pain in the arm Dooku had taken. And there was pain of a different kind, too. Touch, the simple sensation of flesh to flesh, was so important. Yes, delicate sensors in the prosthetic limb fed pseudo-sensations to his brain, but it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t the same. And a part of him would always know that… and grieve for what he’d lost. Even though they all told him, those superior Jedi on the Council, that he was wrong for feeling cheated and deprived.