When Obi-Wan finally found Anakin, he came upon a horrific scene that would remain etched in his memory until the last moment of his life. His former Padawan was standing over the body of his new Padawan. There was no doubt that Lon was dead, and that he had died by Anakin's hand.
Obi-Wan had arrived in the grand foyer through one of the archways at the foot of a staircase. Anakin's back was to him. Oddly, Anakin didn't appear to have noticed Obi-Wan's presence yet. That was very unusual.
Obi-Wan crept further into the silent hallway. After passing the foot of the stairs his view of the space expanded enough to permit him a clear view of a second dead Jedi.
Tec, too… Obi-Wan felt sick. He defeated them both.Anakin's head was bowed. His artificial arm hung at his side, barely covered by tatters of cloth, the hilt of his lightsaber clutched in his metallic hand. Anakin's other arm seemed to be folded over his stomach.
Despite his better judgment, Obi-Wan moved even closer. Anakin didn't turn around. He didn't stir at all.
But his lightsaber abruptly flared to life.
Obi-Wan froze.
"Are you planning to be next, Obi-Wan?" Anakin's voice sounded disembodied. Distant. As though it were coming from very far away.
"Anakin," Obi-Wan whispered. "What have you done?"
"I had no choice." Anakin didn't turn around.
A hundred questions collided in Obi-Wan's mind. The answers to most of them could be seen, or inferred. He struggled to formulate the real question in his heart. The thing he ached to know. The words finally tumbled out in a hoarse growl.
"How far are you going to take this, Anakin?"
Anakin continued to look at the floor, a solitary, dark, battle-worn figure at odds with the gracious, ornate hallway. Was he contemplating the horrific results of his actions? Or preparing to attack? Obi-Wan couldn't be sure. The silence in the hallway was oppressive. Time seemed to be moving in slow motion. Obi-Wan gathered the Force around him, and waited.
"What have you done with Padmé?" Anakin asked, almost conversationally. Almost. There was an undertone to his question that put Obi-Wan's nerves on edge. Before he could answer, Anakin finally turned to look at him. His eyes were cold. "You took her," Anakin declared. "I want to know where she is now."
For an insane moment, an irrational, unexpected, and altogether subversive ray of hope dawned in Obi-Wan's heart. If anyone could save Padmé, it was Anakin. He was the independent agent, the wild card in this truly loathsome situation.
His own thoughts shocked Obi-Wan. The mere fact that he was thinking along those lines, that he would even consider it, set off warning claxons in his mind. For some reason it reminded him of the iconoclastic character of his old Master. This was a thought Qui-Gon Jinn would have entertained. Not Obi-Wan.
But he couldn't forget the look in Padmé's eyes. All she had wanted was to find Anakin. All Anakin seemed to want was to find her. And yet Obi-Wan had obediently handed her to the Army, and to certain death. Guilt-ridden and momentarily uncertain, Obi-Wan moved closer to his rogue ex-Padawan, who did not move at all.
"I've lost her, Anakin. I took her to keep her safe, but I failed. She is out of my reach now." But perhaps she is not out of yours. Obi-Wan watched Anakin keenly for any sign of understanding, all of his senses on highest alert.
Anakin snorted in disbelief. "You took her to lure me closer, you mean." His lightsaber was still hissing in his metallic hand. "And now you've lost her?" For a long moment their eyes bored into one another's, and Obi-Wan had no idea what would happen next. Anakin was completely unreadable.
"Where is she now?" Anakin asked again, breaking the silence. Obi-Wan had the clear impression that he would not ask again.
"The Army has her in custody," Obi-Wan replied, much more calmly than he felt.
Anakin suddenly became readable. His abrupt flare of anger hit Obi-Wan like the stab of a blade. "I could have protected her, if you'd let me. If you hadn't interfered. I could have kept her safe."
This was going nowhere. There was no time to lose.
"Anakin, listen," Obi-Wan began. "It may not be too late…"
He killed two Jedi, the rational part of Obi-Wan's mind roared, stopping him in mid-sentence. He couldn't believe that he was contemplating letting Anakin go after … after this … Obi-Wan tore his attention away from Anakin's mesmerizing stare and looked down almost disbelievingly at Lon, and then allowed his eyes drift to Tec, his friend and companion of so many years.
And then he saw it. A small, rounded object stuck in Tec's chest over his heart. A life-Force disruptor. Anakin had used it to kill Tec.
That wasn't self-defense. That was cold-blooded murder.
Obi-Wan's uncertainty vanished along with any lingering hope, or trust. Reflexively his lightsaber flashed into his hand.
He thought he was prepared for anything. He was wrong. He was not prepared for the viciousness – the pure, cold fury – of Anakin's instant pre-emptive attack.
"Stay out of my way!" Anakin yelled, slashing and cutting furiously. Obi-Wan couldn't have spoken if he had wanted to. He was moving too fast. He had to keep moving. Every move he made was merely a second's reprieve from the same fate Lon and Tec had suffered.
He'll kill us all, Obi-Wan thought disjointedly. He's willing to kill us all…
And then suddenly, there was a brief respite – the tiniest of pauses in Anakin's onslaught, as Anakin's attention shifted – up. Up?
Yes, up. Mace Windu was on his way down. And he hadn't bothered with the last flight of stairs – he had jumped from the soaring landing. Mace alighted on Anakin's other side, his distinctive purple lightsaber active and ready, trapping Anakin between himself and Obi-Wan.
"Stop this now, Anakin," Windu rumbled, almost before he landed lightly on his feet. "You're wounded. Let us help you. Calm down. There has been more than enough killing already."
Obi-Wan hadn't really noticed Anakin's wound. From the moment Anakin had turned to face him, Obi-Wan's gaze had been riveted by Anakin's fathomless eyes.
I don't know him any more, Obi-Wan realized. I no longer know who he is.
Anakin backed away, watching the two Jedi warily.
He looks like a cornered animal, Obi-Wan thought suddenly, with a sharp pang of pity. He saw Anakin take a measured breath, and then another, and understood what he was doing. Anakin was hurting, and would probably be quick to tire. Obi-Wan began to slide around behind his quarry, but was thwarted by another sudden and vicious attack from Anakin. It was all Obi-Wan could do to stand his ground, but Mace intervened quickly and Anakin backed off a little.
He fights like a wounded animal, too, Obi-Wan thought ruefully. Pity could be deadly.
"Stop fighting, Anakin," Obi-Wan urged, hoping against hope that Anakin could be reached. "Lay down your weapon. It's over. You can't win. Don't make us destroy you."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Anakin snarled from somewhere deep down in his throat. He was still crouched down, backing and circling, as dangerous as a thermal detonator on a hair trigger. "You'd like to be rid of me. To wipe out the mistake that you made eleven years ago by agreeing to train me."
"Stop it, Anakin," Obi-Wan begged. "Don't do this."
In answer, Anakin lunged at him. He was unbelievably fast, and almost impossible to predict. He wasn't telegraphing anything. Obi-Wan's only recourse was to dive to the floor and scramble away from the barrage of slashes from Anakin's pale blue lightsaber. It was an inelegant move, but an effective one – for about a second. Anakin was on top of him again instantly. Obi-Wan was trying to fight his way up off the floor and onto his feet when a very determined Force push sent him sliding backwards across the polished floor, and Mace Windu took his place as the object of Anakin's fury.
Obi-Wan could have sworn that push had come from Mace, not from Anakin. That was strange.
He surged forward again to re-join the fight that by now was raging up and down the foyer, only to be pushed helplessly away again.
What in blazes was Mace doing?
Actually, it looked like he was winning. The duel was a dazzling display of speed and swordsmanship on both sides, but as Obi-Wan had predicted, Anakin's burst of strength and speed had been short-lived. He was gradually tiring and slowing as a result of the wound. Mace was all over him. It wouldn't be long now… if only Anakin would yield…
"Stop!" A voice rang out suddenly, echoing around the vaulted foyer. That single word was like nothing the combatants had heard before. It was not so much a cry as a command – not so much a sound as an irrefutable impulse.
Obi-Wan looked up, toward the source of that uncanny voice, and saw the Supreme Chancellor making his way slowly – almost majestically – down one of the sweeping staircases of the grand palace foyer. Six red-robed elite guards flanked him in a formation of three and three.
Both Anakin's and Mace's arms dropped in mid-attack; the blades of their weapons suddenly and simultaneously retracted, and in the time it took a human heart to beat twice the only sounds that echoed between the pillars and statues were the ragged breathing of the duelists and the staccato tap of the Elite Guard's lances on the polished floor as they adopted a standing formation around the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic.
Obi-Wan looked down and noted, with surprise, that his weapon also had been stilled.
Heedless of the two prone, twisted bodies on the floor, and of the breathless tension among the three combatants, the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic moved unhesitatingly to the center of the vast entry hall and, together with his geometrically-placed guard, stopped.
Mace and Anakin, mortal enemies only seconds before, stole surreptitious glances at one another, suddenly allied in their confusion about the sudden cessation of all action.
"That is quite enough of this," the Supreme Chancellor said in a quiet voice that nevertheless filled the cavernous space.
No one moved or spoke.
"This is a travesty," Palpatine went on. "A mockery. I will not allow it."
Still no one spoke. Not even Mace Windu. Obi-Wan felt as though his powers of speech had suddenly left him. He wondered if the same was true of the others.
"Anakin," the Chancellor commanded, "come here."
Moving like a sleepwalker, Anakin went to stand in front of the Supreme Chancellor.
"Stand here by me," his former mentor ordered. "You will not be harmed." Obi-Wan saw Anakin search the Chancellor's face and his eyes for a moment, as though looking for a clue as to his purpose. There was nothing to be seen but a level gaze and a perfectly composed visage. Anakin bowed, and did as he had been told. The six red-robed guards re-formed around the Chancellor and Anakin.
"Master Windu," the Chancellor then demanded, turning to look at the Jedi Master. "What is the meaning of this attack against a member of your own Order? What has become of the Jedi, that you would openly battle one another in this way?"
"This is an internal matter to the Jedi Order, Your Excellency," Mace said severely. He certainly had no difficulty speaking. "This young man is a dangerous rogue. The Jedi Order has the right and the duty to deal with him as we see fit."
"A rogue?" Palpatine asked incredulously. "Anakin?" He turned to look at the panting, wounded, disheveled figure beside him, and then back at Mace. "I find that very difficult to believe."
Mace did not waver. "He murdered two Jedi, Your Excellency. We will deal with him according to our Code."
This time the Supreme Chancellor's gaze swept the entire foyer, taking in the bodies of Lon and Tec Andros, and returned once again to rest on the Jedi Master's face.
"Ah, yes. The Jedi Code." Palpatine paused, as if thinking. No one said a word. He took his time. "If I recall correctly," he said finally, "in order to amicably end his association with your Order, a Jedi must surrender his weapon upon stating his intentions to separate. Is that correct, Master Windu?"
"It is." Despite the studied calm of his demeanor, something in Mace was beginning to build into a thunderous tension that was palpable to all present.
"Then we will resolve this amicably." Palpatine turned to Anakin. "Hand over your weapon to Master Windu, young Skywalker." It was a direct order. Anakin visibly startled, and clutched at the hilt of his lightsaber. "Do it!" Palpatine ordered. Walking almost like a puppet on strings, Anakin took a few reluctant, awkward steps toward Mace and, with infinite slowness, held out the cylinder toward the Jedi with his gleaming metallic hand.
Obi-Wan held his breath, fascinated and disbelieving.
Mace did not take the proffered weapon. "On behalf of the Jedi Council, I do not accept Skywalker's voluntary separation from the Order," he rumbled. His eyes were on Palpatine, not Anakin. "He is a criminal, and will be dealt with as such, by us."
Visibly outraged, Anakin snatched back his hand and retreated two quick steps toward the Supreme Chancellor. There was a long, spine-tingling pause, until Palpatine finally spoke again.
"I suggest, Master Jedi, that, on behalf of the Jedi Council, you consider carefully the position of the Order in light of recent events." His voice was louder and angrier than Obi-Wan had ever heard it. In his experience, Palpatine was never ruffled, no matter what the circumstances.
But of course, these were not ordinary circumstances. If his suspicions were right, Palpatine was laying claim to his prize. Obi-Wan waited with desperation to see what Mace would do.
Mace held Palpatine's gaze for a long time. Then he turned to look at Anakin. "Kneel," he growled.
"What?" Anakin looked more ready to engage his weapon again than to hand it over.
"The Code requires that you kneel when surrendering your weapon." Mace's voice had a dangerous edge that he took no pains to hide.
"No," Anakin gasped. "I will not."
The atmosphere became electric. Obi-Wan could feel the hairs rising on his arms and on the back of his neck.
"If you do not kneel, I will not accept your weapon and your voluntary separation from the Order!" Mace thundered at Anakin.
"I will not kneel before you!" Anakin shouted, the hilt of his weapon gripped tightly in his hand.
Suddenly Palpatine was standing directly beside Anakin, holding out his hand. "Give me your weapon, Anakin." Startled, Anakin turned to look at the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic with bewilderment written all over his face. "Give it to me!" Palpatine ordered.
And remarkably, astonishingly, in a gesture that Obi-Wan would never forget, Anakin obeyed. He pressed the hilt of his lightsaber into the older man's hand, and dropped his eyes to the floor. Palpatine took it brusquely and handed it directly to Mace.
"That will do," he snapped. "As of this moment, Anakin Skywalker has voluntarily severed his connection with the Jedi Order. He is a free citizen of the Galaxy, and you will respect his rights as such."
Mace took the proffered weapon in stony silence.
"And now," Supreme Chancellor Palpatine said frostily, "the Jedi presence here on Naboo is no longer welcome. I suggest you go."
Mace looked at Anakin's weapon in his hand. Then, without a word, he nodded at Obi-Wan.
Still reeling with shock at what had just transpired, Obi-Wan moved forward to pick up the body of his dead Padawan, along with Lon's lightsaber. Mace picked up Tec's remains. Silently, carrying their grim burdens, the two Jedi moved toward the grand entry doors.
Obi-Wan turned one last time to look at Anakin, who still stood staring at the floor, a heart-wrenching picture of defeat, and wondered how long the Council would allow this to go on. He knew with certainty that Mace's actions here today were merely a strategic withdrawal. The Jedi were not finished with Anakin. Or with Palpatine.
The corpse in Obi-Wan's arms as he left the Palace at Theed weighed nothing compared to the heavy burden that dragged on his soul… the burden of regret, and grief, and guilt; and most of all, the burden of dread.
* * * * *
"My dear boy," Chancellor Palpatine said, once they were alone in the private study to which he had retreated with Anakin in tow, "I am furious with you. Absolutely furious with you."
Anakin felt that familiar inner "thud" that always meant he had trespassed and been caught, and was about to pay dearly for it. He did what he always did in those situations, and remained silent. The people who caught him always had so much to say, anyway. And at this moment in time he didn't care at all. About anything.
"Why didn't you simply come to me?"
"What?" Anakin roused himself half-heartedly out of a crushing semi-stupor. Grief and aching pain had made his mind thick and his thinking slow. Rage and bitterness had practically emptied him of everything but the moment. And the knowledge of what he had done – of the finality of his actions – was a burden that weighed so heavily on his heart that every breath cost him an effort.
"You were in trouble. You needed help. Why didn't you come to me? Haven't I always looked out for you?"
"I…I… yes, of course but…" Anakin struggled to focus. To remember anything that had happened before the last hours, before the light had gone out of his life. To remember anything that once might have been important to him. "I thought I had let you down," he said indifferently, just to give a reply. "I thought I had broken the rules." He took a deep breath. "You had made it very clear that I was not to bring dishonor onto your office."
Palpatine looked at him with gimlet eyes.
"Those are the Jedi talking, my boy. Utter nonsense, as usual."
Anakin was so dulled that he had trouble understanding what the Chancellor was saying to him. "What?" he asked finally. It was the cleverest and most intelligent thing he could come up with on the spur of the moment.
"What makes you think that I would allow any harm to come to you? That I would allow the Jedi to have their way?"
Anakin struggled to understand. "I killed two Jedi, Your Excellency. No one can stop them from hunting me down now. By rights you should turn me over to them."
"You accept their right to annihilate you, Anakin? And yet, you still fought on against them …"
Anakin hung his head.
"It would be unconscionable of me to permit someone of your talent to be destroyed for so little reason. What an unspeakable waste that would be."
Anakin sagged, and unconsciously reached up to rub his face with his ungloved living hand. He was tired. So tired. "What could you possibly want with me now?" said, with effort. "I'm done for. Finished."
"You are from finished, my boy," Palpatine insisted. "You stand at the beginning of your path." When Anakin did not respond, he went on, "Is it possible that you are not aware of your own value? The work you did for me in the Senate – no one else could have accomplished as much in the time you were given. That Academy graduate who has taken over Chief Zangan's position has been handed a perfectly functioning machine. All he needs to do is run it."
Trying to remember back to those far-off times and events, Anakin felt as though he were dredging up some insignificant piece of ancient history. Why had it seemed so important, so momentous, at the time? So much had happened since then.
"As I recall," he said, "I was accused of murdering Chief Zangan." As an afterthought he added, "I didn't."
"If you tell me that you didn't, then I will believe you," Palpatine said smoothly. "Either way, the Zangans of the Galaxy are of little concern to me. They can be replaced. You cannot."
Anakin looked out the window, not answering.
"I wish you had come to me sooner, Anakin. Perhaps we could have avoided all this trouble."
"Nothing can be done about it now," Anakin replied dully. "No matter what you say to them, the Jedi will not allow me to live." And it now seemed as though he would be unable to free Padmé. So living was pointless, anyway.
"The Jedi, my friend, are an anachronism. Their powers grow weaker by the day. The Galaxy is falling apart around them, and they can do nothing! You are the most powerful of them all!"
Powerful? What an absurd idea. He had never been more helpless. "I'm not powerful," Anakin whispered.
Palpatine was undeterred. "It is clear to me, Anakin, that you do not understand the nature of power. It flows to those who are worthy of it – those who have the strength, the cunning, and the determination to wield it. Power is too precious to be wasted on the weak. Master Andros is dead by your hand, is he not?"
"Yes." Anakin sighed.
"Then who was the more powerful?"
"I could hardly defeat Master Andros… I had to use subterfuge." I cheated.
"Young fool," Palpatine said, moving closer to Anakin, "you prevailed because you were the most determined, and the most resourceful! Don't you see? That is true power. Skills – skills can be learned. The heart, the will to prevail – that is a gift. It is your gift. I would no sooner hand you over to the Jedi than I would hand over our precious Republic to our Separatist enemies. The Jedi only want to destroy you because they fear you."
The heart, the will to prevail – that is a gift. It is your gift. The Chancellor didn't know what he was talking about. It was over. Everything was over. Anakin's hand went automatically to his hip, where his lightsaber always had hung. He felt its loss terribly. It added the final weight to the other unspeakable losses he had suffered today, because it had removed his last hope. Without hope, his will had gone as well. Anakin went back to looking unseeingly out the window, a body without a soul, yet incomprehensibly still alive.
"I'm not powerful," he insisted again. "I'm not a Jedi any more, and I never will be. I'm…I'm nothing."
"Another foolish idea," Palpatine said dismissively. "Surely you haven't unquestioningly swallowed all of the venerable Jedi Order's archaic teachings? If the Jedi Order suddenly vanished, if there were no others in the Galaxy to approve of you and to give you orders and to determine your fate, would you suddenly lose your abilities? Would they vanish with the institution?"
"No." Anakin frowned out the window, trying to imagine a Galaxy without the Jedi Order.
"Would the Force cease to flow through you, giving you strength? Would you lose your ability to craft and use a new weapon as you see fit? Would you suddenly, with the disappearance of the Order, become as meek and humble as the remaining creatures of the Galaxy?"
Meek and humble? As he had begun his life? That was an odd way to put it. The Jedi strove for humility and service … meekness, of a sort. Anakin became curious in spite of himself. "No."
"Well, then. Your Jedi powers are intact. You are a Jedi through and through, and no one can take that away from you."
"With all respect, Your Excellency, what is the point of being a Jedi without an Order?"
Palpatine laughed, startling Anakin. "My dear boy, that is like asking what is the point of having power! Power makes it possible to create change. To make right what is wrong. To shape events for the better. He dropped his voice to a whisper that was almost like a caress. "It's all a terrible, terrible, mess, isn't it, my friend?"
The words, like so many of Palpatine's words to him over the years, penetrated straight into Anakin's heart. Yes, it was a mess. Everything around him was chaotic and confused. Every path seemed to lead only to misery and disgrace.
"I need you, Anakin," Palpatine persisted. "I need you by my side to help bring order to this chaos. I am a powerful man, but I am only as strong as the people I surround myself with. I need the strongest Jedi of them all by my side. There is work to be done – work for which you have astonishing and unswerving ability."
Anakin crossed his arms and heaved a great, deep breath, ignoring the pain across his abdomen. It wasn't getting any better. Finally, he allowed his eyes to leave the window and to meet those of the man who stood so steadfastly by his side.
"You want me to work for you, Your Excellency? Is that what you are saying?"
"I know what you are thinking, Anakin," Palpatine protested, holding up his hand. "More security work – more administration." He smiled. "But no, that is not what I intend. You are far beyond that. We have a war to win, my friend. I want you to help me bring peace and sanity back to the Galaxy once and for all." He paused for effect, and then went on with a flourish, "I intend to give you your own command."
His own command. Power, status, authority, and a mandate to act, all at once. It was a prospect that, only a short time ago, would have seemed like the culmination of all Anakin's desires. He was being given the kind of acknowledgement and recognition that he had craved all of his life.
And yet Anakin found it hard to care. Just when he finally had discovered his true heart's desire – to leave with Padmé, to live in freedom with his family and to make his own new beginning – it had been wrenched away from him. Or maybe he had lost it though his own incompetence. Either way, no grand offering, no share in the Galaxy's treasures could compare with that.
Damn Obi-Wan to the darkest hells.
For the hundredth time, Anakin tried to work out where Padmé might be now. He supposed that she was being taken to Coruscant. Really, the only attraction in Palpatine's offer was the prospect that he would once again have some real authority. Perhaps he could use it to find and free Padmé after all?
Or perhaps it was too late already. Time was short. And he had to tread carefully. After all, the man who was offering him a new life was the same one who had signed Padmé's arrest warrant.
Palpatine was watching him carefully, expectantly, for a response. Anakin knew that he owed the Supreme Chancellor something – some gratitude, at least, if he couldn't muster any excitement or pleasure at the gift he had just been offered. He had to say something.
"Thank you for your generous offer, Your Excellency," Anakin said heavily. "I appreciate your faith in me. It's just that right now, I …"
"Right now," Palpatine interrupted silkily, "you should have yourself seen to, and get some rest." He waggled some long, knotted fingers in the direction of Anakin's wound. "I have some official business to attend to here on Naboo tomorrow, and I will return to Coruscant on the following day. You have that long to think it over. If you choose to return with me, if you accept my offer, I will see to it that you are placed under my personal protection and given my authority in all your actions throughout the Galaxy." He smiled again. "There is no doubt that the Jedi will continue to harass you, but I am quite certain that my protection will make it much more difficult for them. Nothing you can't handle, eh, my boy?"
The underlying message was clear. If you accept my offer, I will protect you. If you do not, you are on your own.
Anakin nodded. "I understand perfectly, Your Excellency."
Palpatine smiled pleasantly, seemingly unaffected by Anakin's lack of enthusiasm for his offer, and delivered his coup-de-grace. He held out his hand. In it lay the distinctive silver hilt of a lightsaber. Not Anakin's, but a different one.
Anakin was momentarily stunned.
"My guards found this," Palpatine said carelessly. "It may be of some use to you."
Anakin couldn't resist reaching out for the weapon. He took it, and as an afterthought, turned aside to ignite it. It flared obediently into life. The blade was a distinctive blue-green color.
It was Tec's lightsaber. In spite of himself, Anakin felt a cold chill.
"It's yours if you want it," Palpatine was saying. "I know a Jedi always feels more comfortable when properly armed."
Anakin switched off the blade and turned to Palpatine.
"Am I free to go?" The lightsaber remained in his hand.
"Of course, of course, my boy," Palpatine said, his eyes glittering with something that almost looked like amusement. "The Jedi have left Naboo. No harm will come to you for now."
Still clutching Tec Andros' lightsaber, Anakin left the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic behind. He needed to find Padmé. He needed to find his soul.
