CHAPTER TEN
Manipulations
Obi-Wan could not sleep.
He lay staring at the revolving circus of lights diagramming themselves on the ceiling, the quilts tucked around his shoulders. Perhaps it was the sheer fact of sleeping in bed in the Temple, and not underneath a rock on a cold, distant planet, but he could not get comfortable. Soon enough, he, and presumably Anakin as well, would be back on the front lines. He should savor it while he could.
There was a strange disturbance in the Force. But then, that had become almost a routine occurrence. It had grown different, distant, not the unsullied flow that it had been only a few years ago. Perhaps it was because of the war. The living Force struggled greatly in the presence of so much death and chaos. If the old prophecy was true, his apprentice – former apprentice, Obi-Wan reminded himself – was the only one who could soothe it.
Obi-Wan focused on his breathing, calming his racing mind. The Temple was quiet, all Masters and Knights and Padawans either sleeping or meditating. If Obi-Wan stilled his thoughts and let himself dissipate out through the Force, he could feel the peace of the silent spires, the twilight flooding the halls, and the gentle current of life, binding them together – but in a warped way, like twisted, splintering glass.
Obi-Wan decided he would see if Anakin wanted to talk. His former Padawan insisted that he worked the best at night, and often did not retire at all, as if he could go days without sleep. Obi-Wan wondered if it was the dreams that Anakin feared, and frowned. A Jedi had the ability, or should, to school his mind and sleep without dreaming; nightmares were a symbol of fear and uncertainty. He would talk to Anakin about it.
Leaving bed behind, the older Jedi padded down the hallway to Anakin's room, which stood adjacent to his. Keying in the unlocking code, which Anakin had shared with no one save him, Obi-Wan stepped through into the cool, dark chamber, and immediately had to swat away about a dozen of Anakin's machines that had come whirring over to examine the intruder.
The quarters were sparse and neat. A miniature holoprojector rested on the desk, spouting fragments of blue static. The lone window was veiled in a blind, all of his projects and records had been stacked tidily in a corner, and there was only one problem, although it was a significant one. Anakin wasn't there.
Obi-Wan frowned. Anakin had never really preferred the company of others, and he hated to work in the archives. Perhaps he wasn't back yet from his meeting with the Chancellor. Still...if something was grave and complex enough to take up over three hours, Anakin would have likely been in touch to tell him.
There was an easy way to find out. Obi-Wan went to Anakin's heavily modified communications bank, and clicked in his partner's frequency. There was a hum as the signal traversed, and a bluish glow rose out of the comm platform like translucent gas. This, too, contained a problem: there was no Anakin visible in its field.
"Anakin," said Obi-Wan, half-anxious, half-annoyed. "All I want is an estimate of when you'll return to the Temple. Please contact me to – "
He was about to say do so when the transmission fizzled, and Anakin dove into sight, materializing as a small, glowing ghost. Obi-Wan noted that he seemed to be shirtless, but he quickly pulled his Jedi robe over his shoulders. "Hello, Master."
Obi-Wan noticed his use of the title. "Hello, Anakin. Where are you?"
"Five Hundred Republica," Anakin answered promptly.
"Have you finished the business with the Chancellor?"
"Yes, Master." For some reason, Anakin was frowning, pulling the robe tighter, and he wasn't meeting Obi-Wan's eyes. "He had an... unusual request."
"What sort of unusual request?" Obi-Wan asked, keeping his tone neutral. Anakin was liable to take offense at any slight, real or perceived, on the Chancellor.
"It was – " Anakin's frown deepened. "He wanted to send me on a mission."
Obi-Wan's voice cracked like a whip. "That has never been, and will never be, under his authority."
"I told him that," Anakin said, sounding somewhat helpless. His arms threaded down the sleeves of the robe, quickly sorting out which fitted in which hole, and he drew it closed over his chest. "He – "
For a long moment, Anakin looked stricken, silent, then he finally spoke again. "He asked me as a friend, Master. Obi-Wan."
"Friend or no, I dislike the Chancellor overreaching himself like this," Obi-Wan replied crisply. "Tell me what this mission is, and I shall relate it to the Council."
"He said he'd submit to their authority," said Anakin. He still wasn't meeting Obi-Wan's eyes.
"Anakin, do you really think so? He's playing on your affection and loyalty, and if he wants it done, I have no doubt that either he or his fawning cohorts will find a way to get it done without your – "
Anakin's temper sparked to life, hot and sudden as a magma flare. "So, you're the only mentor I can trust?" he snapped. "I knew you'd do this, lecture about how the Chancellor is really making some underhanded power grab, and I'm just a tool in – "
"Anakin, I'm not asking you to – "
"It's something we may be both interested in," said Anakin, biting off the words as if they tasted bad. "Count Dooku's taken an apprentice."
That hit Obi-Wan in the face like a slap. "Where? Who?
Anakin smiled grimly. "You know her. Asajj Ventress."
Obi-Wan recoiled. The weeks he had spent in her custody had been among the most unpleasant of his life. "She's his apprentice? But how in the – "
" – world does the Chancellor know this?" Anakin finished, as seamlessly as if he'd been the one speaking all along. "Master, he's the leader of the civilized world. It's his business to keep up with the dealings of his greatest political rival."
"I suppose," Obi-Wan allowed. "Ventress... if it's a lure, it's subtly done..."
Just then, a voice – so faint that Obi-Wan thought, until much, much later, that he had imagined it: "Annie? Who're you talking to?"
"Excuse me," said Anakin, and dove out of sight again. Obi-Wan watched the glowing, empty field for what felt like some time, until at last Anakin reappeared.
"What was that?"
"Security forces," said Anakin. "They wanted to ascertain my clearance."
Obi-Wan, since he knew he wouldn't get anything better, let it slide. "Very well. This is a very serious issue, Anakin. Rest assured that I will speak about it with the Council. If what the Chancellor says is true, I am sure they will dispatch a team."
Anakin grinned at him, and quick as that, he was the Anakin he had always been, a rogue, but a charming one. It was hard not to forgive him, but Obi-Wan was still upset, and needed to mull this new and disturbing information.
He reached to terminate the communication, then said, "One more thing. Where has Ventress gone?"
"That's the best part." A teasing glimmer danced in Anakin's eyes. "Muunilinst."
Obi-Wan struggled not to groan. "Wonderful."
They had been to Muunilinst once before. Massive droid factions had been deployed against them, and Obi-Wan had been forced into single combat against the most potent Jedi-killer in centuries, the bounty hunter Durge. Almost as a given, in Anakin's mind, he had won. Still, nothing had changed.
"Master," Anakin said, "why is it that I have a feeling we'll be the ones sent off?"
Obi-Wan glowered at him, not as angry as he might have been, but answered seriously. "Because the Council trusts us, as a team, beyond most everyone else. Because that the battle against a Sith apprentice is one we cannot afford to lose, not with the Jedi and the Republic so fragile already."
"I know," Anakin said, his voice a husky murmur.
"If you've finished," said Obi-Wan, "please return to the Temple. I trust you have no other business?"
"No, Master. None at all." Anakin looked at him soulfully, trustingly, his blue eyes hiding nothing, apparently a mirror into his complex and guileful soul. He seemed to shine as clear as a star-beacon. Obi-Wan knew at once that he was being lied to.
"Very well," said Obi-Wan again, more discomfited and bewildered than ever. "I will see you shortly, I expect."
"Of course, Master," said Anakin, still sticking, perplexingly, to the honorific. "I try. I love you, you know."
A pause. "That is against the Code," said Obi-Wan, then punched the power button. The blue glow phased out of existence, leaving the room silent and dark.
He regretted his words at once, knowing that what Anakin had said was the truth, as it had been for almost every Master and Padawan in history, but it was not spoken of in the Order. He knew that Anakin was saying it now in an attempt to placate him, lull him, put him off his guard, and this angered him. And although he returned to bed and lay awake for what felt like hours, trying to make some sense, any sense of their interchange, he never heard Anakin come in.
Muunilinst was a bloodbath of a planet, red and weeping even from space, rattling along its prescribed cosmic path and leaving chaos in its wake. The surface was scraped raw by paralyzing winds and drenched with torrential rains, echoing constantly with the tumult of war. The sky was choked with clouds, and the falling fire-trails of ruined starfighters. The dazzling javelins of laser bolts danced back and forth, dyeing the nights red-green. Muunilinst had once been a very beautiful planet, with gleaming cities and cultivated parks, but only blasted ruins remained.
The ground was scarred with land mines, chopped up from clone and droid feet, the air reeking of caustic chemicals. Its four moons all had Republic garrisons built on them, but the atmosphere was thin enough that only droids could survive for any length of time. One by one, the moons had crumbled to the Separatist forces, and the weapons factories, the source of all Muunilinst's woe, were perhaps the most dangerous of all. Not only could a careless spark ignite a detonator, the odds were very great that you would be shot by a sentry, whether on your side or the other.
The planet's lone Senator, Dashum Zengrist, had been assassinated – nobody was sure by whom. His replacement had carefully held off on declaring allegiance to either the Republic or the Separatists – even though Muunilinst was the headquarters of the InterGalactic Banking Clan, which had thrown in very publicly on the Separatist side. Isolationist rebel groups complicated matters. Here, as everywhere, the Clone Wars marched brutally on.
A lone starfighter, swathed in stealth shields, flew low over the inhospitable landscape. All its running lights were dark, its angular wings striped with blades sharp enough to cut, and they proved to be able to do so, when a lumbering troop transport took off directly in its path.
The pilot never saw the starfighter. The starfighter never slowed. In a blaze of burning metal and the roar of shattering components, it sliced through the aft quarters and shot onwards. Gravely crippled, trailing smoke and flame, the barge crashed to the ground. Clone troopers tumbled from the ruins and lay still.
The starfighter veered hard right, then flew onwards into a dense pillar of exhaust steam. In here, shielded from almost all eyes, it turned and sank to a landing platform big enough for only one ship. When the fighter came to a halt, the blades ceased their frenetic churning; there was a hiss and a creak as the craft settled down. Durasteel landing claws gripped the platform, and the cockpit canopy rose.
A graceful form in a black cloak slipped free. Without a sound, the hunter dropped to the platform, peering out from beneath the deep hood.
A sharp, distinctly unpleasant scent forced a slight cough out. White hands, sheathed in fingerless black gloves, fluttered to an unseen mouth, and then the hunter began to walk, with deadly speed and purpose. In seconds, the landing platform was empty except for a retinue of maintenance droids that scuttled out to see to the starfighter.
The master was furious.
His apprentice had taken an apprentice of his own without his consent. Such explicit disobedience made his wrath cold and deadly, fast and merciless as a snake. Lord Tyranus had to learn his place.
Darth Sidious stalked back and forth, pacing and pondering, wondering whether to kill Ventress. Either way, she and her upstart "Master" required a sharp lesson. There could only be one leader while Sidious lived, and it was not Tyranus.
Darth Bane had laid down the rules of the Sith, and while Sidious was constantly shattering those that irked him, Sith or otherwise, there were some that he had kept with excruciating fidelity. The Rule of Two, for a start. There could never be an entire Sith Order to combat the Jedi; there would only ever be two Sith at a time, master and apprentice. He was the Master, not Tyranus.
Tyranus would never be. He would die first, but he had his uses, and not least his intimate, firsthand knowledge of the Jedi. Every trap he had planned for them had worked flawlessly, especially the brilliant Geonosis ruse – Sidious still had to admire that little stunt. Tyranus' cunning coordination had rid them of half the Order's best bladesbeings at a blow.
Ventress was an unwanted third, a blatant defiance of his wishes, of ancient Sith tradition. Sidious whirled on his heel. She must die, now, while she was an apprentice and not a true Sith. Sidious must have made the mistake of letting it slip how greatly he valued Tyranus' assistance – well, for the time being. Now he was getting ideas above his station, presuming to be a "Master," to take an apprentice of his own, to proclaim himself a full-fledged Dark Lord.
Sidious stopped and poured himself a drink. He tossed back the bitter Ithorian aperitif at a pull, wiped his mouth delicately, and set the glass down. For all his guile, Tyranus looked like a raw novice when set beside Anakin Skywalker. Skywalker was much younger, far more powerful, infinitely more skilled, and so... malleable.
It gave Sidious a searing, ecstatic thrill to be so daintily coaxing the Order's poster boy to his side, right beneath their noses. It was intoxicating, but dangerous. If the boy ever learned how he was being manipulated, before he was completely indoctrinated, he may well decide to end Sidious himself. That was the ever-present danger.
Sidious wondered idly who the "other" was, the one that Skywalker had been so desperate to visit, but he had read the desire clear enough in Anakin's eyes. He thought that he knew perfectly well, as Anakin's infatuation with Padmé Amidala had never been a secret. Not to him, anyway.
Another circuit of the office, another drink. Sidious intended to keep this up until he found an answer or until he fell down drunk, whichever came first. As alcohol had never affected him in the slightest, it looked as if it would have to be the answer.
In the end, he decided, he would be perfectly agreeable to Kenobi accompanying Skywalker. Muunilinst was a highly dangerous planet, after all. Perhaps the problematic Jedi Master could finally, finally be disposed of, and Skywalker could embrace his true potential at last. The ideal scenario was that Kenobi and Ventress would end up killing each other, leaving Skywalker free to go berserk as scheduled.
It was easy. It was so easy that Sidious almost laughed aloud. He moved the pieces where he wanted. The Jedi, always, naively willing to believe the best of people, had accepted his stories well enough. Now, just as they had grown suspicious, his plans were magnetically sealed. It was almost enough to tempt him to relax.
Sidious shunned this novel concept. He had not worked for years to climb the ladder, make influential friends, push his ideology, and gain control in order to let it fall. Almost was nowhere near as good as absolute. Which reminded him... He turned to his desk and unearthed a high-tech datapad. He powered it on, paused for a moment to think, then titled it, Mergence of Powers Act, Sect. 1550.
Anakin was quite right about one thing. He did not control the Council. It was time to rectify that. Of course, he would never be seen advocating this – that would not do. However, he could just... slip...it, light-fingered, to one of his friends.
A small, satisfied smile curled Sidious' thin lips as he wrote.
This Act hereby proposes that the dual GALACTIC REPUBLIC powers: the office of the Supreme Chancellor (henceforth abbreviated as SC) and the Jedi Council (henceforth abbreviated as JC) agree to consolidate into a single representative voice, to therefore better convey the wishes of the Republic to the galaxy...
He was the galaxy. These were his wishes. The Jedi had nothing to do with it, and this merge was to ensure that they could not interfere. He could trap them in a web of broken clauses and legal breaches before they could blink – in a way, he almost felt sorry for them. However, twenty-five thousand years of their history could not shatter without thembeing destroyed. And they would be. Utterly. They would find, all of them, that he was very good at betraying allies.