Chapter Seven

The shuttle from Kalarba's shipyard held up under the strain of hyperspace, but Anakin could barely move from his prostrate position on the ship's floor. Entering the ship's coordinates had been the final tax on his system, and now every jerk of the ship made him feel like his torn insides would leap from his mouth. With chills having settled in his body, the cold of space did nothing to keep him from trembling uncontrollably.

"We're almost at the coordinates," Theo's voice said, somewhere far off. A dark figure sitting along a lit panel reached for him. "Don't sleep, General. You're going to need to do the talking." Something gripped his shoulder. A hand.

Anakin blinked back the haziness. "Theo?"

"Sir," the figure said, coming into focus, "you can sleep once we dock. Please, try to hang on."

"Where are we?"

"Coming out of hyperspace," Theo said.

He heard the click of the lever. Little by little, the ship gears slowed beneath him, until the hyperdrive's whirring had stopped. Finally, he could be with Padmé and Obi-Wan and the twins. He could already taste the softness of Padmé's lips and feel the brush of her curls against his neck…

Everything had fallen silent. Eerily silent. The Force stirred, and the current felt… cold.

"Theo?"

"There's… nothing here," Theo said quietly.

"What?"

"There's nothing here. Where—"

The floor jolted suddenly, violently. The ship jerked, and Theo let out a stream of curses, hands leaping to the controls.

"What—who—" He paled as the ship swung around. "General! TIE fighters! Imperial fighters coming in!"

The controls jerked left, the ship swung left, and red lasers shot past their right window.

"I can't believe—" He lunged for the guns. Outside, two giant warships crawled towards them, casting long, terrific shadows.

The ship jerked up, and Anakin struggled to rise. The engine churned beneath his palms, laboring under the strain. The floor rocked.

"Shields! Does this karking shuttle have shields?"

"How—?" Anakin whispered. They couldn't have been tracked—they'd diverted their course to ensure it—it was why they'd taken the blasted detour to Kalarba in the first place...

The Imperials must have tracked an earlier ship, must have known these were meeting coordinates—

Padmé. The twins.

"Sir!" Theo said, spinning around in his seat. "We need to get out of here! They knew—they must have known!"

Anakin struggled to rise, the oxygen in the cabin suddenly feeling thin.

"Half a fleet's waiting!"

Theo brought the ship in a barrel roll, flinging him against the wall His stomach churned so violently that he had to clench his lips to keep the vomit from escaping.

Theo held the ship tight as a TIE fighter screamed past. And another. Lasers peppered their ship and the frame shuddered. "Blast it—we can't match this many—"

"Calculate the jump," Anakin managed.

Theo slammed the lever as they shot into a climb. "To where?"

"Anywhere—"

Their ship jerked again, and a siren went off in the cabin. Lights flashed.

"Dammit," said Theo, hands dancing over the controls. "Dammit! Alright, Corellia—we're going to Corellia!"

The hyperdrive picked up beneath them, and the ship started shaking. Above them, the metal frame creaked, crumpling in on itself.

C—criiick. Lines grew on the windshield, like tree roots.

"The ship can't take it!"

Smoke billowed out of the hyperdrive's compartment, and Anakin instantly recognized the sulfuric smell of hydraulic fluid. He knew what it meant—the hyperdrive was overheated. Someone needed to fix it, or they wouldn't get out of there alive.

Bracing his palms against the walls and struggling to steady the trembling of his legs, he strained for the hyperdrive compartment. It felt so far away. The ground rocked.

His vision blurred, and for a moment in time that could have been a minute or an hour, nothing registered at the tips of his fingers. The ship shuddered. Hazy lights blinked outside their window. Everything went dark. He felt pain in his shoulder.

Then, he was lying on the shuttle's floor again. Lifting his head, he saw that the hyperdrive compartment was in reach. He swallowed past the ash in his sandpaper throat and strained towards it. If only he could get the compartment open and the hyperdrive functional…

The latch burnt his fingers as he fumbled with the door, and when he finally wrenched it open, so much smoke billowed out that he knew immediately that it would take more than some cooling off for it to become operational. He leaned in and examined the scorch marks marring its side. Perhaps if he scraped off the ash, he'd be able to see if at least the wires were salvageable—

With a hiss of pain, he withdrew with burnt finger pads. Crumbling ash revealed split and frayed wires with jumping sparks. Even if they managed to cool the machine, the wires had been damaged beyond repair. The hyperdrive wouldn't work again.

The ship had nowhere to go. They were going to die.

The ship shuddered under enemy fire, and Anakin could do nothing but stare at the scorched hyperdrive and breathe past the billows of smoke. From the way the ship's parts creaked with each maneuver, he knew they wouldn't last more than a quarter hour before they broke apart, if a fighter didn't down them first.

He slumped to the ground. Heat pulsed at his back.

"Skywalker?" Theo shouted back. "The hyperdrive?"

Setting his head in his hands, he suddenly found he couldn't form words, found that words were maybe unnecessary.

This was not how he wanted to go.

He thought of the way Padmé's dress had beamed on their wedding day, how Obi-Wan's begrudging smile had lifted his spirits, how small and vulnerable his children had felt in his hands. Wherever they were, he hoped they'd made it farther than he had.

Maybe they could find a happy life, somewhere along Naboo's lakes.

"More ships arriving!" said Theo. "Two o'clock!"

Anakin closed his eyes, and dissipated his feverish mind into the expanse of space. There was a glimmer of peace there—he could sense it. Perhaps he could find hope…

Then, in the crevice of his mind, he felt a presence stir in the Force—warm, light, and achingly familiar. Withdrawing in concentration, he scrunched his eyes and reached for it. The brush of light stirred something hopeful in his mind. He knew that presence.

"Don't fire," he managed to tell Theo, and, using his remaining strength to move to the copilot's chair, he located the new arrivals coming in at one o'clock—a command ship and accompanying fighters. Corellian grade.

"Who are they?" said Theo.

The Alliance fighters zoomed past them, pulling TIE fighters into dogfights at their stern. With enemy concentration on them diminished, Anakin fumbled for the radio knobs, locating a frequency.

"Ana—kin?" crackled the radio. "Anakin, are you there?"

"Obi-Wan," Anakin said, and he might have expressed joy if the he didn't feel like he would vomit from overexertion. The relief he could manage crept into his voice as he formed his best friend's name. "Obi-Wan—"

"Anak—move over… the command ship. We'll pull you in."

His shaking hands couldn't obey, so Theo banked the ship starboard, heading straight for the command ship. The command ship looked beautiful. A sparkling medical wing rested on the ship's belly, two escape pods glistened on each side, and the command tower stretch high above—an image of glass and metal.

Theo's knuckles looked white as the command ship pulled them into the docking bay. Anakin, who felt as though that had been the final excitement for him, rested his pounding head against the seat, and let his eyes drift close as the doors swallowed them whole.

"General Skywalker," the radio crackled, this time a different voice. "General Kenobi'll… meet you—"

He was so tired. And cold…


Something grasped his shoulder—a hand. When he lifted his head, he could see a blurry face with a beard and auburn hair.

"Anakin," said a familiar voice. "Anakin."

The ground looked far away. Where was Theo? Had they taken Theo?

"Theo—"

"Anakin, can you hear me?"

"Theo—"

"Captain, get a stretcher."

He faded into black.


When the Astral Miner was still an hour away from Dantooine, Padmé emerged from the bunks. Upon entering the main hold, she found its two inhabitants, the human and Nautolan padawans, sitting quietly in the corner. Master Yoda must have left them to join Oomassa in the cabin.

Their eyes flickered briefly to her—a sort of shy suspicion—and she was reminded of a young boy she had once known many, many years ago. He had been cold and lonely too.

"Has Master Yoda left?" she asked them gently.

The little Nautolan nodded, his dark eyes glistening. The human boy didn't meet her gaze, picking a spot on his finger. Their padawan braids brushed their shoulders—a sore reminder of their disrupted training.

She wondered just how much trauma the usually respectful padawans must have suffered for them to retreat into painful shyness. "We'll be at the Alliance base in an hour," she told them. "Where you'll be safe for the time being."

The Nautolan looked down at his hands.

"What're your names?" she asked gently.

"Nat Noscere," said the Nautolan quietly. "This is Rajendra."

"Are you Master Yoda's padawans?"

They both shook their heads, and Padmé immediately regretted asking. Their Masters had most likely died in the massacre. Their gazes fell back down again, and she knew she wouldn't get much else out of them. They needed to learn how to trust again.

"You'll be free to spread out once we reach Dantooine," she told them when she could think of something else to say. She could only imagine the horror and instability they had gone through over the past months. "Hopefully then life will return to some order."

She had only taken a few steps when a new voice called her back.

"Do you think the clones know what they did?"

She turned to see Rajendra's eyes on her, sharp and wary, and was at once aware of the influence she had over the padawans' adjustment.

"We can't hold them fully accountable for something they're not fully aware of," she said finally. "It was right to defend yourself against unprovoked attacks."

As Rajendra's gaze sank back down to his fingers, the sound of rapid footsteps signaled an approach from the cabin, and Padmé turned to see Oomassa moving towards her.

"Captain?"

"You'll be glad to hear it," she said, and Padmé knew what she would say the moment before she spoke. "Kenobi's just made contact—they found Skywalker. He's safely aboard the command ship."

For a moment, Padmé could only let out a large, shaky breath she didn't know had been inside of her. She forced herself to breathe through her relief, giving herself a moment to absorb the news. "He's… okay?"

"His leg is injured," Oomassa said. "A burn gone bad. He has a high fever from the infection, but it sounds like he'll pull through."

Padmé nodded, only able to understand relief, too preoccupied by the fact that he was alive.

"He picked up a companion along the way," Oomassa said.

Nat and Rajendra's gazes turned towards them.

"What do you mean?"

"A clone. It seems they've been traveling together."

Anakin wouldn't—he hated them for what they'd done. "A… friendly one?"

"The clone claims his chip is malfunctioning, and that they've been traveling together since they left Tatooine," Oomassa said. "The ship is holding him until they can confirm his medical status."

As long as the clone wasn't a threat and Anakin was secure, worry didn't linger with Padmé. "You sound uneasy about it."

Oomassa's jaw looked hard. "For security purposes, it's not a wise decision bringing an Imp into the Alliance. He could be sending valuable information outside."

"With what?" Padmé said. "The Alliance is thorough. They'd confiscate anything that looked suspicious."

Oomassa shrugged, as if that concluded it, and started back in the direction of the cabin. "I'd prefer to be safe than sorry."

Padmé wasn't comfortable leaving the conversation like that. "The clones are without full awareness," she said firmly. "You can't fault them or punish them for actions they commit."

"It's a cutthroat galaxy," Oomassa said over her shoulder. "We have to make sacrifices if we want to survive."

Padmé let the hold fall into silence. Then, unwilling to bear the padawans' gazes or Oomassa's politics any longer, she returned to her bunk.


The Astral Miner lowered itself onto the Alliance's makeshift platform forty minutes later, and ten minutes after that, Padmé followed Master Yoda and the padawans down the loading ramp. Below the mossy ziggurat that was the Alliance base, a group waited for them, dressed in pressed linens and headdresses. Mon Mothma's white gown stood out among the number.

"Amidala."

The voice came from somewhere close behind her, and Padmé turned around to see Oomassa moving down the ramp.

"I have… something for you," the Zabrak said, hesitating. She had a strange expression on her face, a mixture of discomfort and resignation. Perhaps something of an apology?

When the captain reached her, she pressed something into Padmé's hand—a silver device roughly the size and shape of a lightsaber. "I know we don't agree on many things, but I know freedom is as important to you as it is to me."

The Zabrak motioned to Padmé's hand. "Banai built this," she said. "It's the only device we've designed that's successfully disabled slave transmitters. I hope it works on clone chips, too."

"Thank you," Padmé said, turning the device in her hands. It must have meant a lot for Oomassa to give it to her. "I with you and Kitster luck when you return to Tatooine. I know many people benefit from your work."

Oomassa pressed her thumb and forefinger to her heart, and Padmé echoed the gesture.

"Farewell," Padmé said.

"May the winds be in your favor," Oomassa replied, lips hardening in what might have been a final smile.

She turned and disappeared up the loading ramp, and Padmé looked back in the direction where Master Yoda and the padawans had headed. Much of the reception had left with them, but a familiar lone woman in white robes waited for her.

Tucking the tool into her jumpsuit, Padmé moved towards her, feeling her spirits lifting as she approached her old friend. A warm smile spread across Mon's usually stoic expression.

"Senator Mothma," she greeted her.

"Senator Amidala," said Mon, grasping her arms. "I was so glad to hear Bail's news. We thought you had perished in the Temple massacre."

"I made it out in time," Padmé said. "I haven't been in as much danger as you have these past months. With all the senators disappearing…"

"It was distressing to hear of it," Mon said. "I understand you were there when it happened?"

Padmé nodded, tightening her grip on her arms. "We'll find him. Bail's valuable to Palpatine—he can't risk executing him just yet."

"All the same," Mon said. "I believe more drastic measures are required—"

She broke off abruptly, her gaze catching on the roundness of Padmé's belly. Padmé closed the vest folds over her jumpsuit, and Mon's eyes darted away, leaving a flush on both their cheeks and guilt in the pit of Padmé's stomach that she hadn't told even her family or closest friends she'd been pregnant.

"There's… a lot to explain, much of which I will have to convey in private," Padmé said finally. "I… gave birth a few days ago."

Mon blinked. "I'm… sorry for being intrusive," she said. "I didn't know you were expecting."

"No one knew," Padmé said. "I made sure it was that way."

Mon lowered her eyes respectfully, but Padmé could sense her lingering curiosity about the father and the child's absence. They fell into silence as they followed the Jedi into the ziggurat's mouth.

The smell of engine grease and humid moss first greeted her as she stepped into the shadow, and when her eyes adjusted she saw a hangar of ships—x-wings and corvettes and one silver starskiff not unlike the one she owned. Mechanics and pilots in jumpsuits lingered together in clumps, passing tools under ship bellies and lounging against fighter wings and exchanging greasy sabacc cards.

"Some of them are outcasts or Imperial deserters," Mon said. "Others were displaced by the Empire's new mining facilities, or are escaped slaves, or are homeless. We have at least a hundred families here, and more than five times the number of able-bodied sentients."

"You've gathered quite the number," Padmé remarked, noting the room extended beyond the far wall and up to the next level.

"We don't do much recruiting," Mon said. "They seem to find us faster than we find them."

Padmé watched a girl no older than twelve crouched on a supply crate accepting a piece of bread from a nearby pilot. "It's a haven for those who have nowhere else to go."

A stone staircase lined the zigzags of the ziggurat interior, and Mon led her up the level. They came out in a command center, filled with transmitters and holo plans. A few droids clattered around the equipment, as officers and pilots studied ship diagrams and carried equipment in and out of the room.

"It's a start for where we want to be," Mothma said. "We've taken record of all the information the Empire's tried to delete. We have the locations of the Force-sensitives in the Inner Worlds, and the Republic's old Jedi records, and the locations of the Imperial spies on Naboo and Corellia. We've even managed to secure data of Imperial naval movements through the inside sources on Coruscant."

"The Alliance can't be ready to face the Empire," Padmé said.

"Not head-on," Mon said. "But action must be taken, and soon. Organa's arrest made that clear."

"The Imperial navy far outguns us, and there're spies everywhere—"

"I know," Mon said. "We're thinking of something a bit more bold."

Padmé watched a few Mon Calamari officers move around schematics of Coruscant's underworld. She glimpsed a layout of the Senate Building, and of Emperor Palpatine's office. "Something dangerous?"

Mon's hesitance gave her the answer. "Let's go somewhere where we can talk in private," she said.


The first thing Anakin became aware of was how comfortable he felt. His body still ached like he had been run over by a rancor, but his leg and head had stopped throbbing, and he didn't feel nauseous or dizzy. The room temperature felt comfortable—not too hot or cold. The bed underneath him was softer than anything he'd slept in since Padmé's bed in 500 Republica.

He blinked back the blurriness in his eyes to realize he was lying on a bottom bunk in sleep trousers. His hands had been bandaged, as had the burn mark on his leg. Ice packs lined both sides of his chest, where he'd gathered bruises, though he didn't know what from. Feeling a bit of a chill, he picked the packs up and dropped them clumsily on the floor. One pack slipped through his bandaged fingers and exploded on the floor.

"You shouldn't be moving," said a familiar voice from the bunk over.

Obi-Wan came to the doorway, a small smile on his face. He looked the same as Anakin remembered him—auburn beard neatly trimmed, hair parted to the side, and a glimmer of humor in his eye. "Welcome to the Desert Scraper—aptly named, might I add. We barely scraped by those warships."

"Obi-Wan," Anakin breathed, chest tightening at the sight of his old friend. "I can't believe—I thought you—you've been on Alderaan this whole time?"

"Back and forth a few times," Obi-Wan said, with a curve of his lip that suggested it had been more than a few times. "But yes. I've been working with Senator Organa… Palpatine's ascension has caused led to more than a few disappearances among the Delegation."

Anakin hadn't realized just how much he'd missed Obi-Wan's ever-present levity, or the knowing twitch in his smile. There was something comforting in the way he commanded silence in a room. Perhaps that was why he was called the Great Negotiator. Anakin had missed being by his side.

"Yes, well," Obi-Wan said, looking down, and Anakin realized he had been staring far too long to hold up the semblance of a normal conversation. Finally, Obi-Wan relaxed in a small smile. "It's good to see you too, Anakin."

His master rarely admitted anything sentimental, and Anakin couldn't help the impish grin he felt pulling on his cheeks. "Did you miss me?"

Obi-Wan's gaze turned wry. "I'll just say I won't miss being vomited on."

Anakin's cheeks drained. "Did I actually?"

"Twice."

"Well," said Anakin, remembering how nauseous he had felt under Theo's piloting, "it was only a matter of time, I sup—" He straightened abruptly in his bed, feeling the nausea return. "Padmé—did Padmé make it to Alderaan? Is she okay? And the twins—?"

Obi-Wan held up a hand. "They're okay," he said. "They're all okay."

"And Theo?"

"He's locked up for the time being, in comfortable quarters. We just need to be sure his chip is deactivated for good."

Anakin sank into his bed. "But Padmé—she's safe?"

"She left with Master Yoda and a few padawans to head to Dantooine, where those opposing the Empire have gathered," Obi-Wan said, and there was something guarded in his eyes. Anakin knew instantly by the subtle tightening in his master's jaw that the older Jedi knew of the lies, and perhaps had for some time. "You have a lot to explain."

Anakin let out a long, centering breath. He played with the bandage on his hand, scratching the fabric until the threads came off in beads. Obi-Wan was his best friend, and he deserved to hear the truth from his mouth. "I… broke the code. We fled together to Tatooine during the Temple massacre. She gave birth to twins only a few days ago."

Obi-Wan nodded slowly, but Anakin knew from the tension in his cheek that he was anything but pleased. "How long?"

"Since Geonosis," Anakin said quietly. "We married when I took her back to Naboo. She was six months pregnant by the Battle of Coruscant."

Obi-Wan remained quiet for a painful length of time, and Anakin recognized for the first time the value of his steadiness over the years, in his loyalty to the Order, in his duties, and in his trust in the Force. Obi-Wan had a perseverance and calm rationality that Anakin could never attain. He was a true Jedi.

"I'm… not deserving of the title I carry," Anakin said. "If the Council demands it, I'll—I'll give up my blade and leave the Order."

"We both know you wouldn't make it," Obi-Wan said, quietly. "And there is no Council left to make that decision."

He knew his master was right, and he couldn't help the guilt that surged there, or the anxiety about his wife and children. "But you've… seen them, though?" Anakin said. "Did they look well?"

"Senator Amidala had to leave the twins on Alderaan, with Breha Organa," Obi-Wan said, drawing a chair beside Anakin's bed.

"W—what? Why?"

"I think we all know the risk we're taking in this operation," he said. "Things are only going to get more dangerous."

"Why did she leave them? She abandoned them—she left them on another planet—"

"Think about it, Anakin," Obi-Wan said. "Padmé knows what she's doing. Palpatine won't touch Breha Organa—she's no direct threat, and he can't risk planetary anger by replacing her. Your children are safe in the palace."

"If Palpatine finds out—"

"Palpatine has bigger concerns right now," Obi-Wan said. "Senator Mothma is trying to move forward with a new plan before things get even worse for the Alliance."

"Get worse?"

Obi-Wan's lips hardened. "Senator Organa's been arrested. Previous arrests have ended in private executions, and more will continue. Senator Mothma's on the watch list. Every Delegation senator is on the watch list. And besides that, Jedi are still hunted down every day. Many are lured into Imperial traps. The Empire has eyes everywhere, if being tracked here was any indication."

"Senator Organa?" Anakin echoed. "But Breha—what about—"

"Breha's safe," Obi-Wan cut across, and Anakin read his annoyance in an eyebrow pinch. "She's not the concern here—the sheer number of executions is. Mothma recognizes the need for immediate action. Padmé arrived on Dantooine just a few hours ago with Yoda and two of the padawans we rescued. They're already in the midst of planning."

Anakin shook his head. "The Alliance can't match the Imperial Navy—we're far outgunned—"

"There're less than five thousand soldiers at various locations on Dantooine, Naboo, and other worlds. That's not counting sympathizers on Coruscant, Corellia, and many sectors."

"Which isn't enough. We both know it."

"Not for direct confrontation," Obi-Wan said. "But it is for a ruse."

"A ruse?"

"One of the main reasons why Mothma and Organa sanctioned the rescue party to retrieve you was because they've assigned us a special mission."

Anakin frowned.

"Mothma recognizes that certain actions are imperative to the survival of the Alliance and those loyal to democracy," Obi-Wan continued. "Sometimes drastic measures are needed—"

"A rescue mission?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Much, much riskier." He took a breath and said slowly, "Mothma has proposed that we confront Palpatine ourselves."

There was a pause as Obi-Wan watched him closely. Anakin didn't know what to think, what to feel—

"If the Alliance draws Imperial attention away from Coruscant, Mothma believes she may be able to smuggle us to the Senate Complex."

Anakin stared at him for a long time, the complexities of completing such a task running through his mind. "An assassination assignment."

"That would be the crude term, yes."

"We're not assassins, Obi-Wan."

"Anakin, we're in a period of war. We're in a desperate place right now. And desperate—"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, I know," Anakin interrupted, suddenly irrationally impatient. "But you realize how dangerous this is—that's a lot of ifs!"

"If we don't try now, before Palpatine has fully settled into power, there may not be a time in the next fifty or more years that the galaxy will give us the opportunity."

"Jedi don't kill like that—it goes against every lesson the Code teaches."

"For the good of the galaxy, we're going to have to put aside traditional teachings—"

"Put aside traditional teachings?" Anakin echoed angrily. "It's not a job for Jedi."

Obi-Wan's brows narrowed at him. "And who else could complete such a mission, Anakin?"

"I don't know," snapped Anakin. "An assassin?" He didn't want to face Palpatine, he couldn't bear thinking about how close he'd been to slaughtering the Jedi himself...

"An assassin can't handle a project of this magnitude, and we can't be sure of their loyalty."

"So you're saying that this is why they sent out a rescue mission," Anakin said angrily. "To use me."

"Anakin, that's not the only reason—"

"We both know this is a suicide mission, Obi-Wan." Anakin ripped at the threads on his bandages.

"Anakin."

"As if we haven't been in living hell for the past five years."

"As Jedi," Obi-Wan said firmly, "our duty is to serve and defend the Republic, no matter where the Force leads us."

"And fight galactic wars, one corrupt politician after another—"

"They're sending us," Obi-Wan cut in, "because we're the best for the job."

"Because we haven't sacrificed enough lives and blood and sanity for them."

"That's not—"

"So you're not sick of being used!"

"I will defend the Republic and the Order as the galaxy calls for it. That is my duty, Anakin. That's what choosing being a Jedi means."

Anakin ripped off a whole square of his bandage, and Obi-Wan fell into an incredulous silence.

"Don't you want Palpatine dead?"

Anakin felt a twinge of hurt. "How can you even ask that?"

"Then what's wrong?"

"This whole thing is wrong, that's what's wrong," Anakin said, face burning. His whole body had begun to tremble and his heart to race, and he didn't know how to calm them. "I can't believe Master Yoda approved of this."

He could barely take a steady breath. He didn't want to face Palpatine, he didn't want to face the Dark—

"Palpatine's a Sith lord!"

"I know who he is!" Anakin snapped.

Obi-Wan let out a long sigh, and Anakin could tell he was gathering himself. Then, in a lower, steadier voice, he said, "How about you tell me what's really going on."

"There's nothing to say," Anakin said, but he couldn't meet his master's eye.

A long, unsettling silence fell over the cabin. Then, eventually, Anakin heard Obi-Wan rise to his feet. "I'll leave you to rest," he said. "In a few hours we'll arrive on Dantooine, and we'll discuss this further."

Anakin could only remain silent as he listened to Obi-Wan's boots retreating from the room. He gripped the sheets to keep his hands from shaking.