Chapter 43. Dark Deeds

"Where are you going?" a thoroughly unwelcome voice growled behind Anakin. He had made it as far as the grand entrance to the Palace before Tec Andros caught up with him, breathing heavily.

Anakin had no intention of answering. He had no intention of giving the Jedi any thought at all. He knew where Padmé was – his brief contact with her through the Force had been like switching on a homing beacon – and that was all that mattered. She wasn't far. And so he ignored his pursuer.

The vast stairs in front of the grand Palace doors were remarkably clear of people. A few cloned troopers clustered on either side, dwarfed by mammoth marble statues that stared indifferently down on them. Anakin had made it up the first long, wide tier of steps when Andros grabbed him by the arm. Of all the stupid… Anakin beat him off and kept going.

"Skywalker!"

It wasn't hearing his name called that finally halted Anakin in his tracks. It was the insufferable drone of the man's lightsaber igniting. Would that son of a rancid Ta'an never stop plaguing him? Anakin whirled around.

"Leave me alone!" he roared into the sweating Jedi's face. "Just leave me alone!" He was even more outraged when he detected the calming Force-wave that was directed at him, and instantly he twisted it back onto its source, more like a claw now than a wave. Andros staggered, but held his ground. Now that he was facing the Plaza again, Anakin suddenly noticed Lon racing toward them.

Oh, for the love of…

It took Anakin no more than a split second to weigh his options. The memory of Padmé's presence in his mind – that light, the solace that he had missed so much – filled up all the raw spaces inside of him and gave him something to hold onto. She was unconditionally reaching out to him. Waiting for him. He had to go. They had to go together. Anakin dismissed the two Jedi before him from his mind. Instead of reaching for his weapon, he hurled himself up the stairs, through the door, and into the surprisingly empty and echoing grand foyer of the Palace.

Two enormous, soaring staircases flanked the ornate, vaulted entry hall. Either one of them could accommodate six people walking side by side. Gleaming white marble statues overlooked the stairs and punctuated the pinkish marble walls of the spacious hallway. Straight ahead, and on either side of the foyer at the foot of the stairways, were high vaulted archways leading through to further halls. Anakin paused for a split second to choose a direction.

But of course the Jedi had followed him, and they overtook him before Anakin had made up his mind. And all at once both Jedi had their weapons out, and were creeping toward him from two sides as though he were some kind of wild animal that they sought to tame. They were even trying to use the Force to ensnare him…

No. He would NOT be caught. Not now, not ever.

As Anakin's own intentions crystallized and mounted through the Force like thunderclouds, he realized that a already a duel had begun. It had begun in the Force, even before any weapons were used. By now his weapon had leaped into his hand, sizzling with pale blue light, but the hand remained still. Instead, the power of his desires, of his will, fought against the cunning and treacherous invisible snares that emanated from Andros, and to a lesser extent from Lon, as they tried to encircle him and shackle him with binders forged in the Force. It was a higher-level battle than Anakin was accustomed to fighting, and it required absolute focus. The palatial hall was eerily quiet as the Force surged and curled and wound around the silent combatants.

They circled one another, their faces and arms and shoulders stage-lit by the flare of their humming weapons, while they pushed, and tested and probed one another through the Force.

Anakin didn't tolerate that soundless struggle for long. He just wanted out. That fierce, burning desire quickly coalesced into a bludgeon of Force energy that he slammed into both Jedi simultaneously. With only a flinch Andros withstood the onslaught, but Lon was knocked off his feet sideways and slid helplessly across the polished marble floor, leaving a deep gouge in the hard stone with the weapon he still clutched in his hand. Anakin tried the same tactic again, still hoping to get away, but this time the Force heaved around Andros in a mighty whorl that deflected the next slam, even though it arrived with the impact of a crashing speeder.

Gods, Andros was good.

Anakin crouched down, and focused, and got in the first decisive slash with his lightsaber before Andros detected his intent. It caught the Jedi on the shoulder, releasing a jolt of pain into the Force. But Andros hardly wavered. Anakin's second slash met with an instant counterstrike from Andros' blue-green blade, and suddenly the lofty hall was filled with the piercing quartertone whine and grating crashes of lightsabers locked in vicious combat.

Anakin matched Andros blow for blow, searching constantly for openings and weaknesses. So far, there were none. If Andros had looked winded when he first had caught up with Anakin, there was no sign of it now. The Jedi was fully attuned to the Force. Its strength was his.

And so it is with me, Anakin thought. He moved faster than thought, as effortlessly as a breath. His senses encompassed the whole hallway, the grand staircase, and beyond. Without faltering for a moment in his complex duel with Andros, Anakin detected that Lon had recovered, felt him moving closer, and perceived the intent behind his next move before it was made. Without so much as a glance behind him Anakin danced his blade backwards and forward in a blinding figure of eight to block the thrust the Padawan had aimed at his back without leaving any opening for Andros. Lon tried another attack from behind while Andros closed in further from the front. Unhesitatingly, Anakin leaped over their heads and landed where he was no longer caught between the two Jedi, but instead faced both of them. This was much better.

"We're not here to kill you, Skywalker," Andros insisted rather unconvincingly, considering that he was in full battle mode, "but to bring you before the Council for their judgment." The two Jedi began to advance on Anakin slowly.

"You could have fooled me," Anakin retorted. His attention was on Lon, who was trying to slip around behind him again. Anakin moved back, closer to the nearest wall, foiling his move.

"Don't think we won't, if we have to," Andros said plainly. "We will do our duty. But you can end this right now by putting down your weapon."

A second lightsaber, Anakin thought dispassionately, ignoring the Jedi's foolish rhetoric. That's what I need.

Lon's would do nicely.

Anakin sidled further back toward the wall. He knew Lon. He knew his style, the way he thought, and above all he knew his limitations. He had taught him, after all.

It's a pity he didn't allow me to teach him more.

Anakin gathered himself, and leaped again – this time straight up as far as the soaring banister high above. Holding onto it with his strong right hand, Anakin used his feet to push off from the wall beneath and somersaulted down to a point directly behind Lon, placing the Padawan between himself and Andros. Lon turned to face him a second too late. Anakin was just about to separate Lon's hand from the hilt of his sword with the tip of his own blade when a blue-green blade caught Anakin's pale blue one with such power that he barely was able to keep his grip on it.

Blast you, Andros.

Anakin dropped like a stone, rolled under Andros' powerful thrust, and sprang up to face the two Jedi once again. Lon was smiling. Andros was not.

It seemed that, in the same way Anakin had studied Lon, and had the measure of him, Andros had done the same with Anakin. Andros was even faster and more accurate than he had been earlier that morning in the hangar. In fact, all of his moves seemed tailor-made to match anything Anakin had come up with. So far.

Smoldering frustration and impatience had escalated into a slow burn in Anakin's gut. He was tired of this. He was tired of them. By all the stars in the Galaxy, he was even tired of himself. He just wanted out. He wanted Padmé, and he wanted her now. He gripped his lightsaber in his right hand. His Force-channeling left hand pointed straight at the middle of Lon's chest.

The tall Padawan flew backward as helplessly as a droid might have, only to smash into the towering, heavy carved Palace doors. Lon crumpled onto the floor in front of them. Even before he hit the floor the pale green glow of his weapon extended from Anakin's hand, not Lon's. Anakin didn't spare him a single further thought.

Holding the two lightsabers crossed in front of him, Anakin snarled at Andros. "Back down. Now."

"You know I can't do that," Andros growled. "And you're not getting away with this. With any of this."

Neither Anakin nor Andros looked away from the eyes of the other. Brown eyes and blue, their gazes locked. And held.

In the end, it was Anakin who lunged first.

* * * * *

Padmé and her Jedi protector were sprinting up a dark service stairway when Obi-Wan appeared on the broad landing in front of them so suddenly and unexpectedly that Padmé let out a stifled shriek of surprise.

"Not this way," he said hurriedly, without any greeting. "Republic troops are on their way."  He jumped lightly down the last few steps to Padmé's side. "We've been found out. The Army is under orders to find the Senator and take her into custody."

"I thought it was something like that," Master Medulla said shortly. "It's no better the way we came."

Padmé hadn't taken her eyes off Obi-Wan's face. "Where is Anakin?" she demanded.

"Shhhh," he warned, and continued to speak to Medulla over her head. "We need to get out with the Senator any way we can. The rest will follow as and when they are able."

"My Padawan?" Medulla asked sharply.

Obi-Wan hesitated. "Gone astray," he admitted reluctantly.

Medulla's lips compressed.

"I asked you a question, Obi-Wan!" Padmé barked, lowering her voice only a little. "Where is Anakin?"

The forbidding look on Obi-Wan's face terrified her. "It seems you don't understand the precariousness of your position right now, Padmé. We have to get you away from here. And you have to forget about Anakin." He encircled her shoulders with his arm to guide her back down the stairs they had just run up, only to let out a surprised grunt when Padmé elbowed him viciously in the stomach.

"What are you talking about?" she growled. "I demand to see him. Now."

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, but didn't release her shoulders. His arm was as unyielding as a durasteel rod. Padmé pushed against him, but he held her easily.

"Anakin has violated every standard, every rule of the Jedi Order – and who knows how many others outside the Order. When we find him he will be brought to the Temple for judgment. And believe me, we will find him." He gripped Padmé's shoulders even more tightly, carefully restraining her from lashing out at him. "Don't you understand, Padmé?" he went on in a hoarse, broken whisper. "He's as good as gone. No one can save him now. Not even me."

"How can you say that?" Padmé gritted out between clenched teeth. "You can't give up on him like that. He's not going to harm anyone!" She brought her leg up to try to kick out at him, but there wasn't enough space between them.

"Oh, Padmé," Obi-Wan whispered sadly. "He already has."

For a moment, Padmé's heart stopped in fear… is it possible? Then she remembered Anakin's cry of pure suffering. If anything, Anakin was the one being harmed. "No!" She snarled. "He hasn't. He wouldn't. You're wrong."

Implacably, Obi-Wan continued,  "He has, and he will again, Padmé. Anakin's lost to you, to me, to everyone. He can't help you. He can't even help himself."

"It's not true!" Padmé began to call out to Anakin again in her mind, over and over again, while pulling desperately against Obi-Wan's unyielding grip.

ANAKIN!

There was no answer.

Oh, Gods, there was no answer.

"Is he dead?" Padmé could barely get the words out.

Obi-Wan startled, and then hesitated. That single hesitation stabbed into Padmé's heart like a dagger. She grabbed a handful of her captor's tunic and twisted it with all her fear and rage, pulling his face closer to hers.

"Is… he… dead?" she hissed.

Obi-Wan didn't try to extract himself from her furious grip. Meekly he lowered his head toward hers and whispered, "He's gone, Padmé. Whatever happens, he is gone."

Whatever happens…that means he might still be alive. He IS alive. He has to be…

"He's not lost," Padmé spat. "You've abandoned him. And I will never forgive you for this, Obi-Wan. Never." Panting with the effort, she pushed him away wildly, and tried again to struggle out of his grasp.

* * * * *

The sound of voices and booted feet could already be heard echoing in the stairwell above. Obi-Wan looked up over Padmé's head into the compassionate eyes of his brother Jedi and raised his eyebrows slightly. Medulla nodded imperceptibly. Obi-Wan's hand slipped gently along Padmé's shoulder and to a very specific point on her neck, known only to a few. He pressed once, sharply, and Padmé crumpled instantly into complete unconsciousness. Master Medulla caught her from behind and gently lifted her limp body into his arms.

"I'm sorry, Padmé," Obi-Wan whispered. "We can move faster this way."

"Let's try the lower corridor," Medulla said quietly, running lightly back down the narrow stairway with his burden. "There are fewer."

Obi-Wan followed behind like a shadow.

* * * * *

Tec Andros wasn't surprised that Skywalker had chosen to fight rather than give himself up; but it saddened him. The young man was deeply unstable – a kaleidoscope of shifting emotions. So unlike a Jedi. Worse yet, those emotions were almost completely unshielded in the Force since Skywalker's furious outburst on the Plaza. For Tec, it was like trying to fight in the glare of a supernova. Very difficult. Very dangerous. The veteran fighter found himself drawing on everything he had ever learned from a lifetime as a Jedi.

Skywalker appeared to be everywhere at once, and with the two sabers, he seemed almost unstoppable. It was like fighting the Force itself. Whereas other Jedi spent their lives learning to know, to trust, and to use their ally, the Force, this one would have had the opposite struggle – he would have had to learn to contain himself, to dampen down his instincts and impulses; he would have struggled to learn to control his boundless access to the Force.

What a gift. What a waste. If only he would stop fighting and yield.

Tec didn't want to kill the young man. What he wanted at all costs was to prevent Skywalker from placing that powerful conduit to the Force at the disposal of the darkest forces in the Galaxy. Skywalker needed to be contained until the Council could deal with him.

It was like trying to contain a nuclear blast.

And Tec was on his own, embroiled in the duel of his life with an opponent who was so wrapped up in himself, so filled with the shadows of darkness, that he couldn't be reached with the light of reason.

Tec could use the help of the other Jedi right about now. A team of five could capture even Skywalker in short order. Tec probed the Padawan behind him. He was coming to, slowly. Good. Lon was no match for Skywalker; few were. But he would be useful in dividing Skywalker's attention.

He'd have to disable Skywalker, severely, if necessary. Without more help, there was no other way.

* * * * *

The duel in the Palace entry hall had created disturbances in the Force the way a sharply rising wind whips anything in its path into turmoil. Mace Windu felt the tremor keenly, and wondered whether his counterpart did as well.

"The choice is yours, Master Windu," Palpatine was saying unequivocally. "Turn Senator Amidala over to me now. If you do not, there will be very little I can do to save the Jedi Order from humiliation and dishonor."

Mace had known for a while just how thoroughly he had been outplayed. The only question had been when to retreat, and how. The duel that could now be felt through the Force had answered that question for him. It was as though, in the few short hours since the Jedi's arrival on Naboo, the entire balance of power in the Galaxy had shifted. And the catalyst for the shift was the volatile and unpredictable Anakin Skywalker.

Senator Amidala was no longer the Jedi mission's primary objective. Anakin was. It was time to collect Skywalker by whatever means necessary, and to retreat.

For now, anyway.

Never allowing his eyes to stray from Palpatine's face, Mace raised his small COM unit to his lips and asked Obi-Wan for a status report.

It was terrible pity. Mace had hoped that he had stalled long enough for his team to arrive at the Jedi transport with Senator Amidala. If they had, there might still have been a chance to save the idealistic young Senator. She represented the best of the Galaxy, and her trial and execution would have far-reaching repercussions. But, sadly, the Jedi team and the Senator were still inside the Palace.

Under Palpatine's unrelenting gaze Mace gave the order to turn the Senator over to the Army. He was confident that his team would understand and act on what he had left unspoken.

"Then we have no further business, You Excellency," Mace rumbled. "And I shall take my leave."

The Supreme Chancellor of the Republic nodded once, dismissively, and turned away.

* * * * *

Andros was powerful, and determined, but he wasn't invincible. Anakin fought like a machine, his twin blades blocking and parrying and attacking with precision and speed that left the Jedi no quarter.

As Anakin advanced and began to gain the advantage, he suddenly realized that he had a new problem. He had to decide what to do next.

Andros wasn't going to stop. Anakin would have to kill the Jedi to make him stop.

He hadn't intended to kill a Jedi. He didn't care much about Andros, but he did care about getting away, and keeping the Jedi off his back thereafter. Killing a Jedi would ensure that he remained in the crosshairs of the Order's attention forever.

The tiny hesitation in Anakin's strength of purpose had made him pause almost imperceptibly. Andros saw the minuscule opening and attacked with a vicious downward slash that would have cost Anakin the use of his arm, had it been flesh. Andros' blade sliced through Anakin's sleeve and glove, gouging the gleaming metal of his artificial limb. Flesh would not have been as resilient. For once Anakin was glad of the wretched thing.

Andros' attack had missed any important components in the arm; but it had ended Anakin's equivocation instantly. The Force suddenly whirled into a vortex around the Jedi, knocking him backwards onto the floor. With both hands on the hilt of his blue-green lightsaber, the prone Andros fought valiantly against Anakin's flashing blades, but Anakin had him. He knew it. Without hesitating, Anakin lunged downward – straight for Andros' heart – only to be knocked sideways by a rocketing deadweight that slammed him against the marble floor and made him lose his grip on one of the lightsabers.

Lon had jumped him. He had forgotten all about the idiot.

Anakin threw the unarmed Padawan off with an angry heave. Lon dived for the loose saber. It was his own green one. He grabbed it, surged to his feet, and lunged.

Anakin didn't have time to get up. Instead he scrambled forward, feet first, toward the attacking Padawan, and kicked his legs out from under him, using a generous push from the Force for good measure. Lon toppled over backwards and smashed into the base of a graceful statue, but Andros was already on his feet and looming over Anakin. The Jedi swung his blue-green blade like a scythe. Anakin' belly exploded into fiery pain and the shreds of his utility belt flew to either side. It took every ounce of his strength for Anakin to roll away to avoid the return swing. He kicked out, trying to unbalance Andros as he had done Lon, but the initial shock of pain had slowed his reflexes. Andros slashed at Anakin again, and again.

Anakin barely managed to avoid the blows. He was in agony. He brought his remaining saber up to counter the Jedi's, only to have it knocked out of his hand. At last, purely acting on willpower, Anakin managed to hurl enough Force energy against his foe to unbalance him. With an overwhelming effort, he twisted sideways to kick out at Andros one more time. This time he connected, and Andros went down hard. Lon still hadn't moved. Anakin collapsed briefly from the exertion, with his cheek against the cold, smooth floor.

And then he saw it.

It must have fallen out of his severed utility belt.

A small, rounded object with two long prongs.

Obi-Wan had sent it to him ages ago. He had forgotten all about it. Anakin always had carried it around in his belt, although he hadn't known why.

This must be why.

Anakin wrenched himself around so that he could pick up the life-Force disruptor weapon in his artificial hand. The wound across his belly was throbbing with scorching pain that made it hard to focus. With his left hand pressing against his belly, Anakin forced himself to sit up.

Andros was on his knees, staring at the object in Anakin's hand in horror. Then he raised his eyes to meet Anakin's.

You wouldn't, they seemed to say. Andros gripped his lightsaber.

Yes, I would, Anakin thought. Somehow, using strength he didn't know he had, Anakin threw himself onto the Jedi just as Andros was bringing his saber down for a killing blow, activated the weapon in his hand, and plunged the prongs deeply into his enemy's heart. Anakin let go of the sinister weapon immediately, but he couldn't avoid absorbing a virulent shock that left him gasping on the floor. The blue-green blade fell out of Andros' hand, clattered to the floor, and deactivated itself suddenly.

It was a sure sign that Andros was dead.

And even through his pain and rage, Anakin knew that he had crossed into a place from which he could not return.

* * * * *

Obi-Wan ran through the lower corridor of the Palace alone. He had only the Force to guide him, because his eyes were blurred with bitter, unshed tears of grief and outrage. He hadn't realized that he still had it in him. Only a direct order from a member of the Jedi Council could have made him hand Padmé over to the gray-uniformed Commander of the Army detail that had stopped and surrounded the Jedi and their captive. With Padmé to protect, he and Medulla might not have prevailed in a skirmish with the soldiers, but Obi-Wan would rather have died fighting than relinquish her as he had been ordered to.

Of course he had woken Padmé up before transferring custody. She deserved the dignity of knowing her fate. She deserved…oh, Stars, she deserved so much more than this.

We failed her. I failed her.

He had sent Medulla to find his Padawan, and was now racing toward an equally heartbreaking task – the one that Mace had not mentioned in his order, but that every Jedi on the team now understood was primary. To capture Anakin.

I failed them both.

Bizarrely, Obi-Wan felt more sympathy toward Anakin than he had in a long time. He understood how easy it would be to give in to resentment and ... and fury. Obi-Wan fought down the thought, wrestled with his feelings, and ran, all the while trying and failing to forget the look in Padmé's eyes when the Army commander had taken her by the arm. The last look she had given him… so full of anger and… and…betrayal.

I will never forgive you for this, Obi-Wan. Never.

And why should she, when he could not forgive himself? 

Suddenly a wrenching disturbance in the Force made him redouble his speed. Tec! Obi-Wan sensed his friend's agony… and then nothing.

He hurtled toward the heart of the Palace.

* * * * *

"You are a monster," Lon shouted hoarsely from somewhere behind Anakin.

The sound roused Anakin out of his shock. Instantly, he scrambled for his lightsaber and managed to get to his feet. Stars, he hurt – not only from the wound in his belly, but from the after-effects of the life-Force disruptor. Lon was still on the floor, his face a mess of blood, probably from a scalp wound. But his lightsaber was in his hand, and ignited.

Anakin stared at Lon incredulously. He'd defended himself – that was all. But the horror and revulsion on Lon's face, or at least on what Anakin could see of his face under the streaming blood, suddenly brought home to Anakin just how far his actions had taken him away from the life he had always envisioned for himself.

"Are you going to kill me, too?" Lon yelled, his voice shaking. "How about Master Kenobi?  Why not Master Windu, while you're at it?  Why don't you just kill us all?"

Blasted Jedi. They forced me into this. Anakin decided that he'd had enough of them.

"Not today," he said contemptuously, and turned to go.

"You're mad," Lon whispered, in horror. "You're simply mad."

Anakin paused; stubbing the ground near the Andros' corpse with his toe. His blue blade still sizzled in his hand, all but forgotten.

"Am I?" Anakin wondered out loud. "Perhaps. But that doesn't change what you are. You're nothing but a spineless hypocrite." He wondered why he was lingering, and then realized that he had lost a great deal of his strength. The pain in his belly was unrelenting. He needed a moment to recover. The Padawan was no threat.

"Don't get me wrong," Anakin went on conversationally, playing for time. Each new breath brought him a little more strength. "I would love to kill you. It would give me great personal pleasure. But would be too easy – far too easy."

"You're dangerous… and… and… evil," Lon spat. "As long as you are alive, no one is safe."

"Who's going to kill me?" Anakin taunted, still stubbing his toe on the floor. Still taking careful, energizing breaths. "You?"

Anakin didn't even have to look up to see the blade that suddenly surged up at him from below. He knew Lon far better than Lon knew himself. Even in his weakened state, Anakin could sense Lon's desperate attack before it happened. He caught and deflected the blow easily with his blue blade, never even removing his hand from his belly.

"Go away," Anakin said tiredly, blocking and defending where he had to. "Go away and live your pathetic life as a Jedi."

Lon's face was distorted with fury. He had somehow managed to heave himself up off the floor, and began to attack Anakin with powerful two-handed thrusts that were probably using up every bit of his remaining strength.

Anakin fought back automatically, wondering whether Lon would give up the fight after all. Whether he had the guts to go on living and face himself every day. Yet Lon kept attacking ferociously.

When he finally decided that the outcome was inevitable, Anakin fought back swiftly, powerfully, and effectively. In three strokes Lon lay dead on the floor, pierced through he heart by Anakin's singing blue blade.

Anakin disengaged his lightsaber and poked thoughtfully at Lon's body with his toe.

"That was the easy way out, Lon," he said indifferently. "You always were a coward."