Chapter 24. A Night without Stars
While Master Yoda had returned to the Council Chamber to report on their behalf, Mace Windu had remained by Obi-Wan's bedside in the healing center for a long time following Anakin's abrupt departure. Their conversation had been wide-ranging and troubling. Most of it had been about Anakin.
"What do you think he will do now?" Mace asked, finally. Their discussion had been building up to this crucial question for a long time.
Obi-Wan thought carefully. So much depended on his answer. To give himself time to think at greater length he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the cot. He was feeling better. So much better, in fact, that he refused to remain in the healing center any longer. He reached up and peeled the bacta patch off the side of his face.
Curse Anakin for his wrong-headedness. The thought of his former Padawan's frustrated, heartfelt, reckless, powerful healing made his heart contract with grief. And curse me for not being what he needed. He reached up and felt his face gingerly. It would do.
"He is suffering," Obi-Wan said. "And in my experience, he does not take well to suffering – his own or that of people close to him." He waved a hand in the general direction of his own ribs to illustrate the point. Mace nodded in acknowledgement and remained silent, allowing his companion to continue his train of thought uninterrupted.
"Typically, he lashes out at the source of his misery." Obi-Wan interlaced his fingers and stretched his arms out in front of his chest experimentally. Not bad. "He finds something or someone to blame."
"He will surely blame us," Mace said flatly.
"Without a doubt," Obi-Wan agreed, wishing that he could draw Anakin's wrath to himself alone, and spare the Order. He pushed off from the cot and stood up.
Mace followed his lead and stood as well. "Do you have any idea where he might go next?"
Obi-Wan turned the problem over in his mind while they walked slowly out into the hallway. "I would expect him to seek out Senator Amidala." He looked sideways at Mace. "I think I should go looking for him. I might have the best chance of finding him."
"No," Mace said firmly. "We will track his movements, but will not make contact for the moment." He frowned. "He would not listen to anything we have to say."
Obi-Wan agreed. This should have been done differently…
"I have another assignment for you, if you are ready," Mace said, breaking into his thoughts.
Obi-Wan shrugged. "May I get cleaned up first?"
Mace sighed, reaching over to open a door for him. "I wish Anakin had more of your unfailing willingness to serve."
A deep silence settled between them as they continued their walk though the polished hallways.
"Let me go find him," Obi-Wan said after a while. "Let me talk to him."
Mace stopped walking and turned to his companion. "You chased him to Naboo and back after he severed his Master/Padawan bond with you," he reminded Obi-Wan. "And he still did exactly as he pleased. And now look where we are with him."
"Mace …"Obi-Wan began again, only to be cut off.
"I think we have made quite enough concessions for Anakin," Mace said with finality, and began walking again. Obi-Wan followed along.
"Now," Mace continued after a few more measured strides, "about your new assignment. It's not a field assignment – that would be far too dangerous right now. You must remain close to the Temple for the time being."
Their unhurried walk had brought them to one of the Temple's small refectories. Mace ushered Obi-Wan inside and insisted he have something to eat. He refused any more discussion until the battered Knight had complied and they sat peacefully with cups of piping hot tea in their hands.
"We lost another of our most experienced Knights last night," Mace said grimly. "Master Regor. It was probably one more deliberate attack."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and gripped his steaming cup. Every hour of every day brought more grief and suffering. He wondered whether there would ever be an end to it.
"Has his Padawan been told?"
Mace nodded. "He sensed it in the Force, of course. The Council confirmed it and gave him the details this morning."
"Lon will be devastated," Obi-Wan said. "They had not seen one another in many months." Master Regor and Lon Erian had been one of the most successful and energetic Master/Padawan pairings in the Temple.
"It is another terrible blow for the Order," Mace said bleakly. "Our numbers are being depleted rapidly. And the skills of an experienced Jedi Master can never be fully replaced. We are each unique." He looked up, catching Obi-Wan's weary gaze with a certain amount of focused intent. "Having said that, we need every Knight we can get. And Lon is only weeks away from his trials."
There was a long silence.
"Mace, this is a very, very bad idea." Obi-Wan couldn't believe it was even being suggested. "It's a terrible idea!"
"There is no one else. He will need dedicated support and guidance in these last few critical weeks. Especially now. Telman Regor was on his way home to guide Lon through his trials when he was assassinated."
"I don't dispute that someone needs to take responsibility for Lon, Mace. But not me. Not now. Not with what Anakin just went through. What he is going through."
"We can't spare anyone else. And Padawan Erian has been left on his own too long as it is."
Obi-Wan gripped his teacup so tightly that the tremor in his hands made it rattle slightly against the table. He quickly removed his hands from it. "I gather that my recommendation for this position arises from my stellar success with my last Padawan," he said with black irony.
"Don't be absurd," Mace snapped. "You did as well with Anakin as anyone could."
"You don't know what you are asking," Obi-Wan said grimly. "Anakin already feels betrayed. Assigning me another Padawan would…" he paused, while ancient wounds re-opened more painfully even than his recent injuries, "it would hurt him." He would never wish on Anakin the experience of being pushed away, even though it was Anakin who had replaced him at Master Qui-Gon's side.
Mace was unmoved. "He is not your Padawan any more. And as he pointed out so unpleasantly earlier today, he hasn't been for along time. I would say that it is not his concern."
"Is it … anger …at him that makes you care so little for his feelings?"
"Anger? " Mace looked up. "No, I think not. But I am realistic. Anakin has done everything in his power to separate himself from us and to disregard our guidance. At this point his very existence is a threat of unimaginable proportions."
There was a deep silence.
"He is just a boy," Obi-Wan said, sorrowfully, to the tabletop.
"Your compassion for him is a credit to you," Mace said more gently, while Obi-Wan continued to commune with the tabletop in silence, "but you must make certain that it does not interfere with your duty. He must not allowed to become a Sith."
"We would not be facing this problem if we hadn't blindfolded him and dangled him off that cliff," Obi-Wan said pointedly to the damp ring on the table that had been left by his teacup.
Mace paused, as if surprised at his companion's continued resistance. As if he had not expected it.
"That is where I disagree with you, as does the rest of the Council. The problem we face is that of Anakin's nature. If any other Jedi had been… dangled off that cliff, as you put it … they would not be threatening to separate themselves willfully from the Order.
"We pushed him too far," Obi-Wan muttered. "Some day you will see that."
For the second time Mace closed that particular discussion by changing the subject.
"Take Lon," he said with finality to Obi-Wan. "Help him through his grief. You know what that is like." Mace tried again to meet his companion's eyes, but they remained cast down. He gave up and continued. "Guide him through his Trials. We will need every resource at our disposal for the battles to come."
Who will guide Anakin through his grief? Obi-Wan wondered. But he knew his duty, and so he nodded once, briefly.
"And now," Mace said, much more gently, "you need to get some sleep."
Wordlessly Obi-Wan stood up from the table and left the refectory alone, leaving his cooling tea behind.
* * * * *
"This can't be true." Padmé rubbed her face with her hands in a gesture of overwhelming weariness. "It's just not possible."
"I'm afraid it's worse that that, My Lady," Captain Typho said, just as tiredly.
"Worse? How can it be worse?" Padmé peered at him from between her fingers.
"The corruption most likely extends to every part of the Galaxy. If we had the same type of information for every Sector, I think we would find the same falsification of official data. And I wouldn't be surprised if illegal raids like this are going on elsewhere. It is unlikely that we are the only unwitting victims."
Padmé dropped her hands into her lap and looked down at them.
"And with the new Military Governors in place the sovereign governments will no longer have access to any of this information," she reasoned. "We will only know what we are given to know."
"Exactly."
"Genius," Padmé whispered with growing horror. "Absolute genius."
There was a silence while the Senator and her Security Chief tried to absorb the information that lay before them.
"My Lady," Typho said into the pause, "I cannot overemphasize the danger in which you find yourself. You might as well be holding a thermal detonator in your hands that is being controlled by someone else. You'll never know when it is set to go off."
"It's not just me, Captain," Padmé corrected him. "It is the whole Galaxy. Freedom itself is in the gravest danger."
There was another long silence.
"You know who this points to, don't you?" Padmé said at last.
"Yes." The Security Chief didn't want to say the name out loud. It seemed too far-fetched. How could the duly elected Supreme Chancellor of the Republic be behind a vast scheme like this? All the evidence pointed in his direction, but the mind balked at making the leap.
"What I don't understand," Padmé said, "is why? Why deal in lies? Why weaken everything that has value?"
Captain Typho let the question hang. Apparently he too had no answers.
"We have some hard decisions to make, My Lady. For one thing, what to do with this data. It's clear that we cannot trust anyone any more. Even those we thought were our staunchest allies. A great many Senators have been compromised."
Padmé gave him a hard look. "Are you suggesting that we do nothing? That we just leave it alone?"
"More than that, My Lady," Captain Typho said somewhat stiffly, "I am suggesting that with the best of will there is nothing we can do. If you and Naboo are to have a chance of remaining safe, you must not act on this information."
"I have fought injustice all of my life," she said mutinously. "I don't see how I can be expected to cower in safety now, in the face of all this."
When Captain Typho leaned forward to speak again it was with a defiant look Padmé had never seen on his face before – a look that was not tempered in the slightest by the unfailing courtesy with which he expressed himself.
"Please, My Lady. Be reasonable. If you try to make this public, you and all those associated with you will be killed, and this knowledge will vanish anyway."
Padmé held his gaze without wavering.
"Then I must find another way," she said stubbornly. "If necessary, I will work in secret."
The expression on Typho's face grew even steelier but he did not answer.
"Know this, Captain," Padmé informed him. "I will take action."
Typho's stony silence continued. Padmé could sense the turmoil in the man who had served her so loyally and so long, but made no move to persuade him. She would never force him to follow her on this dangerous path. If were to continue to serve her it must do so freely.
"Take great care, My Lady," he said finally. "If you don't care about your own life, think about Balé. Think about all the others. The repercussions against the Naboo would be horrific."
"That is all I ever think about," Padmé growled. She stood up abruptly and went to stand by the window of her sitting room. The vivid colors of the Coruscant night had just begun to fill the panorama outside with their glow.
Anakin?
As she had feared, there was no response.
Anakin? she tried again, and once again he did not answer. His warm, unfailing presence in her mind and thoughts was always her anchor, her safety; but he had not responded to her call since much earlier in the day. I was just…I was just thinking about you, he had said out of nowhere with such powerful longing that Padmé had wanted to reach out for him, to find him. And then his presence in her thoughts had inexplicably disappeared, leaving her feeling adrift and increasingly frightened.
Anakin, where are you?
There was no answer. Padmé felt hot, stinging tears rising, but fought them back. She had spent too much time crying lately. It didn't help. She wished she had a dependable ally and supporter in place of every tear she had shed. Then she wouldn't feel so powerless.
Taking a deep breath to steady her voice, she turned back to Typho and said, "What about the Jedi? Surely we can trust them."
"Perhaps."
Padmé heard his hesitation, and knew exactly where it came from. He probably did have faith in the Jedi Order as a whole; but he was worried about her going to them through Anakin. She knew how little her Security Chief trusted him, or his association with Palpatine.
Padmé turned back to the window. She had been about to ask Captain Typho whether he knew of Anakin's whereabouts, but decided against it.
Anakin?
It wasn't just that he wasn't answering her. It felt as though … as though … he wasn't there at all. As though he had vanished.
Please…she begged.
There was no answer. Padmé stared out into the dazzling night in mute desperation. If she truly was alone, then she would have to act alone. There was no other choice.
"Captain?" she said into the Coruscant night. "Are you with me? If not, I completely understand."
"I am with you, My Lady," Captain Typho's voice rumbled behind her. "Now and always. You should know that by now."
No crying, Padmé reminded herself, weak with relief. I will not cry.
"Then I have a job for you," she said firmly, turning her back on the window with an act of will. "I need to meet with Bail Organa. Tonight. In absolute secrecy. Can you arrange it?"
Captain Typho stood up. "At once," he said, without offering further comment on her actions.
Padmé smiled at him gratefully. "And then please tell Sabé that I need her to hand-carry a message to the Jedi Temple right away."
This time the loyal Security chief gave Padmé a look that would have flattened anyone else. But she was buoyed up by resolve. She was a flame of determination. Moral outrage gave her strength where she had been sure she had none.
"The message," she said calmly, "is for Master Kenobi."
Captain Typho bowed slightly to demonstrate his surrender.
"At once, My Lady," he said. There was no further discussion.
* * * * *
Anakin shifted restlessly, trying to stretch out his cramped limbs. He was cold, and his left hand hurt abominably now that he was calmer. He pulled off his torn glove to check out the damage as well as he could in the dark, and noted indifferently that two knuckles were grossly distorted by swelling and bruising. He pulled his glove back on and turned his mind to his new dilemma.
He had nowhere to go.
He couldn't very well stay here. The dim warehouse had hidden him well enough until the worst waves of rage had passed. It had the virtue of being completely empty – a rare thing on the teeming planet of Coruscant. But Anakin was tired of huddling in the dark, battling his own thoughts. He was tired of Coruscant and everything it represented. And he was sick and tired of the shackles that held him here. He just wanted to be free now.
They don't own me.
He unfolded himself and stood up, bending backwards briefly for another stretch. It was time to move on. Somewhere. Anywhere. With leftover animosity he kicked away the remains of the door he had smashed to gain entrance to the isolated industrial building. He could have removed it easily enough using the Force, or his weapon, but his fists just wouldn't be contained. The right one did the most damage, but the left one – well, the pain in his body had helped to numb the pain in his mind, if only for a while.
Anakin was surprised to see that the sagging speeder was still outside. This was evidently a part of Coruscant that didn't see much activity at night. He looked over its crumpled nose, and kicked it once or twice for good measure. It held together despite the beating he had given it. He jumped in, and even though it started up right away, he wasn't sure he cared much one way or the other.
Because he had no place to go.
He navigated carelessly out of the narrow alleyway and then shot straight up toward the lowest of the traffic lanes. It was the middle of the night by now, and as he sped out of the darkened industrial district the lights became blinding.
He hated the artificial lights.
As child Anakin had spent as much time as he was allowed outdoors at night under the vast desert sky. There had been so many stars that he never tired of trying to see them all, of counting them, of dreaming about them. The night had never seemed dark and forbidding. The stars had been like lanterns lighting his way, beckoning him. His imaginings had been his companions; his dreams, a pathway to that sparkling sky. The stars beyond his world had been his comfort. As long as there were stars, there was hope for the path that lay ahead.
Coruscant's night was bereft of stars.
All the powerful and multicolored lights of the civilized center of the Galaxy served to block out any reminders of the Galaxy itself. Coruscant turned in on itself as though it were singular, independent, and unconnected to the infinity beyond. To see stars on Coruscant, one had to create an artful projection. There were many available through out the city – but none of them were real.
Anakin wanted to see the real stars again.
He pushed the speeder upward through successive layers of traffic, dodging and weaving as though he were chasing someone. Or maybe he was being chased. It didn't matter. He decided to go as high as he could before the atmosphere thinned too much to continue. Anakin pushed the speeder to its limits and then pushed it some more, making it whine and skitter as all the equations that defined the parameters of flight began to need new variables.
Out of nowhere Anakin remembered a rhyme from his childhood.
The stars like dust encircle meIn living mists of light
And all of space I seem to see
In one vast burst of sight…[1]
He might be able to do it.
Physical laws prohibited it, but the Force was a law unto itself. He was powerful with the Force, wasn't he? He was the Chosen One. It was just one more barrier to hammer down – one more set of rules to challenge. He could try to force the speeder through those all but impenetrable barriers at the edge of this world. And then maybe – just maybe – there would be one last, vast burst of sight in which he would see all of the stars, and his dreams would come true. He would be gone, and the Galaxy could take care of itself as it always had. It was better that way.
They can't control me.
He needed to move fast. It was getting harder to keep this furious focus. The un-wished-for memories of his childhood were threatening to open up other parts of his mind and feelings that he had so violently slammed shut – and that could not, under any circumstances, be allowed to happen. This darkness must not be allowed to come anywhere near … her.
I am a danger to everyone I love.
He turned the nose of the speeder up, and gathered himself in the Force. Obey me, he said to it, and felt the fragile shell begin to vibrate uncontrollably as the sky began little by little to darken. The doomed speeder was becoming close to impossible to control. Only the Force could help him now. He concentrated, and gathered it to him. One mighty push, he thought. One last push and I will have defeated them all.
Anakin could feel the power of the Force gather around him and within him. He dove into it like a sea. The speeder's vibrations were violent enough to rattle his teeth and it was becoming difficult to breathe. This is it, he thought. I just want to see the stars…
No.
The single uncompromising word burned itself into Anakin's thoughts, making him lose focus.
I forbid it.
The speeder screamed as though it was shearing against a metal wall, flipped backwards and began to plummet back down into the thickening atmosphere, heating up ferociously as it went. Helpless to make a different decision, Anakin reacted instinctively and instantaneously by harnessing all of his power in the Force to cool the tiny craft and hold it together, not really knowing how he was going to do it or whether is was even possible. He had not, after all, planned on a return trip. It took every shred of his strength and skill to guide the last remnants of metal and plastisteel through the high-speed obstacle course that comprised Coruscant's upper reaches as it plummeted down … down … down …
In the end Anakin did not remember how he found that isolated landing platform. He did not remember crashing the speeder so hard that the twisted remains of the wreckage were little more than a smoking mass. And above all, he didn't have the slightest idea how he came to be face down on the platform, well clear of the wreckage, alive, and relatively undamaged.
Worse still, that irrefutable voice was still in his head. It filled his mind to the point that he could barely think on his own.
You will serve me, it said unequivocally.
Anakin heaved himself into sitting position and looked around at the blinking, blinding lights of the Coruscant night. Then he buried his face in his hands, and wept.
[1] A long time ago, in a different lifetime, a groundbreaking and prolific writer of science fiction named Isaac Asimov wrote many, many books. One of them was entitled The Stars Like Dust, and this rhyme appeared in it. For some reason I have remembered it since my own childhood, and so here it is, being put to a completely different use. No copyright infringement is intended ----geo3
