Amidala, anticipating the reaction, had her arms raised in a plea for silence even before the noise started.

"Please," she said loudly, "please listen to me!"

Gradually, the voices of indignation, the whispers of fear, quieted so that she could be heard without shouting. Even in a moment like this, she looked so serene, so immaculate, as though nothing in the universe had the power to ruffle her feathers. She looked, Anakin thought, rather like a doll, sitting demurely on a shelf, resignedly aware that she might be dashed to the floor in seconds.

"I will be the first to admit," Amidala said, "that I never imagined the need for a decision such as this would come. But it has, all the same, and it is not a decision I could consider making without hearing the opinions of everyone whom this decision will affect. Please, if you have something to say, then say it now."

At the front every hover-dais in this room, there was installed a little screen, raised at an angle so that it faced upward and was easily visible. Across this screen would flash the names of the senators that requested electronically to address the Senate, and the planet which they represented, and then the Supreme Chancellor would customarily give permission for them to speak. Predictably, as soon as these words left Amidala's mouth, that screen lit up, rapidly flashing name after name.

It seemed that every senator in the building had a very vehement opinion of this bizarre turn of events. Anakin hardly listened to a word they said; his mind was working furiously, trying to divine Grievous's possible motives for something like this. A cover, for something far more devious? But without his army, Grievous was powerless. No, that wasn't right; he had Dooku behind him, the might of the Sith.

One by one, the senators were permitted to come forward, figuratively speaking, and pour their thoughts into the general pool. Had Anakin been listening, he would not have been pleased with what he heard: the Senate could talk big, but it was cowardly at heart, and no one within it relished the idea of angering Grievous. Had Anakin looked behind him, he would have seen the Council murmuring amongst itself, coming to a conclusion of its own. But he was lost in his own muddled thoughts.

It was hours before anything conclusive happened again. When, at long last, the screen was blank, Amidala raised her hands once more. "Esteemed members of the Senate," she began softly, and there was nothing about her of the cool, ambitious politician that Anakin had always seen before. Her heart was pounding furiously and her palms were sweating as she made this enormous decision—or perhaps it was not so enormous after all, but who could tell when they were so startled, so off-balance? "You have all been heard; there is nothing more we can say. It is time for us to take a vote."

Despite being Force-sensitive, it was only now that Anakin finally understand what emotion it was that trembled through Amidala's heart, and somehow, it surprised him. She's scared, he realized suddenly. Terrified—for what? The Republic?

Yes, and no wonder. From what scant information Anakin had gleaned from the broadcasts the day Amidala was elected Chancellor, he had learned that she had no family left. Her heart and soul and life had been given over entirely to this room, fighting furiously for what the room represented and the society that allowed it to remain. Whatever it took for the Republic to keep hold of peace, she would do, and if it meant that Amidala must ally herself with someone who, only days before, had been her most feared enemy—she would do it, willingly, gladly.

From behind him, Anakin sensed Master Yoda standing, moving toward the front of the dais with slow, limping steps, so that he could be seen. The room went silent; of all the Jedi Masters, Yoda was the most well-known, and the most respected.

"A part in this vote, the Jedi do not have," he conceded immediately. His voice was grave. "But urge you, the Council does, not to trust General Grievous. Dangerous, he is, and know it, you do. Forget this so soon, do not."

His eyes moved purposefully to look straight into Amidala's, and she matched his gaze with cold determination. With a nod that was almost imperceptible, Yoda reseated himself. Amidala proceeded to explain how the vote would work, although everyone already knew the procedure: a simple press of a button, Yes or No. A simple press of a button, and a galaxy's fate might be decided.

Senators debated with themselves, with their aides, with their neighbors, but all was hushed and tense, and eventually, each pressed one button or the other. The Jedi Council sat, stiff-backed and silent, showing nothing. Some time ago, Anakin would have been in direct contrast to this stolid complacency, fidgeting and pacing. It was a sign of how he had grown that now, the only thing that betrayed his nervousness was the thumbnail stuck firmly between his teeth.

Within an hour, all the votes had been counted. Anakin, until now fixated upon Amidala, turned away. He didn't want to see the emotion in her eyes, whether triumph or defeat. "The votes have been tallied," she said. "The Senate has spoken. The Republic will ally itself with General Grievous's government upon its creation."

Anakin bit his thumbnail off.

The short speeder trip from the Senate Chamber to the Temple was one that Anakin, in his own personal opinion, had made far too many times. This particular journey, made along with the entire Jedi Council, was uncomfortably silent and obviously grave. Each occupant of the closed speeder was thinking to themselves what this could mean.

Windu, sitting beside his former Padawan, did not speak for the first few moments. At last, he asked, "Did you agree with the Council's decision?"

Anakin, roused unexpectedly from his fuming reverie, asked, "What?"

"Did you agree with the Council?" repeated Windu. "That it is unwise to trust Grievous."

"Of course," Anakin said, surprised that his Master could even ask. "Grievous is a monster!"

Windu nodded. "He is," he said quietly. "This was a disturbing time, in more ways than one."

"What do you mean?"

"I believe we have learned a few things about our new Supreme Chancellor today," said Windu softly. "Above all, that she will do things that no human being should do, or have to do, in order to accomplish what she considers to be the ultimate good of the Republic."

Anakin frowned, receiving the impression that Windu was keeping something back. The Supreme Chancellor's vote carried more weight than any ordinary senator's, so in a way, Amidala was very much responsible for this decision—but that action, traitorous though it might have appeared to Anakin, did not seem to merit the description of something no human being should have to do.

Sensing his confusion, Windu looked at him. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew," he apologized. "You've heard, I presume, that Chancellor Amidala has no living family."

Anakin nodded.

"That is because, during the short Separatist occupation of Naboo, all of her family—mother, father, and sisters—were killed by Grievous's soldiers."

It took a moment for comprehension to dawn on Anakin's face, and when it did, it was swiftly replaced by revulsion. The games and sacrifices of politics were lost on him; he knew only that, had it been himself in that position, he would rather have killed himself than make the choice that Amidala had.

"You're right; no one should ever do a thing like that," Anakin muttered fervently. "She is mad."

"Perhaps she is simply forgiving," suggested Windu. "She is accustomed to making sacrifices."

"No," Anakin said in a low voice, quiet conviction in his words as he sank lower into the plush seat. "Some people don't deserve to be forgiven."

"You forgave Karan Toi," Windu said. "Isn't that the same thing?"

The rest of the Council was silent, aware that they were witnessing an object lesson, as Anakin turned a hard look upon his former Master.

"I never forgave him," he said slowly. "I didn't kill him. There's a difference."

"You must have forgiven him, at least in part," Windu pointed out, "or you would have killed him."

"I'm not a murderer," Anakin said sharply. "Not anymore. But I never would have made a bargain with scum like that, no matter what was at stake. Nothing's worth that."

Having said his bit, Anakin straightened and did not speak again until they reached the Temple. He wished Windu hadn't reminded him of Obi-Wan.

As soon as they got back, the first thing Anakin did was head straight back to the med ward. He didn't see Tanith, but that was all right because he wasn't looking for her. Instead, he walked around until he found an unoccupied med droid, and showed it his severed hand, its wires poking out from under his sleeve grotesquely. He was determined to get that little problem rectified as soon as possible.

When he returned to his room, Anakin dug through his closet until he found another glove and slipped it over his hand. He didn't like the cold feel of the metal, the gleaming color that substituted for skin, and the glove allowed people to think that he was still whole. Of course, no one actually did—all the Jedi, at least, knew why he only wore the black glove on his right arm—but the illusion comforted him.

Having returned to normal, Anakin found his datapad on his dresser and fiddled with it for a few moments, trying to convince it to pick up another news channel. Funny how he was so interested in the news all of a sudden, he thought dimly as he flipped through the static. Wait, wait, that had been a picture—!

"—history of the Republic has something of this magnitude occurred," said the blonde anchorwoman, surprise in her tone. "Many senators have refused to comment, but the Supreme Chancellor herself welcomed questions."

The screen flipped to Amidala. Anakin grimaced at the image, watching it justify the deed she had done with promises and pledges. How could she have experienced Grievous's evil firsthand and yet still be so trusting? Grievous would never offer peace—surrender, as it had effectively been—without having first exhausted every soldier as his disposal.

"The time for war has passed," Amidala was saying. "We must lay down our weapons and make peace with the other half of this galaxy."

Anakin snorted; if the Republic actually had any weapons to lay down, this decision need never have been made at all. Desperation had driven them to this. He wanted to watch more, but just then the screen faded back into blue and white static, and no matter how Anakin tried to retrieve the image, he found nothing. It turned out to be impeccable timing, however, for just as he tossed the datapad onto his bed in disgust, he heard a knock from the other room.

Standing, he went to answer it. To his surprise, the person he saw when the door opened was one that he did not know by name. It was a woman, perhaps thirty years old, with long black hair that streamed carelessly down her back and brown skin that matched her outer robes.

"Anakin Skywalker?" she inquired. Anakin, dumbfounded, nodded. "I'm Master Brun."

Something clicked in Anakin's mind. "Drin's Master?" he hazarded. The woman nodded, looking pleased. Stepping aside, he allowed her to enter, assuming that was what she wanted. Confidently, she took a seat on his couch.

"Um, can I help you?" Anakin asked, a bit bewildered. She smiled up at him.

"Drin told me about how you saved his life," Master Brun said. "I'm very grateful to you for that."

"Oh, of course," he said. "I mean, thank you."

"I've come to ask you a favor," she said, hugging her hands between her knees. "I've been looking for someone to tutor Drin—more just to cement his studies with me than anything else—and Master Windu suggested that you might be willing to try it."

Anakin blinked. "You want me to teach him?" he asked, dumbfounded. "I don't—I don't think I'd be very good at it, Master Brun."

"Oh, I'm sure you'd be fine," she said dismissively. "You are the Chosen One, after all. You're closer to his age than I am, and you're male, which makes it easier for him to connect with you. And Drin already trusts you."

Anakin bit his lip. "Master Windu said I should do it?" he repeated. Master Brun nodded.

"You needn't do it for very long, if it gets to be too much trouble," she said. "I know how busy you must be. But Master Windu seemed to think it would be good for you."

"Good for me?" Anakin echoed. She shrugged vaguely.

"Just for an hour or so a day," she said. "He's not doing so well in his classes, I'm afraid. Drin's very bright, but only when he chooses to be. Most of the time he just plays around with his friends when he should be listening to his teacher, and I've tried to speak with him about it." A distressed look flickered over Master Brun's face. "He's not willful, really—just lazy. He doesn't care much, and I don't offer much incentive, I'm afraid. But with someone like you, he might become more interested in his studies."

Anakin was caught, feeling flattered for something that was out of his control, and at the same time wondering why the krif Windu had supposed that this sort of thing might be good for him.

"Well, I could try it," he offered awkwardly, sitting down. "Like I said, I don't know how good a job I'd do—I don't have much experience in this sort of thing—but I can try."

Master Brun flashed him another warm smile. "That would be wonderful," she said. "I appreciate it very much." She stood up, and Anakin, who had just gotten seated, stood as well.

"You wouldn't need to teach him anything complicated, of course," she explained. "Just, you know, reiterate, what he's already being taught." Her eyes flicked to the chronometer on Anakin's wall. "I'm very sorry to leave you so soon, but I've got to see the Council about something. Will you excuse me?"

Anakin, caught off guard, muttered some empty pleasantry, and she was gone almost instantly. He would have liked to confront Windu about this, but if Master Brun had the Council's attention, then his former Master most likely wouldn't be free for a while. Instead, sick to death of politics and sitting still, he went off to run sims.

It was possible to do this in his room, but with a very limited selection, and the experience always had the feel of an ordinary holo-game rather than a virtual reality. All the training sims were downstairs on the first floor; there were probably a hundred or so of the small rooms which held all the best equipment, and it was these rooms that afforded the best sim practice possible. All you had to do was pick a room, select which sort of sims you wanted, and jump in.

Ordinarily, Anakin's lineup in this situation consisted of just about every sort of sim there was. The only kind he'd never really liked were the ones in which you were allowed no weapons, but only the Force. Not only did he find them vaguely boring, but he had never been very good at them either, and that bothered him.

Today, though, he decided to give one of them a try. He then added a couple pilot sims at the finish, which were always his favorite, and ten—no, fifteen, he decided, remembering with a blush his disastrous fight with Count Dooku—hand-to-hand combat situations. He then programmed the set to play end to end, put on the helmet which allowed him to see the sim, and began the first one.

He was standing in a darkened room—Anakin's eyes automatically began to pick out shadows he could use to his advantage—apparently alone. There was a staircase in the middle of the floor, leading down to somewhere that wasn't included in the sim; he could use that, too. No sooner had he adjusted himself to this false reality, however, when a large man burst out of his peripheral vision, brandishing a vibroaxe.

Immediately, Anakin groped for the lightsaber on his belt, and when the man came toward him, bellowing like an ox, Anakin sidestepped him easily. Furious, the man charged again, but he had no technique, only brute force. Within moments, the sim was over.

Well, that was easy, he thought. But very quickly—too quickly, Anakin thought worriedly—his successive opponents got much more difficult. They had never been this hard before, had they? Surely he'd beaten this sim before, in much less time.

The Sithess before him crouched down, ready to spring. She was lithe and agile, a difficult target. Not once did Anakin take his eyes off her, but all the same, she was too quick for him. With a yowl of anger, she flew forward and slammed her lightsaber into his arm.

It was his right arm, which meant that normally he couldn't feel pain in it, but the sim didn't know that. As though he were having it severed all over again, he felt that sudden awful, sudden sensation, the realization that he had messed up terribly but he couldn't really figure out why…and then when the pain hit, and he saw his arm lying on the ground in front of him, he remembered really fast.

No actual damage could be done to the body when you were in a sim, but the synthetic pain hurt just as badly as the real stuff. With a cry, Anakin tore the helmet from his head and threw it to the ground. Instantly, the pain ceased.

Breathless, Anakin sank down to one knee, licking his lips and unthinkingly cradling his newfound right limb in his left. He had beaten that Sithess before, seen her dead at his feet before the sim ended. He remembered, because he had bragged to Obi-Wan later that if the Sith were that easy to fight, they ought to have been exterminated long ago.

He felt a presence moving toward the door behind him, just before it opened and he heard a voice say, "Anakin?" He turned, still on his knees, to see Siri standing there, an expression of concern on her face.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "I heard you scream."

Grasping for the last shreds of his dignity, Anakin said stiffly, "I did not scream."

"Yes, you did," Siri said amusedly. "I heard you. What happened?"

There was a moment of silence, in which Anakin's pride and his desperation waged war upon each other. In a relatively short time, however, desperation struck the fatal blow, and Anakin stood.

"I can't fight anymore," he said miserably.

Siri, not expecting a revelation of this sort, said, "What?"

"I can't fight!" Anakin repeated, a note of that desperation creeping into his voice. "I really can't. I only beat Palpatine because I got lucky; I didn't even last two minutes against Dooku—"

"You fought Count Dooku?" Siri broke in, sounded astonished.

"—and now I can't even survive against the kriffing sims!" Anakin finished, with a wretched sort of triumph. He gazed at her helplessly. "What's wrong with me?"

Siri sighed, but she didn't sound unhappy, as the action might have implied. "Well, obviously I can't walk away from this one," she said. "C'mere."

Anakin followed obediently as she led him out of the sim room and sat him down on a bench that stood against the wall. Sitting down next to him, she said, "All right, so you can't fight. Have you been practicing?"

He opened his mouth to answer vehemently in the affirmative, but stopped. Of course he had been practicing—hadn't he? But it had become such a matter of course that he spend the greater part of his day training that he had naturally assumed that he had done it, when in fact he had not. Feeling very embarrassed, Anakin thought back. Force, he hadn't physically trained for more than a few hours since…since after that night with Palpatine. Instead, he'd been using all his time to meditate, knowing how deficient he was in that area.

His silence answered for him. Siri bit her lip, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile.

"Anakin, you're going to have to learn to balance the two of them," she admonished him gently. "Look, when Obi-Wan was alive, you didn't bother with your meditation because you had enough Force-skills to get by with, and you could lean on him for the things you didn't know. When he died, you started dedicating all your time to meditation, partly out of guilt and partly because you wanted Obi-Wan to be proud of you. You've been neglecting your physical studies almost on purpose, and that's sent you into a dip."

Anakin was gaping at her. "How—"

"Ferus was my Padawan, remember?" Siri said, grinning. "And he talks about you a lot."

Anakin muttered something under his breath that was not complimentary.

"Anyway, all I'm saying is that you have to use both," she concluded. "And have a little more faith in yourself. Fighting Sith Lords isn't about winning—it's about surviving."

Having finished with the deep talk, Siri leaned forward. "So, back on topic," she said, "You fought Dooku?"

Briefly, Anakin sketched out what had happened to him since leaving for Mustafar, with as few details as he had given the Council, although this time, he added the part about the vote.

Siri's face turned grave when she heard this. "Grievous can't be trusted," she said firmly. "Amidala's too willing to believe the best in people."

"I don't think so," Anakin contradicted. "She knows what Grievous can do; she just…doesn't care, I guess. She thinks he's actually interested in burying the hatchet."

Siri gave a sharp shake of her blonde head. "Only a senator would believe something so idiotic," she muttered. "Whatever Grievous wanted, she should have done the opposite."

"You think it's something very serious, then?" Anakin asked, standing in preparation to leave. Siri fixed him with a look.

"Whether or not Grievous has an army," she said deliberately, "I believe he has something up his sleeve. If he disbands his army, it's because he wants to, and because he won't need it any longer—not because some grown-up child in a dress wants him to. That thing does nothing without a reason; you know that as well as I do, Anakin."