Part 15: Once More Under Scythe's Shadow.
A month since the communiqué and Obi-Wan Kenobi was back on Coruscant, albeit in a less calmer frame of mind than he had been when he left, and for once it had nothing to do with his Padawan's flight technique. The border dispute on Ansion turned out to be worse than the description suggested, matters escalating into battle lines being drawn, which he only managed to prevent disintegrating into war via negotiation with his words and his lightsaber.
Peace reigned across the planet once more, and Ansion's membership with the Republic was likewise secured, along with the safety of fellow Knight Luminara and Padawan Barriss. Four Jedi to deal with what the Council had termed a 'minor border dispute' in an Order whose numbers were already pressed, despite all attempts to increase them. It was almost as if the Republic was clamouring for the creation of the army which their Senators continued to debate into a stalemate.
Not that Obi-Wan agreed with the Act, nor indeed did most of the Order. The Jedi were founded on tolerance and a desire for peace arm in arm with justice. Creating an army, even commanding or serving in one, was in direct diametric to those beliefs. Yet, however they strove to prevent the need for such a force, the more the galaxy seemed to flounder under the lack for one. He had just returned in time to learn that the Trade Federation had thrown it's lot in with the Confederacy, and their vast resources in machines and droids only moved the Republic one step closer to creating an army of their own. As much as he believed in a peaceful future, maybe war was just matter of time.
Which led him to contemplate what the Jedi Order would do when such an event occurred. The easiest answer was to cut themselves off from the matter entirely, but their ties to the safety of the Republic were impossible to ignore. None of them could excuse themselves from participation, not even the senior Padawans, among whom was Anakin. In the ten years since he and Qui-Gon had first discovered him, the young boy had advanced further and faster in his training than any other initiates his age.
Few disputed now that he was the Chosen One, and in spite of all his efforts, it was a title which Anakin himself was all too aware of. Already he held himself to a high standard, protesting under his and Qui-Gon's desire for restraint, for patience, always pushing himself ahead with an insatiable curiosity and a confidence bordering on arrogance. But his emotions were not fully disciplined, something which concerned Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon far more than the Council, who seemed content to forget their previous misgivings.
Maturity in his Force ability was the one thing which caused them to delay his trials, a notion which naturally irritated the Padawan. He chafed under the restraint, ignoring that he was the youngest initiate to be so close to the trials, ignoring that he had two Masters of considerable repute not just in the Order, but the Republic.
Obi-Wan disputed such a fact as far as he himself was concerned, though he could not deny that there were more Jedi and citizens who knew his name now than ten years ago. Since his knighthood he had paid diligent attention to continuing his training, as more and more missions in the field called for his skills with the lightsaber to advance. A Soresu Master, it was widely held belief in the Order that he equalled Master Yoda and Master Windu in terms of his ability. But it was his talent for negotiation which garnered tantamount respect, something he was proud to have learned from his Master.
Qui-Gon was still suffering under his illness. It was rare that he emerged from the Temple for active field duty now. His resources in the Force were by no means depleted, nor did the stasis which he underwent four times a year hinder his physical or mental strength. But there was a noticeable frailty about him, which appeared to be slowly increasing. Obi-Wan still searched for a cure, but he was aware more now than ever that time was running out. Just like the inevitability of the Republic being drawn into civil war, so was the shadow of death drawing upon Qui-Gon Jinn.
A swift breeze broke his gloomy thoughts just then, and he returned to his stargazing. Not that one could see stars any more in the Coruscant skyline, numerous traffic lanes and rising levels of pollution deprived all observers of that hope. Fortunately there was something else to draw his attention. Just as the rise and fall of a wave within the ocean supported and foretold the board of a surfer, so did the currents of the wind support and foretell the arrival of pilot and his craft.
Four as it turned out; as one large cruiser under the escort of three smaller starfighters hoved into view. Obi-Wan savoured the appearance of each one, his fascination for such vehicles not entirely destroyed by the crazy antics of his Padawan. He noted the lack of weaponry on the large cruiser, a sleek silver craft with the wings of an avian and the grace to match. Effortlessly they surfed the skyline, avoiding traffic lanes in their approach vector to one of the numerous hovering dockyards buried around Five Hundred Republica.
It did not take him long to join the dots, recognising the ship and the landing coordinates, realising who was most likely aboard. He turned from the balcony towards the entrance to the Temple, knowing he would have to move fast if he wanted to arrive before the Senator and guards left for their apartments.
He heard the explosion in the turbolift, the sound of the shock waves echoing through the shaft, followed by the echo through the Force, the forewarning of death. Barely a second later the klaxons rang along with other alarms and the turbolift began to slow down as the security override went into place. Obi-Wan reached out with the Force towards the control panel, reverting the cylinder back to its original speed. Inside him his heart pounded and frustration threatened to overwhelm his composure, before he let loose his Jedi training, reminding himself that even with the Force, he would be there too late.
Pieces littered the docking platform, blackened and charred almost beyond recognition. Most of the Nubian Royal Cruiser had survived the blast, but it was clear even from the perimeter that the ship was a write off. Around it's burning hulk stood the smaller escort crafts, which fared far better. These however were not the figures Obi-Wan focused on as he stepped out from the turbolift. Instead his gaze was drawn to one of the seven bodies which lay on the permacrete, decorated in a swathes of black and white, topped with the remains of a crumpled black head dress.
He knew those Senatorial clothes well, almost too well, having seen them at their best on Amidala during the last session. With difficulty he dragged his eyes from the scorched material to the darkly clad figure crouching over the wearer, the long dark hair which cascaded down one shoulder the only thing to distinguish her from the other pilots of the escort.
"Cordé!" he heard her cry as the pilot gathered the woman to her chest.
"Milady, you are still in danger," her security captain cried, the urgency in his voice clear even to the Knight who still stood some distance away, seemingly unable to move closer, as though his proximity made the difference between illusion and reality.
Padmé slowly restored her decoy to the permacrete and rose to her feet. When she spoke the desolation was foremost in her tone. "I shouldn't have come back," she uttered and for a moment nothing mattered but the death of her friend, which she could have prevented by staying on Naboo.
"This vote is very important," Typho said beside her. "You did your duty, Senator, and Cordé did hers. Would you diminish her death by standing here and risking your safety? What good would her sacrifice be?"
"Enough, Captain," Padmé turned away and began to walk towards the turbolift for the transport. Only then did her eyes find Obi-Wan waiting for her. Without another thought she almost flew into his warm embrace and let loose her grief.
Obi-Wan tangled a hand in her hair and wrapped the other round her slim waist as his eyes moved from the wreckage to the solemn face of Captain Typho, who acknowledged him with a nod before raising a comlink to his lips. Measures had to be put in place before those responsible realised their mistake and tried again. For now, it must look to the Republic that the Senator from Naboo had been assassinated.
He murmured intelligible words of comfort, his mouth close against her ear, his fingers caressing her hair, his quiet strength restoring her. It seemed an age since he had last held her like this, when they were young and out in the far flung reaches of the galaxy. Since Tatooine and Naboo their encounters were brief conversations in between missions and Senate meetings, or held across the holonet comms, none of which were ideal places to drop the formality required of a Jedi and a Senator.
Underneath the words however their exchange somehow always managed to contain the warmth which existed between them, the feeling she could put any number of words to yet still found herself unable to define. Memories of their meetings were enough to sustain her when they were apart, making the reality even more enduring. Her sister's words came back to her, the constant question as to when she was going to seize a life of her own. She knew it would be with the man who held her now, she just hoped he still felt the same.
Padmé felt the equanimity return to her. The tears ceased and she was able to draw back to look up at his face. Obi-Wan was all compassion and understanding, his silence conveying to her what words could not. She knew they needed to part, he to the Temple, she to the Senate, yet she did not want his comforting presence to leave her side right now. "Obi-Wan, I need to get to my apartment and change, then to the Senate. Can you come?"
"If you wish," he replied, though he would have followed her anyway. He knew of the threats against her, it was something he always kept an eye open for, a difficult counter balance to his duties as a Jedi. There were those in the Order who viewed such care as dangerous attachment, but he saw it as one of his greatest strengths. Somehow in the ten years they had come to know each other, he mastered the ability to care for her, and let go of that devotion when duty called for him to do so. He had realised the complexity behind the lines of a doctrine which he had taught almost from birth; attachment is forbidden, possession is forbidden, for to combine the two spells disaster.
But love is permitted, once this rule is understood. To attach is to cling to someone who is only transitory, who grows as the years go by, who dies, as all things do, even stars. To possess them is to deny them that right to grow, to die. To love however, is to accept both of these truths, and then realise the freedom which lies within that acceptance. That love never fades, but grows, until it passes into the Force. And the Force becomes the better for it.
They parted from each other to fall into line beside each other, and with Captain Typho following, they reached the turbolift to take the short journey to her apartment. Unlike the arrival to the planet, her entrance to the suite of rooms occurred without incident, not even joyful relief, for Jar Jar and Dormé had already been briefed of the truth and the need for concealment. The handmaiden ushered her mistress into the bedroom to change out of the flight suit into robes more suited for addressing the Senate. While Padmé no longer hid her face for this role, she still realised the need for presentation and intimidation, and the black gown of mourning with gold under shift was a perfect example.
Only minutes had passed since they left the docking platform, ensuring that by the time they arrived at the Senate, news of the explosion and her supposed death had just finished being relayed via the Chancellor to her colleagues. Palpatine was at his most charming; conveying the words with a tone full of sadness yet underlined with a strength that still insisted he was for negotiation with the Separatists, that he refused to answer the clamouring of his more vocal Senators; the cries for an army, for war. Somehow, they still listened to him, still trusted his wisdom and ideals, which was possibly why he was still Chancellor though he had long outstayed his legal term limit.
Padmé held misgivings over this, along with many other events which had occurred upon the floor during her terms as Queen and Senator. But she did not disagree with the words which her former Senator uttered now.
"Peace is our objective here, not war."
"You say this while your friend lies dead, assassinated by those same people with whom you wish to negotiate?" The Senator from Malastare countered. "Did you not just name Amidala as your friend?"
The arena erupted into chaos at that moment as voices clamoured over one another for the right to speak. Such a sight filled Padmé and the Obi-Wan with disgust. They stood in the Senatorial pod now, along with Captain Typho, Jar Jar and Dormé. Padmé turned to her handmaiden and murmured, "this is exactly why Count Dooku was able to convince so many systems to secede."
"There are many who believe the Republic has become too large and disjointed," Dormé observed. "Not just those who have joined the Separatists."
Obi-Wan stayed silent and kept to the shadows. It was not the place of the Jedi to interfere or make with politics, it was only to serve those who did. A task he and many others of his Order had found increasingly difficult of late, especially when confronted with the chaos that was the present Senate. It was why Count Dooku had left the Order, refusing to work with a Republic which no longer functioned. His departure had affected many of the Jedi, but Qui-Gon the most deeply, for his former Master was Dooku's Padawan.
Now his leadership of the Separatists hung over the Republic like the shadow of the remaining Sith which clouded the ability of the Jedi. He had killed the apprentice on Naboo ten years ago, leaving the Master hiding somewhere in the galaxy, waiting for the moment to strike again. The Council believed that if they discovered that Master, they would be able to restore peace back to the Republic. But they also knew that the only way to find him was to protect and serve while it endured this chaos. Even if that servitude came with a price, as sacrifices often do.
"My most noble colleagues," Padmé began, her tone at its most Senatorial, rising over the general clamour to echo throughout the arena. "I concur with the Supreme Chancellor. At all costs we do not want war!"
At the sound of her voice the floor fell silent, before a rapturous cheer broke out and the Senators pressed their hands together in applause at the sight and sound of her.
"It is with great surprise and joy that the chair recognises the Senator from Naboo, Padmé Amidala," Palpatine announced.
"Less than an hour ago, an assassination attempt was made upon my life," Padmé began after the cheering and applause had faded away. "One of my bodyguards and six others were ruthlessly and senselessly murdered. I was the target, but more importantly, I believe this security measure before you was the target. I have led the opposition to building an army, but there is someone who will stop at nothing to secure its passage."
Obi-Wan cloaked his presence as he listened to her, admiring the strength and determination in her tone, the belief in her convictions. It was because of her and the other members of the Loyalist committee, which also included good Senators such as Mon Mothma, Garm Bel Iblis and Bail Organa, that the Order felt their choice to continue to protect and serve the Republic was justified. They were the ones who commanded the respect and hope of the people who elected them, and ironically, the ones whose lives were frequently at risk for precisely such reasons, as proved by the mixture of rancorous and rapturous cheers from those present within the vast arena.
"I warn you, if you vote to create this army, war will follow." Padmé continued. "I have experienced the misery of war first hand; I do not wish to do so again."
Her voice and the words she uttered were beginning to turn the tide, steering the future away from the rancour towards the rapture. But the future was not immutable and one dissenter raised their voice in objection.
"This is insanity!" Senator Orn Tee Taa cried. "I move that we defer this vote immediately!"
Padmé turned her gaze towards the Twi'lek as she continued to speak. "Wake up, Senators, you must wake up! If we offer the Separatists violence they can only show us violence in return! Many will loose their lives, and all will loose their freedom! This decision could well destroy the very foundation of our great Republic! I pray you do not let fear push you into a disastrous decision. Vote down this security measure which is nothing less than a declaration of war! Does anyone want that here? I cannot believe that they do!"
Obi-Wan inwardly cheered at her words, but his gaze had moved from her to the three main dissenters within the arena; Senators Orn Tee Taa, Ask Aak and Darsana. Even before the former spoke, he knew what they were going to argue, and he feared that as usual, the Senate would gladly adhere to the delay rather than commit themselves to a vote whose outcome was likely to change the Republic forever, whether the result was aye or nay.
"By precedence of order, my motion to defer the vote must be dealt with first," Orn Tee Taa said. "That is the rule of law!"
Supreme Chancellor Palpatine turned an expression full of sympathy upon his former sovereign. "In view of the lateness of the hour and the seriousness of this motion, we will take up these matters tomorrow. Until then, the Senate stands adjourned."
The master controls of the Senatorial pods were activated, and the devices slowly reversed back to the section of the wall which was assigned to them. Padmé waited for the artificial lighting to darken before she turned to her silent Jedi, whose solemn face conveyed sympathy and understanding. As much as Obi-Wan hated politics and politicians, she knew that unlike many who possessed such emotions, he at least understood and accepted the value of their democracy.
"It is at moments like this that I wish the Chancellor would just abandon loopholes and call for the vote to take place," she remarked. "At least then we would know for sure, one way or another. As it stands, I fear it is only a matter of time before our floundering forces the Separatists into violent action regardless."
Obi-Wan nodded. "It is a fine line which the Chancellor walks," he observed. "But you are right, delay can only work for so long."
Padmé sighed as her chrono beeped, quietly proclaiming the hour. "I have a meeting with the Loyalist Committee early tomorrow morning, and tonight I must talk to the relatives of those lost in the explosion." She ceased speaking then to gaze into his blue grey eyes, her silence conveying perfectly the words she left unsaid, which were received by him almost as if they were heard through the Force.
"And I have to report to the Council concerning the events of Ansion," Obi-Wan informed her, his apology over his prior commitments equally unsaid yet still heard by her. He bowed gracefully over her outstretched hand, taking it in his own. "Good evening, milady," he uttered in farewell, before touching the smooth skin he held with his lips.
"Good evening, Master Jedi," Padmé returned, the title reminding them both of a time a decade past, causing them both to see a smile form upon each other's face before they left each other's sight.
Just as before the words I'll see you later were left unsaid, yet heard.