The day after the tragedy at the heart of the Republic, Anakin resigned himself to the reality that his leave of absence was over. Too many things had happened for him to stay away from the Senate any longer. He dressed in his deep blue suit and made his way back to work very early in the morning. His first stop was the barracks level to debrief the troops. To his surprise Keinan Pell already was there, and appeared to be waiting for him.
Anakin frowned as Pell motioned to him to follow, and allowed himself to be led into the Captain's office.
"What's going on?" Anakin asked, a little impatiently.
"Yer'd better sit down, Yer Lordship." Pell leaned back against his desk with his arms crossed. There wasn't any humor twinkling in those pale eyes today.
Anakin crossed his arms too and stayed where he was. Even though he towered over the small man, Pell dominated the space with his gravity.
"Zangan's dead," Pell announced without preamble. Then he stopped and watched the Jedi carefully for his reaction. As far as he could tell this was the first Anakin had heard of the news. But then, you never could be sure with a Jedi.
"What happened?" Anakin's mind flashed back with sudden alarm to his last encounter with the Security Chief.
"Word has it yer would know that better than anyone else."
Anakin felt all kinds of realizations come crashing down on him. It was only thanks to his training that he stayed perfectly calm and focused.
They are saying that I killed him. Tibbs is telling everyone that I killed him.
"The last time I saw Chief Zangan, he was very much alive."
"But not happy," Pell said, pushing him.
"No," Anakin conceded. "Not happy."
"Or healthy," Pell persisted.
"Probably not," Anakin acknowledged.
Pell was silent.
"So what happened?" Anakin asked again.
"One minute he had a mild concussion. The next, he were dead."
Anakin tried to sort out the pieces in his mind and found that none of them fit.
"They say head injuries can have delayed effects," Pell added when Anakin didn't respond.
"There isn't a species in the Galaxy with harder skulls than Cixassians," Anakin said sourly, feeling his own head beginning to pound. This was turning into a waking nightmare.
Pell laughed. That much was true. He didn't care in the slightest that Zangan was dead. But he was very interested in the potential implications of the manner of the Security Chief's death on his benefactor, and therefore on himself.
"I wanted to warn yer," Pell said.
Anakin looked him in the eye, relieved as always at his Captain's unadorned straightforwardness.
"You did well." He thought for another moment. "Where is Tibbs now?"
Pell sneered at the thought of the Deputy Chief. "Tellin' his story to as many as will listen. Yer too late to stop it."
"I know that," Anakin said, stubbing the toe of one boot against the floor, as he stood deep in thought.
If I didn't kill Zangan, someone else did.
Once again his world was turning upside down in a single moment. There was nowhere Tibbs' story wouldn't reach within a few hours. Anakin realized there was nothing he could do but decide which part of his life first needed to be salvaged from the inevitable rumors and repercussions, and was amazed how clearly his priority stood out. There was only one person whose opinion truly mattered.
Without another word to Pell he abruptly left the office and headed out of the Senate building and straight to back to Padmé's apartment. If he hurried, he could catch her before she walked into the tempest that his existence was about to become.
Some things needed to be said in person.
* * * * *
For the first time, Master Yoda felt old.
For centuries already he had been known as the Ancient One among Padawans and later among the Knights they grew into – and why wouldn't they think of him that way? Compared to his their existence was sudden, new and fleeting, like a dewdrop that quickly evaporates, or a beautiful, tiny creature that lives only for one glorious day.
He had watched so many beloved beings be born, live and die in his time. So many whom he had cherished. So many whose radiance he still carried with him in his heart.
In their eyes his existence must seem eternal, like the bedrock of a planet, or like the stars themselves.
But he had never felt old before. If youth is characterized by delight in the world, hope and faith, then he had never been old, no matter what his years or visage said. For the Jedi Master always had carried with him a child's capacity for wonder and delight, and with those gifts he shone as brightly as the Younglings he taught.
Until now. Now his thoughts weighed so heavily that even with the unswerving buoyancy of the Force it was difficult to lift them into the realm of harmony and hopefulness. That was the power of the Dark Side, he reflected sadly. Its lightest touch, the merest brush of its presence strangled joy and strove to imprison the soul.
The Senate Chamber had been full of darkness. The boy had served as a bright mirror, reflecting into Yoda's own perceptions that which could not otherwise be seen. And what he had discerned could only have been the heart of the Dark Side. While its ultimate source continued to elude his perception, its manifestations were clear and potent and horrific.
Yoda had watched Anakin carefully in the Senate Chamber. The boy had performed his role admirably – he had been careful and thorough and impartial, and when the pods broke away from their moorings he had the situation well under control. He was powerful in the Force, and would have been able to stabilize and rescue the errant pods without any assistance at all. Until…until…
Until the hand of darkness had reached out and grasped the pods and wrenched them out of the boy's control.
And Anakin had been afraid. That single, soul-deep stab of fear had penetrated the heart of every Jedi in the Chamber. It was the kind of fear that one would feel if everything good, and true, and precious were being ripped away. The kind one would feel if hope vanished, leaving only the inevitability of despair. Skywalker had briefly, searingly felt such fear, and the overpowering memory of it lingered in the Jedi Master's consciousness like a wound.
The Dark Side of the Force had reached out and stabbed and withdrawn again.
For the thousandth time Yoda wondered whether Dooku had spoken the truth when he asserted that the Senate was under the control of a Sith Lord. And if he had spoken the truth, why had he chosen to reveal it to the Jedi?
The more truth a deception contains, the more powerfully it works.
In these times every thought and every deed was a double-edged sword that cut away at the boundaries between Light and Dark, between truth and falsehood. If treading the path between them wearied an old Jedi Master so much, how difficult must it be for the boy?
Unlike young Skywalker, Yoda understood the breadth and depth of what was at stake. The Galaxy was embroiled in a mighty war for peace and freedom from tyranny – that ideal which the Order had served since its inception. The war had many outer manifestations. But at its heart lay the struggle for balance between Light and Dark, between Good and Evil. In this balance, and only in the existence of this balance, lay freedom – the freedom of the individual soul to choose its own path, for better or for worse.
The Jedi had spent a millennium supporting and protecting this freedom – a millennium whose span was only a little longer than his own life. Many Jedi willingly had given their lives in service to the greater good. Most had carried their burden alone. But in all his years Yoda could not remember a time in which a Jedi had been asked to carry that burden unknowingly. Without his or her full agreement. Without a fighting chance to prevail.
Service to the greater good, even in times of grave peril, did not justify the use of the very methods they were fighting against. It was time to bring young Skywalker into the battle openly, with his consciousness and awareness fully engaged.
Qui-Gon had been right. Only when Anakin chose his task in freedom would he have a chance to succeed in it.
Master Yoda looked up wearily as Mace Windu broke into his brooding thoughts and slipped onto the cushion beside him.
"I left you alone as long as I could. But there are many things to discuss."
Yoda had spent all his time since the crisis in the Senate in meditation and contemplation. The other Council members had left him in peace, although all were on some level desperate to seek his wise counsel and the reassurance he always brought to any difficult times. His was the opinion they ultimately sought. His was the wisdom on which they tempered their own reasoning. And his was the power by which they ultimately measured their own strength. His deep withdrawal sent ripples of unspoken disquiet through the Jedi Temple.
"Recalled Kenobi, have you?" the Ancient One asked.
"Yes. At best speed it will take him another full day to get here. He has to stay out of sight."
There were whispers and indications that Obi-Wan's activities on D'lai and Naboo had been noticed, and he was in considerable danger from reprisals.
Yoda looked at the floor in silence.
"I find myself wanting to find him and travel with him," Mace confessed. "To watch his back. I didn't know I still had this kind of impatience in me."
"A common trait it is, in the young," Yoda said mildly.
Mace looked at him, startled. He hadn't thought of himself as young for a very long time.
"Protect him on his journey you cannot, or bring attention to him you will. Always with him, is the Force. Suffice, that must."
Mace suspected the Old Master's thoughts were not centered on Kenobi, but elsewhere.
"Meet as a Council, we must," Yoda acknowledged. "Walk there, I will." He stood up tiredly and found his stick. Little by little, like someone truly ancient, he made his way down the gleaming hallways of the Temple and toward the Council Chamber. His progress was slow, but he wanted to walk. The movement helped clear his thoughts, and the struggle suited him. It felt like a kind of penance.
Mace moved slowly beside the Old One, respecting his silence and lost in his own thoughts. The presence of the Sith as a powerful force in the Galaxy was indisputable. Jedi Knights were being targeted for assassination. And the reputation of the Order as impartial and trustworthy defenders of justice was eroding before their eyes.
Mace was tired of talking. Of waiting. Of being patient. He wanted to take action.
Master Yoda is right, he thought ruefully. I'm acting like a Padawan.
The long, slow journey to the Council Chamber at the Ancient One's side gave him plenty of time to pull himself together and become the Jedi Master once again.
* * * * *
Sabé and Balé opened the door to Padmé's apartment together. They were equally surprised to see Anakin again so soon, but not equally delighted. Balé wrapped herself around his waist as always but soon moved back and looked up at him. She knew instinctively that this was a different type of visit.
"Hey, Balé," he said softly, but he didn't smile.
"Sabé and Dormé are taking me to see a play," she announced experimentally, as a way of testing where his attention lay. His reaction surprised her. He got down on one knee and pulled her into a hug, which she quickly returned. It was odd. It almost felt like he was going away.
"That's good," he said, when he released her. "Enjoy it." Then he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Warrior, but I have to talk to Padmé and Captain Typho alone."
Sabé watched him through narrowed eyes.
From the look in Anakin's eyes Balé decided that this was no time to argue. Instead she headed obediently toward the bedroom with Sabé, lingering only a little before turning the corner in the hallway to watch as he went straight over to Padmé and Captain Typho, interrupted their conversation, and got down on one knee in front of them so he could speak quietly. She strained to hear what he was saying, but didn't have much luck.
She looked up at Sabé. "Something's going on, isn't it?"
"It looks that way," Sabé agreed. There was no point in hiding things from Balé. She noticed everything.
"He's sad," said Balé.
Sabé steered her to a wardrobe to choose clothes for their outing.
"You think so?" she wondered. Anakin always looked more or less the same to her. She had a hard time getting past her constant irritation at the central role he seemed to be playing in Padmé's life.
The little girl nodded solemnly and pulled over a chair so she could stand on it in front of the wardrobe.
Sabé started pulling out clothes.
"You like him a lot, don't you?" she asked.
"I wish he and Padmé would get married," Balé said.
Sabé stopped what she was doing and stared at the child in dismay.
"Married! Why?"
"Padmé really likes him," Balé said. "She's always happy when he's here. It's like… she's always waiting for him to come. And when he does it feels like a family."
She reached into the wardrobe on tiptoes to retrieve a favorite dress for Sabé's approval, only to find the Handmaiden staring at her with a funny look on her face.
"Sabé? Are you all right?" Sabé had gone completely pale.
"I'm… I'm… yes. Here. That one's fine," she stammered, trying to collect herself.
They can't be…
Balé got down, dragging the dress with her.
Sabé paused in front of the open wardrobe for a moment, wondering why this crazy idea had stuck itself so firmly in her head.
She couldn't have done something like that without telling me. Without telling anyone.
She banged the doors shut harder than she had intended. If it was true, a lot of odd things began to make sense.
He's a Jedi. That means…
She turned around to help Balé put on the dress. Surely not. It couldn't be true. She was imagining things.
Trouble. Lots and lots of trouble.
"So… you think he's sad?" Sabé asked.
"Yes," Balé said from inside the dress as Sabé pulled it over her head. When she emerged the little girl and the Handmaiden looked at one another.
"I guess they'll tell us what's going on when they're ready," Sabé said softly, and impulsively hugged Balé to her.
Balé hugged her back, hard. "You're sad now, too," she whispered.
* * * * *
A sudden stiff breeze ruffled through Padmé's hair and whipped at her thin sleeves, making her shiver. This was her first visit to her building's roof garden, and she was amazed by its size and variety. It made her wish that she had discovered it at a different time and in a different way. Anakin had insisted on coming up here so that they could speak in privacy. The conversation was tearing her heart out, and now she probably always would remember this lovely place with pain.
Anakin took off his soft, deep blue cloak and hung it around her shoulders. Her cheeks were soaking wet, and the breeze just made it feel worse.
"How did it happen, Anakin?"
He stood close behind her, his hands still on her shoulders where he had settled the cloak, and leaned his forehead against her hair.
"I was angry. No, I was furious. And in a hurry. And I shoved him."
"How hard did you shove him?"
He let out a long breath. "Hard. I shoved him hard. But I didn't kill him, Padmé. You have to believe me."
He felt her sob, and gently slid his arms around her shoulders to hold her tightly.
"What if no one else believes you, Anakin? What happens then?"
"I don't know. I don't know how this will play out, because I don't know who is behind it. But right now I only care whether you believe me. It's the only thing that matters."
She was silent, leaning into him.
"Padmé, I have done some terrible things," he said hoarsely. "You know that better than anyone. You were there. But I swear to you, I'm not a monster."
She turned around abruptly with tears streaming down her face. "Don't Anakin… I know you're not."
"And do you know how I know that?" he went on, holding her eyes with his, insistent. "I know I'm not because I would never knowingly let a monster near you. Even myself. If I thought for a moment that I were, I would walk away from you and never come back."
Padmé buried her head in his chest.
"I know you," she said, muffled. "I know who you are."
"So… you believe me?"
She nodded, still buried in his embrace.
"Do you trust me?"
Another nod. His jacket was getting damp.
"Then here is the hardest part. You need to leave Coruscant. Now. You need to distance yourself from me."
There was a long, long silence.
"Padmé?"
There was no answer.
Padmé?
Another long silence. Finally he heard a muted, "Why?"
"It's not safe here for you any more. Not for a minute. It's bad enough that you know so much about the misinformation and the illegal raids. But this thing with Zangan… you can't be associated with me in any way. There's no telling who is behind it, or what the repercussions will be."
Padmé pulled back from her shelter and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. She had an extremely stubborn look on her face.
"That doesn't mean that it will reflect back on me. Most people don't know anything about our connection. Besides, I have work to do. Captain Typho hasn't finished analyzing the data you gave us yet. He worked all night, but there is more to do."
She
was stalling, and they both knew it.
"You have to get Balé away from here," Anakin persisted. "Everyone knows how attached I am to her."
"Do you seriously believe that you have enemies who might… who might… want to do us harm? Because of you?"
"Yes."
Padmé was much too experienced a politician to dismiss Anakin's concerns out of hand. She just didn't want to face the truth.
"I don't want to go, Anakin. I want to stay here where you are."
"I don't want you to go," he said, wondering where he was going to find the strength to see this through. "But you have to. If someone is setting a trap for me, I won't be able to protect you. I can't be everywhere at once." He reached out and gently wiped the tears off her other cheek. "This could get really ugly."
Padmé pulled his cloak around her and huddled inside of it.
"Do you have any idea who might have killed Chief Zangan?"
Anakin paused. Reluctantly he let his eyes leave Padmé's face and travel around the garden. Then he looked at the busy skies beyond. Slowly, inexorably, his gaze found the dome of the Senate building not far away. Gradually his eyes returned to meet hers again.
"Let's just say I have an open mind."
Padmé felt cold even inside of the cloak.
"I'll think about it," she said reluctantly. "And I'll talk to Captain Typho. But I'm not going anywhere until that data is analyzed and I know what we're dealing with."
"Then tell him to hurry," Anakin said softly. "I don't have much time."
