Chapter Seven
Dissonant Repose
Anakin's retreat from the cockpit and Obi-Wan's interrogative presence echoed dully through the corridors of the skiff.
He went the long way to the conference room, staring at his feet as the corridor looped around the cargo hold before reaching the main intersection at the center of the ship. He halted, dragging in deep breaths of filtered air as he struggled to suppress the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.Snatches of his tense conversation with his former Master floated above the steady rumble of the hyperdrive engine, ringing in his ears.
"…from this moment on, your wife and children will be fugitives from the Empire."
"…weigh the consequences of every decision…"
"…how much you value your family."
Anakin clenched a fist; his temper boiling to the surface as it had when Obi-Wan had first delivered that blatantly insightful remark.
The Jedi Master had no idea how deep Anakin's feelings were for his family. He valued them more than his loyalty, his integrity, his conscience, his honor…and his life.
His love for Padmé had kept him tethered to sanity while leading the raid on the Jedi Temple. He would go to the fringes of depravity and ruthlessness and throw himself into the black abyss for her.
And he had proved it.
Yet the currents of the Force had shifted, at his bidding, and altered the motion of the future.
He would probably never know if his choice to become a Sith would have saved his wife from death, and spared him the agony of existing while the knowledge that he had failed her tormented him until his last breath.
Now he was cut off from the Force, and he could not see the future even if he wished – but neither could he influence events as he desired. He was as powerless and as…ordinary as any man.
The thought was equally terrifying and liberating.
Anakin no longer possessed the ability to perceive the Force as threads of energy linking the universe together, or to take those threads and manipulate them at will. He could not peer into its mysteries for hidden truths to guide his choices or grant him a measure of wisdom.
His own voice, sharp and laced with anger, reverberated in his head with stunning clarity. "Are you saying that I'm not strong enough to protect them?"
"No, Anakin. You have more than enough strength. I'm saying that the safety of Padmé and your children depends greatly on your wisdom."
Anakin blinked, the nature of that observation washing over him like a wave of icy water, instantly cooling his unruly temper. In the span of a few hours, he had become the sole line of defense for the three dearest people in his life, and his one-time instructor had said that his wisdom governed their safety.
He was not wise – more often than not Anakin sought Padmé's counsel on nearly every issue. Or when they were apart he asked the advice of one of the Masters on the Jedi Council…and Chancellor Palpatine.
No, that was not entirely accurate.
When he could not ask Padmé, either because of distance or his own pride, Anakin simply reacted on whatever impulse he deemed correct – usually with disastrous results. He was not wise. He did not weigh his decisions. Reckless, headstrong, impulsive.
These descriptions had peppered Obi-Wan's lectures quite frequently.
The Council denied him the rank of Master because of his "obstinate and reckless behavior", though he never failed to accomplish a mission. He was christened the Chosen One and yet the leaders of the Order rarely sent him into battle without the tutelage and watchful eye of Obi-Wan.
The Masters were so concerned about preparing him to bring balance to the Force that they had not seen he was suffocating under their influence. They coached him to use the knowledge he had been given – but refused to allow circumstances to test that knowledge. Anakin had known the reason from the moment he had set foot in the Jedi Temple.
They were all afraid.
As a ten year-old apprentice, Anakin could use the Force in ways that some Padawans had yet to learn. He had been incredibly lonely during his training with the other children at the Temple.
Some treated him like a god sent to walk among them, with a mixture of awe and fear, not daring to approach…though they stared with wide eyes constantly. The other students reacted with scorn and jealousy, thinking him an outcast because he had not been raised by the Jedi, and watched him surpass his classmates with ill-concealed prejudice. The experience merely served to solidify the philosophy that Anakin learned to live by as a slave on Tatooine: Power is granted to the strong. The strong have the control.
How he wanted to wipe the phrase from his mind.
It had taught him to be hard, to be the best, to remain set apart from other Jedi and gain respect.
Then one day Obi-Wan came to collect him.
As a newly named Knight, Obi-Wan became an odd combination of teacher and comrade.
Typically, their time together had allowed each to serve as master and pupil, untangling the knots of their destinies while building a relationship that some Masters worried was bordering on attachment.
And now that relationship may be irrevocably damaged.
Before Anakin lost himself once again in the angst of his betrayals, a voice came wafting out of the conference room not more than ten feet away. Prim, cultured, and perhaps a trifle fussy, the words of C-3PO filled Anakin's ears.
"…so glad that we left that dreadful place, Miss Padmé. Although I do wish it had not been so rushed – my circuits are still trying to wind down."
"You did a wonderful job, Threepio."
The warm response made the corners of Anakin's mouth lift slightly, and he took a few silent steps closer to the entryway, content to eavesdrop on his wife and the droid he had built as a child.
"Oh! Well, I…" Clearly flustered by Padmé's compliment, Threepio recovered his composure, saying, "I was simply following my programming, Miss Padmé." The protocol droid's tone became hesitant. "Are you…certain that there is nothing I can get for you, my lady?"
Anakin heard the smile in Padmé's voice as she replied, "I'm fine, Threepio – truly. Anakin just asked me to wait here until we are well underway."
"Very well, Miss Padmé." The droid did not sound entirely convinced – or perhaps he was searching for something to do.
"If you would like, Threepio, you could take my bag to the master suite and unpack." The words were light and noncommittal, subtly appealing to the droid's core programming.
C-3PO's response was exuberant. "Of course, Miss Padmé!" The servomotors in his legs whirred to life, and shuffling footsteps drew nearer to Anakin's unseen location. He ducked out of sight around a power conduit, watching the golden droid totter down the hall, a black satchel dangling from his stiff arms.
His mouth tipped into a lopsided grin. Since he had presented Threepio as a gift to his new bride shortly after their wedding, Anakin had spent scattered moments of spare time at home tinkering with the droid's behavioral subroutines. He made miniscule adjustments here and there, improving the droid's relational modifiers and giving him a personality that could withstand the test of time. When the loneliness of being without his wife bore down upon him like a crushing weight on his chest, it was a small comfort knowing that Threepio was her constant shadow, and a reminder of the boy from Tatooine that had promised to marry her. Heart lifted slightly from the mire of self-abasement, Anakin slid out of his hiding spot and strode confidently to the threshold of the conference room.
Padmé was seated in the chair he had placed her in, a thick coverlet of creamy-yellow draped around her shoulders. Her dark hair had dried haphazardly into a riot of tangled curls, and she was fiddling with something around her neck, oblivious to his entrance. Anakin inched closer, not wanting to startle her, narrowing his eyes to make out what she had in her hands. It was a carved piece of wood, dangling from a silver chain, its surface sanded smooth and symbols etched on each side. He recalled vividly sitting at the workbench in his room all night, shaping the japor snippet until it was perfect – perfect enough for Padmé.
He could still see her young face, brown eyes widened by surprise as he held out his gift.
"It's beautiful. But I don't need this to remember you by."
Anakin felt a flood of emotions swell in his throat as he studied her lowered head, and he knew that he would spend the rest of his life striving to be worthy of this woman. He stepped over to her chair, scuffing his soles on the floor so she would hear his approach.
Padmé glanced up quickly, the japor snippet falling from her fingertips into the folds of the coverlet, and her pale, tired face lit up with a bright smile. "Ani," she said happily. He bent over and laid a gentle kiss on her forehead, and then crouched down beside her chair, looking up at her with piercing blue eyes that begged to please.
She brushed the tousled locks from his forehead, her soft fingers lingering on his cheek, and Anakin fought to remember what he had come in here to tell her. All he was aware of was Padmé, and the way her eyes sparkled with fragments of starlight, illuminating the irises until he became lost in their depths.
Her hand returned to her lap, and Anakin mentally shook himself. He would not be able to protect his family if he kept acting like a lovesick bantha. Quietly, he announced, "We're heading for an asteroid mining colony on the Outer Rim called Polis Massa." Padmé's expression flashed with uncertainty, but Anakin continued, "Obi-Wan knows the administrator of the MedCenter there. We'll be safe."
He was not sure if he added that for her benefit or his.
Padmé nodded serenely, but a trickle of moisture escaped from the corner of her eye. She swiped hurriedly at her face, swallowing the tears burning the back of her throat, hoping that Anakin hadn't noticed. She glanced sideways at her young husband, and her heart plummeted when she saw that his handsome face was a study of misery. Two large hands reached out to frame her cheeks, and tenderly his thumb brushed the stray tear away. "Please don't cry," he said hoarsely.
She nodded, her lips quivering as she whispered tremulously, "I'm so scared, Ani. I'm so scared for the twins. What if something happened to our babies…? What if…?" The words disappeared into a stifled sob, and Anakin heard his heart crack as Padmé averted her gaze, vainly attempting to remain calm.
He swallowed hard, eyes stinging as silent drops of saltwater escaped from beneath Padmé's thick black lashes. It seems all he ever did lately was make her cry. Her sadness turned into a physical ache in his breast – a wound that bled out all of his strength. He had to fix this. She only deserved happiness. Wordlessly, he unbuckled her crash restraints and helped her to her feet. She wavered for a moment, unsure of her footing, her surroundings blurred by unshed tears and fatigue. Then a pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around her, lifting her off of weakened legs and cradling her against the broad expanse of her husband's chest. Padmé let out a small, hiccupping sigh, and Anakin held her closer, pressing her body firmly into his until she felt the wild emotions rampaging through her begin to subside.
His footsteps rang throughout the skiff's corridors, and Padmé tucked her head under his chin, one slender hand splayed over her belly. Anakin carried her into the master suite, dismissing C-3PO with a single nod before closing the door and dimming the cabin lights until everything was bathed in a soft golden glow.
He laid her gently on the bed, the downy mattress cushioning Padmé's exhausted form, the satin softness of a pillow caressing her cheek. The fabric shifted as Anakin stretched out behind her, pulling a quilt over them, and drew her close, their bodies nestled together like spoons. She felt his lips against her ear as he murmured, "Everything will be all right, Padmé. I promise." His breath warmed her cheek and tickled the tiny hairs on her temple. She felt completely drained, like a water bucket with a hole in the bottom. The razor-sharp edge of her anxiety was dulled by Anakin's tender comfort, but it did not vanish.
It lurked in the dark corners of her mind, feeding on her still-burning fear of an unfathomable future.
But while she was tucked securely in her Jedi's embrace, soaring far away from the malevolence that blanketed the capital, Padmé's eyelids grew heavy, coaxing her into blissful rest.
Anakin sensed his wife's tense muscles loosen, and her breathing deepened. She was so tired, and still hurting from that blaster injury, but she would never let any weakness deter her in a crisis. He knew that her self-control had reached its limit when tears had spilled down her face. She rarely cried in front of him; he suspected that the reason was to spare him the agony of witnessing her sorrow. Anakin's eyes fell as he listened to her breathe. She was strong – so much stronger than him, and it had nothing to do with the Force or any other cosmic power. The strength came from inside her. Padmé possessed an indomitable spirit and an iron will, as well as an abundance of compassion and morality.
She would never fall to the dark side.
In the space of one shuddering breath, Anakin realized that if he stayed in the darkness, he would lose her. He supposed that knowledge had come upon him earlier, when the terror in Padmé's gaze stemmed from his approach – but he had refused to think of it. He had already made too many mistakes.
His thoughts drifted to the source of Padmé's worry – their tiny hopes cocooned inside her. His palm trailed down her forearm and curled around the bulge, feeling the warmth there.
"This is a happy moment. The happiest moment of my life."
He had meant every word. To be a father was a blessing that no Jedi ever dreamed of hoping for, and Anakin counted himself as the most fortunate man in the universe by receiving Padmé's love and the indescribable gift of seeing himself represented among future generations. If anything had happened to them… He squelched the bitter thought. The skiff would arrive at Polis Massa in twelve standard hours, and everything would be all right. He rubbed his hand gently over Padmé's stomach, and in her sleep, her palm slid over his, covering the swelling with their intertwining fingers.
Anakin smiled drowsily into the dark curls of her hair, brushing his lips over her cheek, and whispered, "I love you." He floated into the soothing blankness of sleep, unafraid – perhaps for the first time in his life – that nightmares would torment his unconscious mind. He no longer dreaded the night.
The barest of movements, like the tentative beating of a butterfly's wings, stirred under the slumbering couple's fingertips, but the encompassing embrace of weariness kept them unaware.
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He had been staring at the same exact spot on the wall for over an hour.
Obi-Wan rubbed the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes closed as flashes of color burst behind his eyelids. Blinking the cockpit into focus, his gaze flitted over to the navicomputer and R2-D2, who was still resolutely monitoring the skiff's course. The little droid's optical receptor rotated and burbled a query.
Obi-Wan read the translation on the console – he never could understand droids the way Anakin did – and replied, "No, that's quite all right, Artoo. I have complete confidence in your navigational skills." He slowly stood, feeling every bruise, and his expression twisted into a painful grimace. Single-mindedness had diverted his attention from his injuries, but now that this particular crisis was over, he required treatment. Normally, the Jedi Master would sink into a meditation trance and allow the Force to heal his body, but…well.
He supposed a trip to the medicinal supply container was in order.
Obi-Wan limped to the cockpit doorway, and Artoo whistled after him. He waved a hand over his shoulder absently, scouring his memory for the layout of this craft. The constant thrum of the engines filled each chamber and hall, and he walked through the corridors cautiously. His body ached, but that was only part of the reason for his watchfulness. The vacant passageways served as a physical manifestation of the hollowness he felt in the caverns of his heart.
Obi-Wan was alone – body and soul – for the first time in his life.
The Force had eluded him, and the connection may never be restored. His family, the Jedi Order, was being hunted down and exterminated by a Sith Lord who had dominion over the galaxy. And Anakin…his Padawan, his friend, his brother…he did not even know him anymore. Hopelessness was all-too-familiar territory for Obi-Wan Kenobi. He pitied the common folk of the universe – the everyday beings that trudged throughout their lives as empty shells, oblivious to the currents surrounding and connecting them.
He chuckled – a puff of breath – at the irony. The great General Kenobi, the Negotiator, victor over General Grievous, and member of the Jedi Council…now counted among the "common folk."
Obi-Wan passed a storage room with a few canisters stacked in a corner, and backpedaled to investigate. Opening the nearest one, he fished out a handful of healing patches and a few pain pills.
He briefly considered removing his tunic to apply a patch to a particularly sore spot on his torso, but decided instead to find sleeping quarters. Gathering the supplies in his arms, Obi-Wan started off down the left hallway, noting the slight limp on his right leg. Then he passed the only closed portal he had seen on the skiff and paused, staring at the doorway with an indefinable expression.
"I'm going to take Padmé to the master suite so she can rest."
He sighed heavily, turning his gaze from the portal. He had already made his peace with his mistakes, but that did not make them any easier to bear. Two doors past the master suite Obi-Wan found a room outfitted with a cluster of bunks – crew quarters, no doubt.
He deposited the medical supplies on the lower bunk near the threshold, and peered over his shoulder. At this angle, he had a clear view of the master suite door. It gnawed at his conscience to spy on the young couple, and the Jedi Master resolved to close the door so that he would not dwell on the unknowns. He raised a hand to gesture – and halted in mid-wave, feeling utterly foolish. Obi-Wan pressed a button on the control panel inset on the wall, eyes fixed on that far door as it disappeared from view.
He shed his burnt and torn tunic, pulled off his boots, and padded barefoot to the utilitarian refresher unit, clutching some healing patches in a fist. The reflection in the mirror made him pause.
Obi-Wan saw a middle-aged man that seemed to have grown old overnight. Deep, shadowed circles hung under his blue-grey eyes, and the expression of sorrowful defeat in those eyes caused him to look away, redirecting his gaze to his injuries. There was a large, mottled bruise on his left side, above the ribcage.
He massaged his fingertips over it timidly, hissing at the sharp jab of pain, and promptly covered the mark with a kolto patch.
Turning sideways, Obi-Wan caught sight of a long, raised burn on his right arm, curving around the bicep. Slapping on another patch, he activated the water pump in the small sink. Tossing a pill into his mouth, he cupped water in a palm and swallowed. The liquid tasted faintly metallic from recycling through the skiff's replenishing systems.
Ignoring the broken man in the mirror, Obi-Wan settled onto the bunk, his leg twinging, but that wound would have to be treated at the MedCenter on Polis Massa. The mattress was surprisingly comfortable for a crewman's bunk, but Naboo was financially stable and Padmé had always been generous to those in her service. Though it most likely would not help, he closed his eyes and began concentrating on his breathing, beginning the initial phase of a meditation trance.
In…out…in…out…
He sank deep inside himself, dredging up the embittered questions and erratic feelings that he had shoved into the dark places of his mind in order to concentrate on the present moment. He did not want to confront them – the wounds that those experiences had inflicted were still raw and bleeding. But Obi-Wan knew that if such memories were ignored, they would cause far more damage.
He let the most heartbreaking subject rise to the surface.
"I cannot kill Anakin. He is like my brother. I cannot do it."
He had pleaded with a desperation beyond anything he had faced in the past, and Yoda had only looked at him with sad eyes, waiting for him to accept.
Accept. It was a simple word, and one that every Jedi learned to practice at an early age.
It never got any easier.
In…out…in…out…
Through the indigo haze of their crossed blades, Obi-Wan had forced himself to see the black shadows hidden behind Anakin's well-known face. He had dismissed the anguish that weighed like heavy stones in his chest as he searched for an opening to strike down his best friend. And the question arose.
Would he have done it?
Would he have killed Anakin?
No.
The answer carried both relief and sadness. While staying his hand may have allowed Anakin to find redemption, it also meant that Obi-Wan had failed in his duty, and as a Master. He could not accept the death of his old Padawan – no matter what he had done.
Obi-Wan was as much at fault as Anakin, for they had both broken the Jedi Code.
Attachment is forbidden.
He was no longer certain if he believed that tenet. Obi-Wan had witnessed firsthand how Anakin's attachment to Padmé had driven him to the seductive embrace of the dark side – but he had also seen how Padmé's attachment to Anakin had transformed into a lifeline, pulling the young man from the shadows and back into the light. Perhaps attachment was not the dangerous emotion the Jedi Council perceived it to be.
Obi-Wan released his speculations into the ether and called upon another.
"You have been blinded for a long time, Anakin. Open your eyes."
The profound sense of failure that had tormented the Jedi Master since learning of Anakin's conversion was rooted in time.
Many Council members, even Obi-Wan himself, had reservations about his Padawan conversing so often with the Supreme Chancellor. At first, Obi-Wan had seen it as a blessing. The boy had lost his mother and many things he had held dear, and Obi-Wan heard of his alienation from the other pupils within the Temple. Another role model from a different walk of life would assist Anakin on the path to his destiny and keep the galaxy in perspective.
In…out…in…out…
They had all been deceived.
Anakin began spouting phrases of the Chancellor as though they were great pearls of wisdom, and the young man sought his advice on nearly every issue. When the war intensified, Chancellor Palpatine subtly prodded the Council to assign Anakin to the most critical missions, solidifying his arguments with hints that the Jedi considered their "Chosen One" to be unprepared for what awaited him.
And the Council gave in to the Chancellor's suggestions, again and again. Anakin gained the moniker "The Hero With No Fear", which he wore with pride, and the citizens of the Republic recognized his face in all corners of the galaxy, certain that the intense Jedi Knight would save them.
The plan was ingenious.
Free of the murky cloud of the dark side that had permeated the Force for decades, Obi-Wan's blinded eyes were opened to the concealed devices of the Sith. The Jedi had willingly surrendered the pliable mind of the Chosen One to the Chancellor, and Palpatine had acted upon their error eagerly, feeding Anakin's arrogance and notions of glory with cunning. During Anakin's training, he guaranteed his position as the young Jedi's counselor and friend, patiently awaiting the moment when that loyalty would be put to the ultimate test.
Palpatine's near-obsessive interest in Anakin, the instances during the war when the light and the dark appeared to battle for control over Anakin's psyche, and his extraordinary strength in the Force finally wove together to form the answer Obi-Wan had needed since the day he made a promise to his Master.
Was Anakin the Chosen One of the prophecy?
Yes.
Obi-Wan did not truly understand the implications of the prophecy. Bringing balance to the Force was an ambiguous task, to say the least. Whatever it entailed, he was convinced that Anakin would succeed.
The young man burned with power; sometimes it seemed as if his skin was the only thing containing the Force energy fused in every cell of his body. Yet, the Council had agreed to Qui-Gon's last request and given Anakin to a newly titled Knight for training.
Obi-Wan wanted to believe that it had been an act of trust, and maybe it had been to some – but he wondered why one of the Masters on the Council did not offer to guide the boy instead. And then he remembered what Yoda had told him he sensed in the future.
"The Chosen One the boy may be. Nevertheless, grave danger I sense in his training."
Indeed, the danger had already swept over the galaxy. The dark side had smothered Anakin like a shroud, influencing his thinking and coercing him into deeds of unspeakable malice. Perhaps being the Chosen One did not limit itself to the realms of extremes – light or dark, good or evil, savior or tyrant. Perhaps the Chosen One is destined to tread the precarious edge between all things – to become all things in order to achieve balance.
And Obi-Wan realized that Anakin would need his friendship now more than ever.
He did not wish to condemn Anakin; his mistakes, though misguided and catastrophic, were all too human. Astonishing power, a weighted destiny, and an unusual birth did not change the fact that Anakin Skywalker was just a man – a young man who had followed his heart and bartered his soul in an effort to save the woman he loved. Anakin must find his own internal balance before setting out to face his destiny.
A swirling myriad of questions consumed Obi-Wan's thoughts, but he put them firmly aside, refocusing on the soft inhale and exhale of his lungs.
In…out…in…out…
He began emptying his mind of all thought, and tried to expand his awareness outward – a rudimentary skill for the youngest of the Jedi Order. There was nothing. Obi-Wan heard his heartbeat thudding dully in his ears, his chest rising and falling as he breathed, but he felt trapped within his own flesh.
Frustrated, Obi-Wan pushed his perception as far as he could, extending tendrils of thought into a void that had once teemed with life. Beads of sweat rolled down his wrinkled brow as he fumbled blindly in the darkness for the slightest trace of the Force.
A sudden glimmer flashed at the fringes of his vision, darting away from his mental touch, and Obi-Wan felt an unexpected rush of hope. He was not dead to the Force – the connection had been severely attacked, but it could be mended. He fought for tranquility, quieting his thoughts, and the tiny glimmer returned.
Keeping to the far reaches of Obi-Wan's consciousness, this wisp of Force energy appeared drawn to the Jedi Master. He found it almost impossible to interpret the motivation of whoever or whatever was generating the spark of awareness. It sounded like a voice, and yet not a voice, and there were no completely formed thoughts – only strains of vague emotions. It was as if the Force Sensitive mind trying to communicate was not fully…
It can't be.
The shock jolted Obi-Wan out of his inner self, and his brief contact with the Force evaporated.
He wiped his brow with a sleeve, and he felt winded, like he had run a great distance. Inwardly, he was reeling from a supposition that was too fantastic to be real. But there was no other explanation.
The glimmer that had awakened as Obi-Wan labored to rejoin the Force was the untrained mind of one
of Padmé's twins. It had sought him out in the vacuum, most likely because the little one did not sense their father. The idea that an unborn child of Anakin Skywalker possessed enough Force sensitivity to reach into the universe raised mingled feelings of optimism and uncertainty in Obi-Wan's heart.
But he would be glad to report to Padmé that the babies were unharmed.
The Jedi Master lay back wearily, descending into a contented sleep, musing inwardly at how much that small mind reminded him of Anakin.
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Commander Cody was a soldier.
It was what he had been created to do, and he made certain that he did his job better than any other clone in the Grand Army of the Republic. I suppose it's the Empire now, Cody reflected blandly. Not that it mattered much to him – or any of the troopers in his squadron. The Emperor had issued a direct order, and, unlike his botched assignment on Utapau, Cody would not fail this time.
Failure was a sign of weakness in a leader.
And he was human enough to feel the icy touch of dread at reporting another failure to Sidious.
The gunship swung in a final arc around Five Hundred Republica, and Cody leaned with the inertia, peering out into the rainstorm.
The thermal sensors built into his helmet were having a difficult time reading anything in the dense, swirling fog.
It made him wary.
He had listened stoically to the debriefings of various ARC troopers stationed all around the Rim, and heard them boast that the Jedi had been completely blindsided. 'Like shooting nunas in a barrel,' one of them had said smugly. Frankly, Cody preferred more of a challenge. It struck him as a bit odd that sheer numbers had overwhelmed the Jedi so easily. Commander Bacara, serving on the frozen world of Mygeeto, implied that the element of surprise had been key in defeating Master Ki-Adi-Mundi. But that in and of itself seemed unusual to Cody. Jedi always seemed to know what was around the next bend. He had seen Kenobi preempt a droid ambush and save hundreds of troopers' lives by "sensing" the attack. And he had watched Skywalker, with a strange gleam in his eye, point at an ostensibly empty space on the battlefield and map out targets that only he could see.
The Emperor had informed Cody that Skywalker – or Vader, as he called him – was an ally and therefore exempt from Order 66, which made Cody's task a little more straightforward.
Alone, Kenobi would prove to be a challenge, but Cody understood many of his tactics. It was one of the reasons they worked so well together during the war. When Skywalker joined Kenobi, however…the entire battle would change. In all of his observations, Cody had never witnessed a fight that pair of Jedi could not win. They were the perfect compliment to one another – from a soldier's point of view – and together they formed a single entity that laid waste to any in their path.
Truthfully, he hoped that Skywalker had worn Kenobi down before the younger man had fallen.
His pilot announced that a landing area had been sighted, and Cody braced his armored legs for the descent. He was unsure what role the Senator of Naboo had in this escapade, but he did not question orders. It was not in his nature. Lord Sidious demanded that she be brought to him alive and unharmed, and Cody would do so. He had run a dozen scenarios in his head regarding Kenobi's capture, but none of them seemed practical. He decided to tell the squadron to simply shoot the Jedi on sight.
Cody suspected that Kenobi would simply bat the laser bolts aside with his lightsaber, but still…
The gunship slowed and was brought to hover above a ruined stone veranda. Cody used hand signals to deploy his squadron, and the troopers disembarked one at a time, fanning out around the area.
After notifying the pilot to maintain altitude five meters above the building to watch for any escaping aircraft, Cody swung off the gunship, a DC-17 rifle held self-assuredly at his side.
The gunship rose into the rain-soaked sky, and Cody glimpsed a flash of silver through the thickening clouds. "Man down!" A trooper yelled from the far left, and Cody's head whipped around, half-expecting to see a blue bar of light cut through the fog. The trooper knelt beside the body of a fellow clone, the helmet nowhere to be seen, and laid two fingers under his jaw. "Dead, sir," he reported grimly.
Cody stepped forward to examine the body when he suddenly remembered that metallic glimmer he had spotted within the storm clouds. He immediately looked to the northeast, but there was nothing but rain and grey mists. He activated his wrist comlink and said, "Pilot, are you detecting any transponder readings in the vicinity?"
"Negative, Commander," the pilot's response came back, crackling with static.
Cody pondered a moment in silence. He could send the gunship northeast to track whatever he had seen, but there were too many "ifs" in that course of action. Besides, if the squadron did come in contact with the Jedi Master, he would need to be able to call in reinforcements.
"Sir?"
Cody cut off his comlink and glanced at the approaching trooper. "What is it, Captain?"
"We found more bodies, sir." He gestured to the right, at two other troopers carrying a body to place next to the dead squad leader. "So far we've counted six."
"Now we know what happened to that missing squadron," Cody remarked stiffly.
"We also found this." The captain held out a black and silver cylindrical object. Cody stared at it a moment in silence, and then extended his palm. The captain slapped it into his padded glove as if frightened that the weapon would magically come to life and slice him in half.
Cody spoke sharply, "Once you have finished your sweep of the veranda, take the squadron inside and search the apartment. Use the utmost caution, Captain. Dismissed." The captain saluted briskly, and spun on heel, striding across the rubble toward the faint outline of pillars emerging from the fog.
With a guarded downward glance, Cody studied the Jedi lightsaber in his hand.
He had seen dozens of these weapons during his service in the Clone Wars, and no two lightsabers were alike. The Jedi said that a lightsaber was an extension of the body, and was as unique as the individual that wielded it. This one was sleek and elegant in its simplicity, with contrasting elements of matte black and gleaming silver. A wide grip encircled the casing, and the slightly sloped emitter allowed for precise control of the blade, which Cody knew for certain to be a fierce blue-white. His thumb passed hesitantly over the activator stud, lost in thought.
This was Anakin Skywalker's lightsaber – he would stake his life on it.
The Emperor had stated that he was dead, but Cody's squad had located only six bodies. Deeply troubled, Cody made his way over to the medic, who was efficiently inspecting the corpses for cause of death.
"Only these six, then?" he asked brusquely.
"As far as we know, sir," the medic answered without pausing from his examination.
"Have you determined the cause of death?" Cody peered sidelong at the nearest clone, his confusion mounting when he saw no gashes on the trooper's body.
"There are no signs of physical trauma, other than the traces of blood on the ears and nostrils. My hypothesis is that the cause of death was psychological, sir, resulting in some type of brain aneurism. It also appears that all six members of the squadron were killed by the same assailant at the same time."
A cold shiver of apprehension wormed its way into Cody's gut. "The same time?"
The medic finally looked up at him, his bare face showing a hint of worry, and replied, "Yes, sir. By my estimations, TOD for all six is only microseconds apart."
As the rain drummed steadily on his helmet, Cody turned aside from the dead and stared unseeingly at horizon, fingering the lightsaber resting in his fist. In his reasoning, psychological damage to a being's mind equaled the Force. And the explosion that had rocked the capital and sent battalions of soldiers among the populace to restore order had unknown origins. Cody's eyes darted to the crumbling veranda beneath his feet. There were oddly spherical ruptures in the stone, almost like ripples in a pond. Cody noticed that they spread in ever-widening arcs from a point near the building. He followed the wrinkles to an untouched section of the veranda, where the destruction appeared to spread out in all directions, like the epicenter of an earthquake.
He knelt and scrutinized the intact marble with increasing concern. This investigation was beyond his scope. Whatever had caused the widespread devastation of Galactic City may have been the same thing that had killed those clones, and perhaps Skywalker as well.
But Cody had never seen a Jedi use his or her power in a deliberate act of obliteration, so Kenobi could not have done this…or so he speculated.
Cody suddenly found himself wishing that the Jedi was not here.
His communicator hissed. "Commander Cody," a tinny voice issued from the device.
Cody checked the frequency before replying – even he could not tell one clone from another just by voice alone. "Report, Sergeant."
"We've swept the residence, sir – no life signs." Cody exhaled quietly, unaware that he had been holding his breath. The sergeant continued, "There is evidence of recent activity but no indication of forced entry or violence within the apartment."
"Did you find Skywalker's body?"
There was a brief second of silence. "No, sir," he replied. "But we did find something that you should come and see."
Cody signed off and began walking toward the massive winged statues hovering outside the apartment, hooking the discarded lightsaber on his ammo belt. He pulled off his helmet in the darkened interior, the Jedi weapon thumping softly against his white body armor.
A trooper signaled him from a smaller room near the turbolift access. Cody crossed the threshold as the sergeant looked up from a scanner that he held poised over a large piece of material lying on the plush carpeted floor. "Here, sir," the sergeant gestured at the readout on the scanner, tilting the screen so that Cody could see the data. "There's blood on this blanket."
Cody blinked, startled. He bent down for a closer look, and found the scant droplets of crimson on the velvety coverlet. "Can you determine whose blood this is?"
The sergeant shook his head. "This scanner has limited capabilities, sir. It will have to be taken to a lab for full analysis. The only thing I can tell you with some certainty is that the blood came from two individuals, and judging from the chromosome total of a sample, one is a human male."
"Very good, Sergeant," Cody nodded in approval. "Get that to a MedLab right away, and have them test the male sample for a midichlorian count."
If the sergeant was curious about his orders, he didn't show it, but his tone altered subtly as he answered, "Yes, sir." He saluted Cody, and then called over two troopers to assist him in packaging the blanket in preparation for travel through the curtains of rain.
Cody watched them for a few minutes, tucking his helmet under an arm while he wandered idly throughout the Senator's home.
As an ARC trooper, Cody was an uncomplicated man – give him a mission, and he would carry it out, as simple as that. What he had thought would be a clear-cut excursion had morphed into a twisted tangle of mystery and intrigue with no beginning or end in sight.
Cody had more questions now than answers, and he doubted that some even had a logical explanation.
The only assurance Commander Cody held in his perplexed brain was that the galaxy had become a far more complicated place.
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Senator Amidala's skiff dropped out of lightspeed at approximately 4.2 standard hours of travel, precisely when Artoo had programmed the navicomputer to disengage. The reliable little astromech had coordinated 5 small jumps as Master Anakin had ordered, even though Threepio had insisted that the ship keep going for the sake of the Senator's health. Artoo was inclined to agree, but his careful observations of the humans indicated that Master Anakin considered Miss Padmé's well-being the highest priority.
Artoo's optical processors analyzed the imagery outside the cockpit viewport. Three parsecs from the prow of the skiff – as Master Anakin had asked – the small planetoid of Polis Massa hung suspended in orbit while a tumbling ring of asteroids endlessly circled its gravity well.
The droid's blue and white body swiveled one hundred and eighty degrees, and Artoo started the servomotors controlling the wheels that gave him mobility. Whistling at Threepio to stay in the cockpit on watch, Artoo rolled down the ship's main corridor toward the master suite.
They had arrived.