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Chapter 11

Obi-Wan leaned back in his seat, folded his arms, and watched the galaxy smear into streaks of hyperspace through the transparisteel alongside him. In his little cabin aboard the transport carrier, it was mind-numbingly quiet, and the flickering blur through the port window had a strange, calming effect. He was more the sort to meditate in nature, by a pool of water or amidst leafy green foliage, but in that moment, nothing could have been better.

Padmé had offered her apartment to him while she was holed up in the Temple until the Order determined what to do with her, and Obi-Wan gratefully accepted her offer. While thoughtful and generous, the offer had backfired in a way Obi-Wan should have expected but didn't until it was too late. Traces of Anakin lingered everywhere in her apartment. Not of the visible sort, but his presence. Obi-Wan felt reverberations of it through the Force. It was the obnoxious itch he couldn't scratch, and it made him restless. It made his chest ache. It reminded him something was missing.

So when Padmé informed him the Senate and Order agreed to move the clones to Kamino in an effort to mass remove their control chips, Obi-Wan hastily offered to go with them. Not under any official sort of duty, but merely because he had nothing else to do. And he could not be idle. Padmé had argued with him not to go, that it might be dangerous if the jamming signal failed and Order 66 activated. Rightfully so. But Cody and a host of other clones who had already had the chip removed joined him on his ship. The number of free clones far outweighed those with control chips on his specific vessel. Those who still needed the procedure arrived on other ships, some from all corners of the galaxy.

Obi-Wan sat back in comfortable silence and allowed his mind to drift in quiet meditation. He'd found it again—the steady, ever-present stream of the Force that calmed him, that gave purpose and meaning to his existence. Even if not a Jedi serving the Order, he believed in the will of the Force and in its light, its guidance, its presence. And so he allowed it to run over him, drowning him in endless peace.

Visions of the future no longer consumed him. He had sifted through his future self's life, through his hardships, through his grief. He came to terms with his future self well enough—he even accepted that he loved Anakin through it all, and he accepted that his future self taught Anakin how to maintain his consciousness within the Force after death, so that Anakin might for the first time know true peace and that they might spend forever together in that place of quiet tranquility.

But in the present, in the new future that would be, Anakin no longer existed. Obi-Wan could not bring him back to himself, could not help his wounds to heal, could not show Anakin that his love for him remained. No, the new future was the one Obi-Wan had to wrestle with, because Anakin wasn't in it.

Visions from Anakin's life surfaced during Obi-Wan's meditation. Perhaps it was the Force, or perhaps it was his own mind that drew them to the surface, but Obi-Wan didn't resist. Instead, he let them become an intimate part of him, same as his own memories, as though he had lived them. His future self found peace, but Obi-Wan no longer had that future, and so he struggled to understand where he failed, when he lost Anakin, and what he could possibly have done differently.

And so he stepped into the heart and mind of a slave boy on Tatooine who knew only a mother and not a father. Having a mother at all made him better off than most slaves, and Anakin knew that full well. Anakin knew many things a child should never have to consider, such as how to placate slavers who would beat or deprive of necessities if angered, or how to navigate the cruel streets of an entire civilization built on violence and deception. He also knew loss: the loss of friends to needless acts of violence, to starvation, to transfer of ownership.

Anakin Skywalker understood loss very well, and he feared it. It was so familiar and friendly to him, a daily part of his existence, and he often feared when loss would strike again because he had so little to lose. Feared when it would strike the hardest and take from him what mattered the most.

Despite his fear, Anakin was brilliant, compassionate, and courageous. He dreamed of justice, of freeing his fellow slaves. He plotted ways to save them and began building a device to rid them of their explosive security measures. He stood up for his fellow slaves, even if it earned him a few blows for his troubles. All given without expectation, simply because it was right and because his mother had taught him the galaxy would be better if only everyone did as such. Because he understood that people mattered—that an individual life mattered. Even if no one cared about a slave on Tatooine, Anakin did. Everyone had value and intrinsic worth.

And yet. A complete contradiction, Anakin deeply understood one other thing: his life did not matter. He was valuable only so long as he performed, only so long as he had the approval of his master. Failure meant rejection, violence, disposal, or even death. Thus was the life of a slave. A slave who did not earn his keep did not have the right to exist.

Anakin always had to prove himself, and often it came easy because of his brilliant little mind. But disapproval of any kind ate at him and tore at the core of his being. Crushed his self-worth, little by little.

Obi-Wan followed Anakin through slavery, all the way to Qui-Gon. Seeing his former Master's tenderness towards the boy stirred familiar warmth in Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon had never been much of a traditional Jedi, and though he remained outwardly detached—for the most part—it was obvious Qui-Gon cared for Anakin almost immediately. It had been meant to be, the two of them meeting each other.

Anakin mentioned a dream to Qui-Gon, about becoming a Jedi and returning to free the slaves. Something lit up in Qui-Gon's eyes in that moment, and Obi-Wan retraced his steps through Anakin's life to understand why. The dream had been as real as the visions Obi-Wan saw of the future—had they been visions? Had Anakin been so gifted in the Force that he had been witnessing visions of the future his entire life? Qui-Gon seemed to think so, if his momentary alertness to the comment meant what Obi-Wan thought it did.

Along they went, and Anakin was happy to obey Qui-Gon, happy to follow in his shadow. And then Coruscant happened. Anakin's self-worth crumbled in on itself, and the barb of fear dug in deep. The need to prove himself, to keep from being rejected and thrown away, twisted his inner self into a knot of confliction. It began with the Council.

It exploded into a monstrosity at Obi-Wan.

That boy is dangerous. The Council sees it. Why don't you?

Anakin's first real impression of Obi-Wan, his first understanding of him, was rejection. And it stuck like a thorn in Anakin's flesh for years. The fear of never being good enough. The fear of being rejected.

Had Obi-Wan destroyed Anakin before they even began?

Obi-Wan leaned forward in his seat and covered his mouth with his hand. Hyperspace gave way to a sea of stars beyond the port window. He stared into the bleak and endless space. The ache in his chest grew, and the hollow place in his heart drained the life out of him.

He had abandoned Anakin on the Invisible Hand and every moment thereafter. Anakin had failed, and Obi-Wan had abandoned him. Everything Anakin feared had come true—and then he died believing it. No future reconciliation. No return from darkness.

Anakin had died believing he was only worth throwing away.

The thunder of footsteps drew Obi-Wan back from what could have been a significantly detrimental downward spiral. He smoothed both hands over his face and rose. Clones raced down the corridor outside his room, their armor clattering. No shouting and no alarms, but Obi-Wan felt a prickle of anxiety in the Force.

He followed the noise to the bridge where Cody and a dozen troopers clustered around the communications station. Cody glanced at him, a familiar look of concern marring his features. Never fear—oh no, not with Cody—but with the genuine air that something was terribly, dreadfully wrong.

"What's wrong?" Obi-Wan turned his question to Cody.

"We tried contacting the facility, but we aren't receiving a response. We're hitting nothing at all—nothing is even receiving our signal." Cody stepped aside with Obi-Wan. He didn't have to, because technically Obi-Wan was a civilian and Cody outranked him. "Our initial scans don't show anything down there."

It took a moment for the words to process, and Obi-Wan frowned.

"Anything?"

"No signs of life, no electronic signals," Cody said, and he waved his hand at the blue planet swirled with white clouds. "As far as our scanners can tell, there's nothing down there."

A blank screen glared at Obi-Wan from the console, proof that Cody spoke the truth. He scratched his beard, aware of the unsettled knot in his stomach that arose whenever unfortunate happenings were about to take place.

"I'll lead a unit to the surface to make contact and see what's going on," Cody finally said, and he tipped his head at the others cluttered around the console. "The rest of you, remain on standby, and stay vigilant."

"I'd like to go with you," Obi-Wan said, and Cody raised an eyebrow. "I have a bad feeling about this, and I'd rather see things firsthand."

Cody nodded and then turned to bark quick orders for his men to assemble and to prepare a landing craft. Obi-Wan stared at the blue and white planet outside the port window, and the knot in his stomach tightened. It had been doing that a lot lately. His instincts, led by his intimate connection to the Force, were rarely wrong, and so the eternal sense of impending dread concerned him.

They made haste to their landing craft and to the planet's surface with a group of near 25 men. As they descended upon the planet and passed through the atmosphere, Obi-Wan's sense of foreboding grew. When they broke through the clouds into a downpour of rain, only darkness greeted them. Devoid of lights, the city and its sprawling facilities stood out merely as a solid, black speck against crashing ocean waves. The closer they got, the darkness grew.

When they settled on one of the landing platforms, they met no resistance. Not a surprise, since Obi-Wan had also entered unhindered just several years back, but the lack of lights set all of them on edge. Cody led his team to disembark, in full gear against the rain and armed with blasters, and hurried to one of the facility entrances. The sliding doors held shut, unresponsive. Cody waved in suggestion at his men to rally on either side of the door, and then he himself stepped ahead and pried the door open. It slithered in its track with a squeal and a groan and allowed them entrance.

The entire unit marched synchronized through the door, blasters aimed and ready. Obi-Wan glanced at their landing craft blinking through sheets of rain and then followed the group inside. Every last man stopped in the main room, and eventually blasters lowered and lights on helmets flicked on. Obi-Wan stared into the gaping maw of endless darkness.

"Where is everyone?" one of the men asked, his voice muffled by his helmet. No one answered.

Not a trace of life presented itself even as they shuffled through corridors towards training facilities, barracks, and research stations. Blasters and helmets littered the floors, tables and chairs lay overturned, and a few computer stations had been smashed. But aside from these curiosities, nothing suggested a struggle or any sort of battle. Rather, it looked like the living had fled in haste.

"Everyone is gone," said one of the men in a hushed voice, and he shook his head, the light on his helmet bouncing across the room.

"Well," another man said, halted in the doorway of the armory, "almost everyone."

The rest of the group shuffled in and peered over his shoulder. A few clones lay dead on the floor, bombs and blasters scattered behind them. The room showed no outward signs of battle, no scars from blaster fire, and certainly no explosions of any bombs. It looked as though the men simply collapsed and died.

Cody knelt next to one of the men and started to turn the body over. Only half the body moved at his touch—the man cut clean in half. Cody released him without turning him, so that the body stayed in one piece.

"Burned through," he said. "Like a lightsaber."

Obi-Wan stiffened. Anakin's memories immediately jumped to mind: Anakin leveling the Jedi, cutting through Separatist leaders Sidious no longer had use for, decimating any and all that stood in his way. It was quick, like a knee-jerk reaction without explanation. And the moment after he saw such images, Obi-Wan felt a surge of shame and grief that he hastily released to keep from letting it wear him down.

Anakin was dead. He couldn't have done anything.

Then his mind went straight to the last known lightsaber user he could imagine doing something like this: Grievous.

Cody went to one of the computers and prodded a few keys to no effect. The buttons and screens remained dark. He took a bomb from the floor and turned it over in his hand.

"It's fried," he said, and then he scanned the room again, his light flashing from the far wall to the computer system beside him. "Everything's fried." He turned, and the light from his helmet flashed across Obi-Wan's eyes and made him wince.

Every last light on their helmets blinked out with a crackling pop and cast them in complete darkness. Aside from the clattering of armor, the room remained silent. The hairs stood on the back of Obi-Wan's neck, and the pit in his stomach twisted.

"We need to tell the Republic what we've found here," Obi-Wan said with some slight hesitation, because they had no idea what they'd found.

Metal tapped on metal, and then Obi-Wan recognized the sound of helmets disengaging to be removed.

"Comm is dead, too," Cody said, voice loud and clear since he had removed his helmet. More rattling followed, and then a trigger clicked several times as it was pulled but did nothing. "I think I know why no one put up a fight. The weapons are dead." Another clatter of metal on metal followed along with more unresponsive trigger clicks. "Let's get back outside."

The clones, familiar with the layout of their home, managed to lead the way back to the entrance with relative ease despite the darkness. Streams of dull light poured in through the main windows and open door, giving everyone and everything a stone-gray complexion. Most of the clones had removed their helmets, as their visors no longer proved useful in the scant light. A few made straight for the ship, vanishing in cloaks of rain on the platform, but Obi-Wan lingered. Cody joined him.

"Any idea what happened here?"

"Nothing good." Obi-Wan ran a finger over his bearded chin and stared at light glinting off puddles on the floor. "Killing the clones was once the Separatists' intentions, but why bother taking them alive when the jamming signal is still inhibiting the chips? Why take Kaminoans at all?"

"Who's to say they did?" Cody frowned. "For all we know, there's now a graveyard at the bottom of the ocean."

"Maybe," Obi-Wan said, but he didn't believe it. Why bother doing whatever they did so neatly, so cleanly as to preserve lives and prevent damage, when their intention was to kill? Explosives could have sunk the city. He shook his head to himself. "But something doesn't seem right…"

"Commander, you might want to see this!" called a trooper from outside.

Obi-Wan, Cody, and the few lingering clones ran onto the platform and into the downpour, and several clones returned their helmets to their heads against the wind and rain. One of the troopers pointed to the clouds, and Obi-Wan shielded his eyes with a hand and squinted. A large vessel appeared from out of the clouds, one of the transport ships from their convoy.

"What are they doing?" one of the men asked, and only bewildered silence answered him.

The vessel descended on the city, engines whirring and lights blinking without apparent harm. Only, the ship didn't slow as if intending to land—which became more and more apparent the closer it came. The engines roared over the wind and rain, the flames painting orange a line of sky behind it. The ship loomed over them, tilted in a straight trajectory towards the city.

"What are they doing?" another trooper echoed the first, and several of the men stepped back.

Obi-Wan and Cody stood shoulder to shoulder and stared as the ship shot like a cumbersome dart straight into one of the adjoining buildings. It smashed into the tower of the building, the point of the ship digging down into the dome structure of the main facility beneath. The horrifying, high-pitched scream of metal on metal tore at their ears, and the platform under their feet lurched and tilted to the side. The tipping platform and the slick metal surface gave little purchase, and they scrambled to stay standing.

A majority of the tower crumpled under the weight of the vessel. The massive carrier halted with its prow pushed into the dome building below. Its middle balanced precariously on the twisted remains of the tower, and the stern of the ship stuck up in the air. Smoke billowed out from the vessel, and even through the rain Obi-Wan could see the flames eating through the ship. Red lights blazed from the viewport of the bridge. The ship still had power.

"Sir," said a clone, breathlessly, and drew their attention.

Dozens of smaller battleships, starfighters, and vulture droids dropped out of the clouds and blanketed the sky. A torpedo fired from the lead-most craft and smashed their landing vessel clean off the platform and hurled it into the waves below. The enemy starfighter closed in with several larger vessels flanking it. The clones aimed their blasters out of habit, but Cody waved them back towards the door. If the armory was any indication, they had nothing with which to fight.

The starfighter and companion carriers aligned with their tilted platform and dropped open their doors without fear of repercussions. Dozens of armed droids marched off the vessels into the rain. A familiar half-droid jumped out of the starfighter, his metal feet clanking on the platform before he unleashed a slick, guttural laugh.

"Grievous," Obi-Wan muttered, his gaze locked on the general while ignoring the droids swarming the platform.

"General Kenobi," Grievous bellowed. He clanked forward with his hands folded behind his back. His cape fluttered behind him in the wind. "So glad you could join us for this monumental occasion." He swept his arms out in a broad gesture, as if awaiting something grand to happen. "The moment the war at last is won."

"Fall back," Cody said only loud enough for the troops gathered around to hear him. "Get inside and barricade the doors."

"We don't stand much of a chance here." Obi-Wan dipped his head in the direction of the endless droids drawing near and the fleet of ships over their heads that must have contained hundreds more droids. It was then he noticed the other passenger vessels from their convoy amidst the Separatist ships—detained or overthrown.

"I don't know," Cody commented, slinking backwards. "I think one former Jedi General might be able to come up with something."

Obi-Wan let out a faint laugh but finally allowed his foot to slide back in preparation to run. They needed help—and if they could get inside the city and barricade it for long enough to get some of the technology to work, they might be able to contact reinforcements. It was a long shot, but Obi-Wan didn't much feel like giving Grievous the satisfaction of surrender.

"Before you run away," Grievous said slickly, and again the hair on Obi-Wan's neck stood on end. It was as though Grievous could see the future, or read their thoughts. He'd done it on Coruscant as well. Again, Obi-Wan had the sensation he was a piece on a game board being played. "Since we have disabled all your technology, a weapon for the Jedi might well serve your sorry lot."

Grievous tucked his hand into his cloak, and Obi-Wan, Cody, and the clones hesitated. If it was some sort of explosive, Obi-Wan would deflect it. They couldn't turn their backs and risk a hit. But Grievous only pulled out a lightsaber and tossed it into the space between them. It clattered on the platform and slid a short distance on the wet, tilted metal. Grievous chuckled, and he and his droids held their ground.

Obi-Wan glared at Grievous and then the lightsaber. Chills swept through him and bumps spread across his skin. He sank, his heart sank, and the knot in his stomach grew ever tighter.

Anakin's lightsaber lay on the platform. The very same lightsaber Anakin had dropped into the core of the reactor moments before it exploded. The lightsaber Anakin had dropped so he could seize Sidious and save Obi-Wan. Only, the weapon remained flawless and clean, as though nothing had happened to it at all.

We have… Skywalker.

Obi-Wan's heart stuttered. A game. It was some terrible, twisted game. Or was it?

Cody gave a subtle pull on Obi-Wan's arm.

"Let's go, General."

Obi-Wan used the Force to draw the lightsaber to him, and Grievous allowed it with nothing more than another slimy laugh. At least 50 droids gathered around with blasters held but not aimed. Waiting—they were waiting for something, or someone. Obi-Wan turned the lightsaber in his hand, a lump in his throat that suffocated the life out of him.

We have… Skywalker.

Mind blank, Obi-Wan let Cody haul him towards the battered doors after the rest of the men. Grievous laughed as they went, and his droids did absolutely nothing.