A night passed, in which Anakin struggled to remain where he was, not wishing to wake the Council at such an hour. He felt almost guilty for taking advantage of this excuse, however. He knew, deep down, that for something of this importance, the Council would want to know as soon as he was certain. But he waited, for his own selfish sake.

When morning came, he stalled. There were messages to be sent, missions to attend, instructions to give, but by midday there was nothing left for Anakin to do…and he was sick of his own petulance. There was a quick debate in his mind over whether he should speak to the Council personally or through a hologram. The latter won out; it was easier.

"Anakin!" Windu greeted him with something that almost sounded like pleasure. "It's been a long time since we heard from you."

Anakin bit back a grin. "I have been busy," he admitted. His image was now being projected into the Council Chamber; Anakin himself saw his fellow members as miniature human beings seated on the table before him.

"Does this contact mean that you have news of importance?" asked Adi Gallia pointedly, who—Anakin remembered suddenly—had never been in favor of this surveillance mission. He wished he could reply fully in the affirmative, to assuage her fears.

"We have heard some things," Anakin told them. He listed the communications on Dagobah, the visit to Kamino, the abrupt departure of Grievous's officials from Naboo. "But nothing of great significance."

"Yet I sense you have something more you wish to say," said Windu, not unkindly. Anakin felt rather grateful toward his old Master in that moment, but his nerves were still on edge, and there was a faint, unpleasant buzzing in his ears.

"I do," he replied, and breathed deeply. "For the past…I can't even say…at least a year now, my sleep has been troubled by dreams. I thought, for a while, that they might be merely products of my imagination, but now I believe them to be visions of the Force."

Every one of them looked taken by surprise.

"Shouldn't you have mentioned this before?" asked Ki Adi Mundi.

"Anakin, why didn't you tell me?" Windu leaned forward, concern on his face. Anakin looked down, feeling shamed. He shook his head unconsciously, trying to rid himself of the vague headache he felt approaching.

"I…feared my vision," he confessed. "I hoped that, by keeping it secret, I could also keep it from taking place."

"You see, he is too young!" The sudden, impassioned outburst came from Adi Gallia, and Anakin looked up, startled. She was sitting forward in her chair, her fingers gripping the metal until they turned white. "He is a gifted Knight, the finest our Order will know, but he does not have the wisdom—"

"Peace, Master Gallia," reminded Yoda. She sat back and nodded in Anakin's direction.

"Forgive me, Master Skywalker," Adi Gallia said. Her great, dark eyes turned to him. "You have proven yourself a worthy and noble Knight of the Order; but I have feared for some time that your lack of experience may make you, as of yet, unprepared for the work of a Master."

Anakin still appeared shocked, but managed to swallow his emotions to accept the apology. He did not betray that he, too, sometimes still had these doubts.

"Let us move on," said Master Mundi gently. "Anakin, perhaps you should describe your vision."

This required another deep breath. His headache was growing steadily worse, and it took a moment for Anakin to retrieve the required memory. "It is the same, every time," he told them, "but it grows clearer every night.

"I see a single planet—I don't know its name." In his mind's eye Anakin could see that same planet, hovering in the darkness, surrounded by stars and its moons. It looked…peaceful. "Without warning, there's…the planet itself…well, it just explodes. Huge clouds of flame shoot out in every direction, and then I hear…"

Anakin blinked slowly. The darkness at the corner of his Force-vision was growing to expand all of his sight, until he could see nothing but that. Dimly he heard the Council's voices again, worried and urgent as they called out to him, but more clearly he heard that loud, almost motorized humming behind his ears, from something enormous and strong. For the first time the picture grew clear enough for him to recognize which planet it was that he'd seen so many times before.

Here, now he would see it again, see the planet burst into ash and then to nothing. But instead, the vision changed, taking him entirely by surprise. He felt something like a cloth wrap around his head, and he could see no longer, not the Council nor the planet. Then the cloth was pulled away, and Anakin felt himself moving, with feet that were not his own, down a hallway in which he had never been.

Everything was moving with dizzying speed. Anakin felt as though his head were spinning, and he barely heard a voice ask, "Is everything prepared?" Only when he heard the affirmative reply from some other source did Anakin realize that the first words had come from himself, not in his own voice but some strange, metallic timbre.

Hands that were not his stretched over a control board made of cold steel, pushing buttons with a foreknowledge that Anakin did not have. He looked up, to see that same planet, but from a different perspective this time, through a viewscreen that made the massive globe seem very small. He felt a smile, tight and painful, stretch briefly across his face behind the mask.

"All is well," he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse and harsh. "All is very well, though I have waited a very long time for this. And they trusted so easily…"

There was a gray button on the board below him, flashing silently. The long, shining fingers of Anakin's left hand moved forward, tapped idly against the steel beside that button. Little bursts of faint light glinted every few seconds off the droid hand.

"The fools," he murmured. Then he threw back his head and laughed, cold, painful, wild laughter rolled up from his throat, so abruptly loud that he heard them all jump behind him. "The FOOLS!"

His hand came down with all force on the gray button. For an instant, nothing happened. Then the floor beneath them began to tremble, and the lights flickered. The gray button had stopped flashing.

Green light, gathered in enormous quantities, spilled into space, concentrated in a single powerful beam that rushed at incalculable speed toward the poor, doomed world. In the millisecond between when Anakin saw that light and when the planet exploded, he heard the screams. A million voices cried out in his head, in pain and in fear, and they were so loud that Anakin wanted nothing more than to clap his hands over his ears and curl up on the floor, but all he could do was stand there and laugh…and laugh…as what had once been the most beautiful planet in the galaxy was reduced to a few million specks of ash floating in space.

Then the vision broke, as though it were glass and had shattered. Anakin—no longer in Grievous's body, but in his own—was huddled on the floor, and his hands shut his ears and tears soaked his face.

Force help me; Force help me… It was several minutes before he realized he was saying those words out loud. The screams had faded, but Anakin still remained where he was, overcome with sorrow.

Anakin moved out of instinct and not of thought when he finally pushed himself to his feet. He could feel that his face was ashen.

Footsteps sounded outside the door—Shali ran in, gasping for breath.

"Master Skywalker!" He hated her shrill, anxious voice. "I felt something in the Force—what was it?"

Didn't she know? a Jedi should not panic, should not give in to fear even when facing a monster of this magnitude. Anakin felt as though he'd had an epiphany—in time, no doubt, it would pass. But in this moment, he felt he knew everything the Council had ever wanted him to.

"There has been an attack against the Republic," Anakin said, turning to face her. Though his countenance was ghost white, in every move he made he was truly a Jedi Master. "Where's Rik?"

Shali blinked, stunned. "In—Mos Eisley," she managed.

"Find him and bring him back here." Anakin wanted Rik; he also wanted Shali gone, and the task admirably suited both his purposes.

The hologram had shut off. When she was gone, Anakin turned it back on and found the Council's signal once again. He could not stop his fingers from shaking.

The instant the hologram snapped up again, the sense of foreboding and despair within Anakin increased by a thousand times. He could sense the same feelings of every Jedi in the Temple, from the Jedi Masters who reacted most violently, to the younglings who ran to their Masters in fear, to the babies in the crèche, who burst into tears without knowing even why.

"Thank the Force," were Windu's first words when he saw Anakin. "I've never seen you react like that—I thought you'd been killed by it."

"I'm all right now," said Anakin. "You felt it, then?"

He needn't have asked. Though their faces were lined and blue through the hologram, he could see evidence of that great disturbance in the Force.

"We must know what caused it," said Adi Gallia, urgency plain in her voice. "We should send Knights to all the—"

"Wait," Anakin broke in, frowning. "What do you mean, 'what caused it'?"

They looked at him, not comprehending.

"Didn't you see? You must have seen!"

"Anakin," said Windu very seriously, "what are you talking about?"

"I saw him!" Anakin burst out. "I saw Grievous, I know it was him! He stood on the bridge of some ship and pressed a button, and then Naboo just burst! It's gone!"

"Gone?" Master Mundi demanded. "That's impossible!"

But Yoda shook his head. He looked, Anakin thought distantly, very tired and very old.

"For such a disturbance," he murmured, "only the loss of an entire planet, can it be. Legends, there are, of machines capable of such destruction."

"Grievous must have one of them," Anakin said. "It's the only way he could destroy an entire planet so easily."

"May the Force have mercy on us," whispered Adi Gallia, "if Grievous has such power in his hands to use against the Republic."

The Jedi Council was, for a time, without words. No solutions were offered, no plans were made. Plo Koon said all that could be said when he said, quietly, "We trusted him." Anakin knew they were haunted, as he was still, by the voices in their heads, by the remnants of innocent lives taken for revenge.

"…something must be done," said Windu at last. "Anakin, if you're certain that this was done by Grievous—"

Anakin gave a jerky nod.

"—we must act quickly. The universe will look to the Jedi for answers to this…monstrous deed." Windu's calm seemed to rally the scattered thoughts of the other Council members, and wild Force signatures abated. Anakin glanced at the chronometer; seven and a half minute since the end of a world. "Someone must go to the Supreme Chancellor and tell her what we know.

"I'm certain he has demands of some sort. The Jedi will have no choice but to negotiate with him. Anakin, you have had more dealings than perhaps any of us with Grievous in the past, so you should lead that. Master Gallia, it might also be appropriate if you—"

"No."

The word was simply spoken. Windu broke off in mid-sentence and looked at him.

"No?" he repeated.

"I can't go," Anakin said. "I can't negotiate with him."

Windu sighed. "Anakin," he said, "I understand how you feel…"

"You don't know!" Anakin said loudly, almost shouting. "Force knows how many times you made me sit across the table from him when I knew how many innocents he'd killed, but I could bear it when everyone thought he'd changed—but not now. Not after this."

Their eyes met for a moment, millions of miles away; then Windu nodded shortly. Anakin could not tell if he was displeased, but Windu made no further argument. Feeling slightly embarrassed, Anakin sat back in his chair.

"I would suggest that you come back to Coruscant as soon as possible," Windu said. "Chancellor Amidala has been on a diplomatic mission to Kalarba for the past few days; I would advise that you stop by there on your way and explain to her what has happened and what steps the Jedi are taking."

"Of course," Anakin acquiesced.

They finished quickly after that. Windu would go to Grievous as soon as a location and demands were given—which no one doubted they soon would be—along with Masters Ti, Gallia and Koth. Ka'ela Brun, Siri Tachi and Aelir Thren were also mentioned, and Master Yoda determined to ask for their assistance within the hour. The remaining Council members would remain where they were, calming the Jedi population and ensuring that no panic ensued.

Rik was waiting in the next room when Anakin stood and left. Shali was beside him, but Anakin had no time for the idle words she wanted.

"Master, what's happened?' asked Rik. His face was pale.

"There's been an attack," Anakin replied shortly. He was running through a checklist in his head: no, there was nothing he needed to bring with him back to Coruscant, other than his lightsaber. Jedi did not travel with the few personal items they kept. "Grievous has destroyed a planet and I'm going back to Coruscant. You'll probably be called there soon, so be ready."

This was a very large amount of information to take in at once, but Rik only nodded, and did not ask questions. Anakin spared a split second to think that he was glad he had chosen Rik to be in charge.

"Watch the station," were Anakin's final words. He left abruptly, his cloak flapping behind him.

Kalarba was barely an hour's time from Tatooine.

Anakin landed in the Noble District, during Kalarba's evening hours, and had no trouble locating the Chancellor. The first person he met pointed him in the direction of the house in which she was staying: a delicate-looking place, all white stone and porticos and spirals. He climbed up the short flight of stairs and was immediately admitted by a man dressed in clothes obviously made of some rich material.

"I know why you're here, Master Jedi," the man said, a worried expression twisting his face, "and I thank you for it. We've been hearing the most terrible rumors, no way of knowing if they're true, and the Chancellor hasn't left her room in some time—"

"They are, I'm afraid," Anakin answered, "and I must speak with Her Excellency immediately."

"She seems … indisposed," the man answered hesitantly. "Perhaps it would be best to wait…"

Anakin shook his head. "It cannot wait," he said. "Please show me her room."

His boots sank into a sumptuous red carpet as he was led into the house. For whatever reason, the man seemed strangely unwilling to let Anakin see the Chancellor. But he led him to a thick wooden door, indicating that this was the place, and then left the Jedi alone.

Anakin knocked. There was no answer, no sound at all to indicate that any living being existed beyond that door, but he definitely sensed a presence within. Time was not something he could waste; he called through the door, "Chancellor Amidala? May I speak with you?"

There was a space of time in which he heard nothing. Then a very quiet voice from the other side said, "Come in."

Anakin pressed his hand to the doorpad and the door slid open at his touch, revealing a simply-furnished room, decorated in reds. A bed and a desk with a chair were the only pieces of furniture within it.

Amidala was sitting on the chair, her ornate white gown a stark contrast to the deep red of the carpet on which it dragged. Her elbows rested heavily upon the desk, and her long alabaster fingers covered her face. She made no sound; it was only when Anakin saw her shoulders heave that he realized with a start that she was crying.

Anakin had no idea of what to say. He could feel her pain as she sat there, visibly trembling with grief. Amidala turned her face to look at him, but made no attempt to compose herself. The hairstyle usually atop her head was missing; instead, her hair hung in a tangled dark mess down her back. Tears streaked their way down her face, smudging her elaborate makeup. She was the picture of a woman in agony.

"Chancellor," Anakin began, moving toward her, but without warning Amidala left her chair, grasping his hand tightly and falling to her knees before him.

"Tell me it isn't true!" she pleaded frantically. "Tell me, please, you must! I can believe you."

She looked up at him with eyes devoid of any pomp or pride or any of the expressions Anakin usually saw in them. There was only desperation, and hope so painful that Anakin felt a sudden, wild urge to lie to her, to tell her that all was well, and see her become human again.

His throat tightened, as did her fingers. Her lips made the word, Please.

"I am sorry, Chancellor," Anakin said, barely able to speak. Amidala's face broke, and he felt her hand go limp around his. She turned away from him, still on her knees, and Anakin almost expected her to faint.

"…my homeworld…" Anakin barely heard her say, though she was so close to him. "My home…"

A sob escaped her throat, and Anakin reached downward just in time to catch her falling to the floor. She felt so frail beneath his hands, as though he could snap her arm with just a touch.

With nothing else to do, Anakin lifted Amidala to her feet and…held her. It was all she seemed to want from him; she clung to him as though she were drowning, as though she were dying. Again the thought impressed Anakin: She is so young. But she was older than he was. Anakin felt such pity for her; if only he could remove some of the sorrow which burdened her.

But though the Force could dampen memories and make some experiences less difficult to bear, Anakin would not do her such a disservice now. Amidala deserved to mourn for all she had lost—for, Anakin thought, she had lost all that was most dear to her, and what remained now lay in a dangerously precarious state.

The Supreme Chancellor still huddled in his arms, crying, small and dark and lovely. Anakin let the Force guide his motions and flow through his words as he gently straightened her, tilting her chin so that her tear-stricken eyes met his.

He did not have to speak to make himself understood.

"I am—sorry," Amidala gasped faintly, hiccoughing. "S-sorry for showing…such emotion…such weakness." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and did not step back.

Anakin met her gaze. "It is only Jedi who cannot show their emotions," he told her. "You have lost more than I could ever imagine losing. Grief is not a sin, Chancellor."

Amidala nodded, and stepped out of his arms. She turned her back to him, but Anakin understood that this was not a rebuff. He continued to speak.

"It is my duty to remind you of yours," he said. "The galaxy is waiting to see what you will do in this crisis. I must implore you, for the sake of the Republic, to be strong." His voice grew softer. "Cry, by all means—but only in private."

She nodded once, her back still toward him. Anakin took this as a dismissal and turned to go.

"Thank you," she said suddenly, her voice a bit stronger, but vaguely uncertain. She seemed to have realized for the first time in what a compromising position Anakin had found her.

Anakin's lips did not move, but a smile touched his eyes. "Of course, Chancellor," he said, calm as ever, and shut the door behind him.