Obi Wan Kenobi is an ascetic among ascetics; There are few members of the Jedi Order who rise as early in the morning as he does. As a consequence, the archives are all but deserted when he and Anakin arrive.
A senior-padawan mans the reference desk, hunched over a steaming cup of caf. She checks them into the central computer with a respectful nod at Master Kenobi, and a bashful smile at his eminently beautiful companion.
The familiar chamber has never seemed so coldly monumental. They walk in silence, their many-layered vestments fluttering around their powerful bodies. They are servants of the Force; instruments of destiny. Obi Wan closes his eyes, momentarily overwhelmed with religious feeling.
Only an hour earlier, he had despaired of even being able to influence his defiant former-padawan. But now, true to Anakin's tearful avowal of devotion, the young man seems willing to follow him to the ends of the galaxy and beyond. He is veritably clinging to his master's presence, drinking deeply of their psychic bond in a way that makes Obi Wan feel both uncomfortable and weirdly giddy. They have been drifting apart for some time now. This sudden, unparalleled closeness between them is... well, it's certainly unexpected.
The corridor which contains the entrance to the restricted section of the archives is walled with black granite, and lit from bellow by recessed, pale-green diodes. Accessing the heavily shielded part of his mind which contains the Council's secrets, Obi Wan raises a hand before a seemingly random region of wall. Anakin looks puzzled, before taking a step back in recognition. He has heard of, but never actually seen this sort of locking mechanism. Only an advanced Force-user, who has memorized a lengthy series of numerical access-codes can open it. There is no keypad or visual interface; The information must be transmitted into the computer directly out of one's mind.
After about ninety seconds, a great section of granite sinks into the floor, revealing a cylindrical turbolift of translucent green glass. The pair of Jedi enter together, the small space amplifying their psychic, as well as physical proximity. Anxiety shivers across their bond, and for once it is not clear whose.
"Master," says Anakin softly, "what exactly are we looking for?"
"An ancient artifact. Discovered by Master Qui Gon and myself, over twenty years ago."
"And you know where to find it now?"
"Not exactly. But I think... his spirit guides me," says Obi Wan obscurely.
"His spirit-?"
With a gentle ding, the turbolift comes to a halt, and both men step out into a small, hexagonal antechamber. In the center of the polished, malachite floor stand a pair of green sofas and a dark-wood tea-table. It looks, Anakin thinks, like an unnecessarily posh waiting room. Across from them, on the opposite wall, a pneumatic door slides open to reveal a long, narrow hallway, densely lined with durasteel filing drawers.
"Wait a minute," Anakin says. "I've heard of this place. Isn't this where they keep... the Sith holocrons?"
"Among other things," affirms Obi Wan gravely.
"And Ferus Olin said it didn't exist!"
He moves to cross the room, but stops, looking circumspectly over his shoulder. "Perhaps it would be best," he ventures, "if you stayed out here for a moment."
And Anakin, to his complete and utter astonishment, merely nods "Yes, Master," and sits down on one of the sofas, without even sounding particularly miffed. The boy has resolved, it seems, to make a serious effort at obedience for which, Obi Wan feels like remarking, it is rather late in the game. Wondering at this, the Master Jedi disappears behind the pneumatic door with a swish of his cloak.
The vault is floored with transparisteel panels over florescent tubes which provide the only illumination. As he drifts along, lightly running his fingers over the numbered drawer-faces, Obi Wan is suddenly made acutely aware of his own breathing. Even deactivated and stored in Force-suppressing cases, Sith holocrons still resonate with the unmistakable low hum of the Dark Side. Their cold nearness presses at him, trying to seep into his skin, but he allows them no point of entry. The wonderful, living warmth of his own body fills his senses, repelling all maleficent energies.
He is betraying the will of the Council, and for reasons he doesn't even fully understand. Under normal circumstances, he would be beset by guilt and fear, but somehow he feels utterly serene and sure of his mission, of, dare he presume to label it, the will of the Force. Qui Gon's spirit indeed guides him.
About three quarters of the way down the corridor at roughly elbow-level, his seeking hand halts above one of the drawers. Here. Yes. It's contents call to him. He pulls it open gingerly, and even more gingerly, withdraws a small black box, about ten centimeters in every dimension, and quite heavy for its size. He cradles it against his breast and, as if in response, it throbs warmly. In all that had transpired since, he had quite forgotten about the voyage to Tython, and about his and Qui Gon's strange discovery. Now the mysterious object seems to welcome him back, forgiving him for his twenty-year lapse, like an affectionate old friend.
Pleasantly dazed, he steps back out into the antechamber to find Anakin still seated on one of the sofas in obvious suspense. He lowers himself onto the one opposite, placing the box in the center of the low tea-table between them. Both men lean forward, sharing a portentous look.
"Is that-?" Anakin bites his lip.
"Yes. I am quite certain of it."
"But what... is it?"
Obi Wan sighs ruminantly. "You know, Anakin," he says, with a kind of distant fondness, "my master was something of a heretic."
Anakin nods cautiously. He has always understood some version of this to be the case.
"He didn't exactly," Obi Wan continues, "hold with certain aspects of the code. He believed that compassion, and love, were the true designs of the universe." It occurs to him that he and his former-padawan have never really had this conversation. In fact, in all their years together, there are many important conversations they have never had. Despite beginning their training relationship under rather dubious circumstances, they had ultimately grown very close, and yet, Obi Wan reflects, if he is being truly honest with himself, he had always shielded something from the boy, some vital core. He wonders, with a horrible, plummeting feeling, if perhaps he could have avoided some of their current troubles, if only he'd been more attentive to Anakin's need for a certain kind of intimacy. But that phantom-grief will drown him if he dwells on such things, so instead:
"Master Qui Gon and I came across this," he picks up the box with one hand, holding it appraisingly before his face, "in the Red Jungle of Tython." With a subtle manipulation of the Force, he breaks the seal on the container and levitates the article within so that it is suspended above the table between them. The golden dodecahedron, adorned with indecipherable glyphs on each of its pentagonal faces, has a kind of terrifying inexplicable magnetism, which makes him both eager and hesitant to touch it. Anakin leans in unconsciously, totally riveted.
"Is it... a holocron? It doesn't look like any holocron I've ever seen."
"Well it is quite old, I believe."
"And you think whatever is on it," Anakin urges, "can save Padmé?"
"Yes, I do think so."
"And... what about the Chancellor?"
"I don't know. But I feel that we are... on the right path."
For a moment, Anakin looks past the revolving golden object, and into his master's keen, grey eyes. Here they are, in this tiny secret chamber, many stories beneath the surface of Coruscant, at the very center of a vast, dangerous galaxy, entire star systems pivoting around their bodies. No matter what happens down here, they will ascend again into the open, and face whatever peril confronts them, together. This, he thinks, finally, is what it means to be a Jedi.
"So... how do you open it?" he asks, attempting not to sound too impatient.
"I'm not sure. But in any case, there are a few things we ought to discuss before we even try."
"Yes, Master."
Obi Wan raises an eyebrow at this, but continues without comment: "The way Qui Gon explained it to me, there is a technique by means of which the power of the Force can be drawn, not from within an individual, but from the fabric of the Force between individuals; That is to say, from the psychic bonds between Force-sensitives. The numinal material of these bonds is a structure greater than the sum of its parts. In the normal course of things, they are forged and broken between individuals without any damage to the fabric itself, but if the fabric itself were to be disturbed-"
"Like splitting an atom."
"Somewhat, yes. The trick is to do this in a controlled, localized manner."
"And the holocron will explain how?"
"If indeed it is a holocron. On close inspection, I'm beginning to think it might be something else entirely..." He looks up sharply. "Master Qui Gon said it would only work if our bond was strong enough. That means you're going to have to trust me. I know we've had our difficulties lately-"
"Of course I trust you, Master," Anakin smiles a strange, sad smile. "Do you trust me?"
"With my life, Anakin."
"Oh, sure. But with this?"
Obi Wan is briefly at a loss for how to respond. Is the boy challenging him somehow? Or is he perhaps experiencing a rare moment of self-awareness?
"Yes," he affirms. "I trust you."
"Well then," Anakin grins, reaching for the still-floating dodecahedron. "Let's figure this thing out."
"Anakin, wait-" Obi Wan grasps at it unthinkingly, as if to stop him.
He doesn't know exactly what he's trying to accomplish in reaching for it, and he doesn't have much time to think about it, because the moment both their hands are touching the object, all of his physical senses are blotted out by an explosion of golden light.