Chapter Fifty: The Good Ones

Layer upon layer of noise compounded itself in Anakin's mind.

There was the noise of the restaurant—an outdoor terrace, white tablecloths dotting the landscape of intricate brickwork. The clink of glasses and the ringing of forks against plates. The plucking of the harp in the corner, each note drifting away on the chilled evening breeze.

Above that, there was the glare of the restaurant patrons. Some, it seemed, had recognized him when he'd ascended the stairs to the rooftop, their stares carrying the harsh glow of a boosted speeder engine. To them, he knew, he was no longer just Anakin Skywalker, Palpatine's aide. He was Anakin Skywalker, former partner of the Jedi fugitive Obi-Wan Kenobi. And even though they now sat at a great distance—a line of Red Guards formed a sort of buffer zone between the chancellor's table and the remainder of the restaurant—Anakin could still feel their ill will.

Above the intensity of their stares rang an even louder note: the incessant whine swirling about in his inner ear, as if he'd stood too close when a grenade had gone off. But it was no grenade. He was certain of it. It was a powerful presence in the Force.

Palpatine had brought him to a restaurant in Coruscant's Classical District. Anakin could feel the glow of the Jedi Temple. It gnawed at the back of his mind, dancing in a tug of war with the dark voice that had occupied that space ever since Kamino—scattered individual presences, beneath them a well of light.

And every time the aura of the Temple faded into the background, the voice came roaring back. He knows. He could have brought you to dinner anywhere, but he chose this place. He knows what's hiding here.

Anakin swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. Tugged at the cuffs of his dress clothes, donned hastily before his journey to the restaurant. Pushed past the din of competing sensations inside his brain, forced himself to quit staring into his lap as the first course of the evening's meal arrived.

He nodded absently as the waiter presented a bottle of wine—it looked expensive, but that was about all Anakin could discern of it. Despite all the time he'd spent with the chancellor, he'd never developed a proper taste for the man's favorite drink.

The plate in front of him, though—its extravagance was far more evident. Vibrant colors unseen on Coruscant stared back up at him. Deep greens. Bright reds and yellows and oranges.

"Are these fresh?" he asked, amazement seeping past the nervous buzz.

Across the table, a proud smile formed on Chancellor Palpatine's face as he unfolded his napkin with a flourish and placed it across his lap. "Picked in the grow-labs this very afternoon. Never processed, never frozen. Prepared specially for us."

As he stabbed a leaf of lettuce with his fork, Anakin cocked his head to one side. "Between the fresh vegetables and the fancy wine, you'd think we were celebrating something." He'd meant it as a joke, but he realized as he looked on at Palpatine that the words sounded dry, lifeless.

"We are celebrating, my boy!" the man in charge replied. He paused to relish a bite of the salad before continuing. "Celebrating today's hearing." Reaching for his wine glass, the chancellor wrapped his fingers around it and held the drink aloft. "To finally making some forward progress, hm?"

Anakin nodded, reaching forward and cradling his own glass in his metal hand with an awkwardly loud clink. "To forward progress," he echoed.

As the burgundy liquid rolled across his tongue, the dark voice spoke. So maybe he doesn't know. Maybe it's just a coincidence that he brought you here.

Palpatine slowly exhaled as he swirled the glass of wine in his hand. "Of course," he continued, "we should also spend some time discussing our next steps."

The breath stayed in his lungs a touch longer than normal. "Next steps?" he managed to ask through a scratchy throat, his artificial hand gripping the wine glass a bit too hard as he lowered it to the table.

Palpatine nodded, his gaze shifting toward the floor. Moving delicately, he placed his utensils atop the table and folded his hands together. "I don't appreciate the way Director Tarkin confronted you during the hearing, and I'd like to apologize for his behavior. That wasn't the appropriate place to have such a discussion. He was out of line."

As he paused to take a breath, the chancellor leaned back in his seat. "That being said, he also had a point. We've begun to lay the truth before the Senate, and now it's time to paint a complete picture of events. We need a Jedi on the witness stand."

He knows.

"I don't know where Obi-Wan is!" Anakin said, the words coming out in an uneven stammer.

Palpatine held out a hand in Anakin's direction, waving it back and forth. "Oh, my boy, you needn't worry. This isn't about finding—"

"I know Tarkin doesn't believe me." He forced himself to hold back the rest of the words, knowing Palpatine would be able to discern them regardless. But you do, right?

A slight chuckle accompanied a shake of the chancellor's head. "You shouldn't let that concern you, Anakin. I worry that Tarkin has made things a bit too personal. For better or worse, he wants Kenobi more than any other Jedi witness—the hound barking after the hunt that eluded him. I'm working to convince him that there's a better approach: beginning our Jedi questioning with a less . . . controversial figure."

With a nervous spasm of laughter at the image of Tarkin with his nose to the ground, sniffing after Obi-Wan, Anakin took another sip of wine. When he finished, Palpatine was looking at him expectantly. Waiting for him to ask a question. "Less controversial . . . ?"

"A cooperative Jedi witness who can speak to the actions of the Order throughout the war."

Reaching for his wine glass, Anakin allowed it to linger on his lips for an unnatural amount of time, its contents souring on his tongue.

Stalling won't help, the voice within spoke at the back of his mind. He has to suspect the Jedi are here in the Classical District.

There's no way for him to know that. All his favorite restaurants are here, of course he asked me to—

And he knows you know more than you're letting on. It's why he brought you here. You have to give him something.

He wants a cooperative Jedi, Anakin thought back, tilting the wine glass to take another protracted sip. He had no idea if the bitterness was in the wine or his own bile. Most Jedi here on Coruscant wouldn't cooperate. Giving up the Temple accomplishes nothing. He felt his flesh hand begin to quiver as uncertainty gnawed at him. And I have nothing else to offer. No Jedi would voluntarily turn spy for an investigation into the Order—

A voice within his head cut him off—but it wasn't the one he'd grown used to hearing. It spoke from the past.

I guess I'm not "most Jedi."

The voice—a woman's—was unmistakable. The memory of the words rushed over him, instantly transporting Anakin to the place he'd first heard them—after the battle among the clouds.

No. He did his best to picture himself stomping down onto the dark voice within his head, crushing the life out of it. Not her. We leave her out of this.

You can't leave everyone out of this, Skywalker, snarled back at him. She's already on their list, it's just a matter of time—

"I'll do it," Anakin said, straightening his back as he returned the wine glass to the table. He'd spoken too loudly—heads raised a table over, startled—but plunged ahead before he could lose his nerve. "I'll testify."

Palpatine, who had only just picked up his fork and raised it to his lips, lowered it back onto his plate. "Anakin, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

It's not.

"Why not?" Anakin asked. "It's just what we need. I can speak to the Order's actions during the war. I was there."

"It would appear too heavy-handed, I fear," the chancellor said. "As if we were trying to push our own narrative within the Senate hearings rather than uncover the truth. You're simply too involved with the investigation. I won't be testifying. Director Tarkin won't be testifying. It just wouldn't be appropriate for you to do so."

She's perfect, the voice whispered. She left to go a different way. She understands the mistakes of the Jedi, same as you. When you told her about Plagueis, she didn't shut you down the way the other Jedi would. The way Obi-Wan would. She offered to help.

"What about Dooku?" Anakin asked, reaching for a bright note as though he'd just had a brilliant idea. "Another former Jedi, sure, but he's no friend of the Order anymore." We can't involve her, he thought, directing the words at the dark voice. But maybe he's the next best thing.

"The count is already slated to testify before the Senate, Anakin," Palpatine said with a shake of his head. "What's more, he was gone long before you even joined the Jedi. Before the war began." He raised a hand to stroke his chin. "And while he's no friend of the Order, his interests lie in protecting Serenno, not helping us."

"I suppose—"

"We just can't guarantee his testimony will be of any sufficient help. In fact, at times I fear it may do more harm than good. Dooku has made his animosity toward the Republic quite apparent. He's cooperating, but only just. It's a risk we must take . . . but we need more than risky maneuvers. We need a Jedi we are certain will help us. You know we do."

She would help us, the dark voice said. Give her a chance to make things right, Skywalker. It's what she would want.

Silence lingered between Anakin and Palpatine for a moment, even as the rest of the terrace remained alive with the sounds of restaurant goers—and even as the shrill whine of a glowing aura in the Force tickled Anakin's ears.

The temporary standstill came to an end when Palpatine dropped his gaze to his plate, staring at the remains of his present course. When he spoke, the words were hard to hear, directed not at Anakin but at the table. "My boy, I'm sorry to be so direct. If we don't get a Jedi witness, we're going to have a Tarkin problem."

Picking up his fork, Anakin poked at his salad and attempted to inject a casual tone into his voice. "A Tarkin problem?"

The chancellor's eyes, when they returned to Anakin's, were weary, as if his earlier cheer had been a front he could no longer maintain. "He wants you off the investigation. Those things he said today in the Senate hearing? He's brought them up to me before. He thinks you're dragging your feet, hampering the investigation on purpose."

How many arguments did the tiredness in his eyes speak of? How many times had he fought for Anakin in front of Tarkin?

How long until he gets sick of fighting?

"I don't want to lose you, Anakin," Palpatine said, reaching out a hand as though he wanted to grasp Anakin's. A moment later, he pulled it back, suddenly self-conscious. "But if you can't help us, I'm going to have a hard time justifying to him why you should remain on board.

"Help me, son. There must be something you can share with me."

Something, the dark voice said, or someone.

Anakin took a deep breath and glanced down at his lap.

She's one of the good ones.

"He was right. I was getting in the way."

The chancellor's body fell back against his chair, his hand arrested in the moment of picking up his fork. In a low whisper, he said, "What?"

Anakin resisted the urge to return to using his glass as a prop, knowing that if he clutched it with the mechanical hand now it would break. "I knew the list of names I gave Tarkin would be hard to track down. They'd be bad witnesses anyway, they're not going to turn their backs on the Order. And Vader's unit of Special Investigations detectives has turned up nothing."

Because they were looking for someone else, right? the dark voice spat through grinning teeth. Someone Valis asked you to find.

"They've been looking, of course, but they haven't found anything, and I was fine with that." Anakin paused, awkwardly stammering past the internal interruption. "Until today, though, I couldn't figure out why I was fine with it."

Painful silence lingered over the dinner table once again, even the dark voice quiet as Anakin's words hung there. When he had worked up the courage to stop staring at the floor and look up at Palpatine, he was greeted with the sight of the chancellor staring coldly. Contemplating. Figuring out whether or not he should be angry.

He should, the dark voice muttered. You were supposed to give him a Jedi, not tell him that.

"And why, exactly, were you fine with it?" Palpatine asked—relief washed over Anakin as he realized that for the moment chancellor's voice was not laced with anger or admonishment, but curiosity.

He swallowed, wetting his throat. "Because of the way they looked at me when I walked in here." Giving in to his body's pent-up urge to do something, he reached forward with his flesh hand, snatched the wine glass off the table, and took an unceremonious swig. "Mounting public pressure, right? That's what we need for the Senate to take action. If the people hate the Jedi, the legislature will do something about them. The problem is, if the people hate the Jedi they're going to hate me too."

"Anakin, that's not—"

"They know who Obi-Wan is now. What he is. What's he's done." He could feel the venom seeping into his voice, but did nothing to dilute it—relieved to be saying something that was even half real. "And they know that I was with him when he did it."

Sorrow flashed across the chancellor's face—a pained frown, directed not at Anakin but—himself? "Anakin, my boy," he said, his voice low. "I'm so sorry. It was never my intention that your reputation be dragged down with the Jedi."

Reaching across the table, Palpatine finally gripped Anakin's left hand in his own, the warmth overpowering. "I am sure their negative feelings will pass. Right now things are raw, fresh in the minds of the public. As time goes by, they will see that you are different."

"Not if they know about the Force."

As suddenly as it had reached out toward Anakin, Palpatine's hand retracted to stroke his chin, sorrow sinking beneath sudden unsurety. "Hm?"

Heart in his mouth, Anakin leaned forward to whisper. "If the Jedi are just some group I left behind, then sure, people will get it. But if we put a Jedi on the witness stand, and they start talking about"—he paused, lowering his voice to a near whisper—"the Force, everything changes. The Jedi aren't just some group of people anymore. They're everything the legends say they are—people guided by some mysterious energy, people with a special power. A power I must have too, because I used to be one. And whether or not I left, I still have that power. People won't understand what makes me different."

"I . . . understand." Without warning, Anakin again felt the chancellor's fingers reach forward to close around his own—squeezing at them, doing their best to impart strength. "But Anakin, you've set aside the dogma, the self-righteousness of the Jedi. You've embraced an outlook of the Force that is . . . truly free. The man I know now is not the man you were a few years ago. I promise you that."

Then, as quickly as it had come, the moment passed—Anakin's flesh hand clutched empty air as Palpatine leaned back and nodded. "That said, I see your point. It's for the best. In truth, I'd already planned to ask Director Tarkin to leave any mentions of the Force out of his reports, and do our best to ensure that any Jedi witness merely testifies about concrete events. The last thing we need is for public panic about magic tricks to overshadow provable crimes.

"As for your own reputation, I would not worry. The public will come around. They'll see you as a hero, someone who stood against the injustices of the Jedi Order. Your role in the investigation, your cooperation, will guarantee it." Palpatine whisked his wine glass off the table and took another sip. "The right Jedi witness could even help in such matters."

Anakin cocked his head to one side. "What do you mean?"

"Surely there is a Jedi who could speak to your virtues while at the same time denouncing the Order's misdeeds? Someone who could stand alongside you to help the Republic be free of Jedi manipulation? I assure you, we would extend a pardon to any Jedi willing to help us. I have to believe the public would forgive them as well."

They'll see you as a hero, the echoes of a few moments ago rolled through his mind. Someone who stood against the injustices of the Jedi Order.

She was the one who gave you the push to do that, he realized. Before you talked with her, you weren't sure.

You'd be doing her a favor by bringing her in, the dark voice told him, the words a low mutter within his mind. You want to leave Kenobi out of this? Fine. He doesn't want to help anyway. But she does. She already has.

Anakin's head bobbed up and down in a slow nod. "Actually," he began, "I think . . . there might be someone."

A lump formed in his throat, but he pushed past it. "I didn't put her name on my original list of Jedi. She's been . . . gone. She left about the same time I did." When Palpatine opened his mouth to object, Anakin quickly continued. "She didn't quit the Order! She's still a Jedi. She just went off on her own journey."

Palpatine glanced sideways before leaning in closer. "Where?"

He shrugged. "Lots of places. I think she felt like she needed to . . . start over. Look for something new. She understands what's wrong with the Jedi. In fact . . . she's the one who gave me the courage to quit in the first place. She'll help us." He paused, searching for his next worlds. "She's one of the good ones."

"But you don't know where she is now?"

A grimace flashed across Anakin's face. "It's been a while since we spoke. I don't know for certain. But I have an idea of where you can start looking." One last deep breath, then the plunge. "Malachor."

"Malachor?" Palpatine echoed.

His eyes grew wide for the briefest moment, and Anakin braced for the questions—what one of Anakin's friends just happened to be doing on a world out of a very particular legend. And who had sent her there.

Then, as he exhaled slowly, Palpatine's expression settled into one of contemplation. "Very interesting."

Say something, the dark voice whispered in his ear. Before he starts asking questions.

"Anyway, last I heard, she was headed there," Anakin said, the words spilling out of his mouth with haste. When he spoke again, his tone was far more measured. "At the very least, it could be a place to pick up her trail."
Nodding hesitantly, the chancellor pushed away his plate. His face was . . . guarded. Calculating. He's wondering if he can trust you.

"I have to ask, Anakin. Who exactly are we looking for?"

After a moment, Anakin too shoved away his food, the precious dish less than half eaten. He had never been less hungry.

"Her name is Qui-Gon Jinn."

Republic Archives: Aeroponics-Hydroponics Laboratory Division
Reporting to the Senate Committee on Infrastructure, the Aeroponics-Hydroponics Laboratory Department is a government entity responsible for growing plant-based nutrients on Coruscant.

Though they maintain some horticultural facilities in Coruscant's polar regions, the bulk of their work is concentrated in hydroponic and aeroponic towers evenly distributed throughout the massive city blocks of Coruscant. These towers provide fruits and vegetables for the residents of the Republic capital.

Much of the output of the AHLD laboratory towers is processed into a nutrient paste, which is far easier to distribute throughout the planet and transport through space. However, a certain percentage of the crop grown in each tower is sold while fresh—often at a steep price, to the capital's wealthiest residents and finest restaurants.