The Clone Wars: Wild Space

by Karen Miller

  Master Obi-Wan shook his head. “No. I’m afraid I’m involved in an extensive mission debrief. Maybe next time. But I’ll wish you good hunting, Anakin. Find that outpost. Things could get tricky for us fast if you don’t.”

  The hololink disconnected.

  Ahsoka waited, but Anakin didn’t move. Instead he stared at the empty transceiver. “Extensive mission debrief my crippled old dewback,” he muttered. “You’re convalescent again, Obi-Wan. What did you do?”

  Ahsoka stepped forward. “I guess he’ll tell you when I’m not around,” she said. “Skyguy, can I go find Rex? Let him know we’re on a countdown?”

  Anakin nodded. He was hardly paying attention. “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Thanks,” she said, heading out. But in the doorway she paused and looked back. She knew him well enough now to know he really was worried. “Hey, Skyguy. He didn’t look that bad. Whatever it was, I bet it was practically nothing.”

  Anakin spared her a startled glance, then a wry smile. “Yeah. I guess. Go tell Rex I’ll come brief him soon. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, hurrying off to find their Clone detachment. Did a few backflips of her own, to celebrate. Another mission. No more boring shipyards. Yes! Life was finally looking up.

  When Palpatine saw Bail Organa in the noisy Senate cafeteria, deep in lunchtime conversation with Padmé and that inept Gungan bumbler Jar Jar Binks, he suffered an actual, physical shock.

  Organa was alive? He was here? On Coruscant? But that must mean Kenobi was alive, too. Because if he was dead, with Organa surviving to tell the tale, the Jedi would have mentioned it. If Kenobi was dead, neither Padmé nor Organa would be laughing so delightfully together.

  When had Organa returned to Coruscant? And why had Mas Amedda failed to inform him of the fact? Was this another functionary he’d be forced to replace?

  The recent extended absence of Alderaan’s popular Senator had been noted. There had been some muttering. He’d been on the point of expressing concern and launching a discreet little investigation, which would then reveal the truth of Bail’s tragic demise. And the tragic demise of a great Jedi hero.

  And now they weren’t dead?

  How… disappointing.

  Although… now that he looked closely… Organa did seem a little worn. So something must have happened. Perhaps Kenobi was a little worn, too. With luck he was a lot worn. He’d have to ask Yoda.

  But worn wasn’t good enough. He’d wanted them dead.

  He was aware of rage bubbling beneath his surface. He had not bothered to pursue the Zigoola gambit himself. He had assumed… he had accepted… that Dooku would keep track of that. That was his function. That was his purpose. That’s what an aging apprentice was for.

  Housekeeping.

  Did this mean Zigoola was compromised? Or worse, did it mean its treasures were destroyed? Priceless Sith artifacts, hoarded over centuries.

  If this is true… if this is true…

  With more of an effort than he cared to expend, Palpatine soothed his rage into affable cordiality. Smoothed his expression into one of genial goodwill. And set forth across the dining floor to engage Padmé and Bail and, if he had to, the regrettable Jar Jar Binks, in the kind of wistfully erudite conversation that had earned him so many, many friends.

  And as he greeted them… as he joined them… as he asked about their day… beneath the affable surface, Darth Sidious’s dark thoughts seethed.

  This is a minor setback. A mere ripple on the pond. There are many other artifacts at my disposal. I still have Anakin. He still has Padmé. The war is worsening at every turn. Kenobi serves on the front lines. He could perish any day. Organa can be easily enough contained. And as for Dooku, I’ll deal with him… when it’s time.

  This Republic will fall. I have foreseen it.