Chapter 9

Anakin woke up in a rather unpleasant manner. Strapped to a metalloid pallet, unable to move, hot white pain coming from somewhere he couldn't determine, coursing through his whole body. All he could see was white light and, unable to think, he couldn't so much as hold back a scream.

Just when he thought it wasn't going to end, it did. Partially. He still had light in his face and a sore spot on his neck that burned as if it were infected. Apparently that had been the source of the initial pain. He gasped for breath, willing his mind to focus now that it was over. And he felt like he was going to be sick.

He'd been tortured before. But this was different. Nobody knew where he was this time. HE didn't even know where he was. He should've woken Padmé before he left…

A whining sound came from behind him as some hydraulic equipment was moved, retracted from him. Anakin squinted, trying to make out anything beyond the light in his face, but it was impossible, so he attempted to reach out with the Force. What he felt made him instantly retract in revulsion.

Darkness choked the area around him, something evil and unknown. Only a tiny bubble around him was safe, and even through that, sustained by his own existence, was being crowded and choked by the black power all around.

Something scratched the table on his right, just under his arm. Startled, he whipped his head around, trying to see what it was.

A long, dirty fingernail came into view, and then three more. Anakin racked his pained head as to where he'd seen those before. Then the face appeared before his eyes, looking down at him with disgust visible behind the thick hair. The Jimone. Firor, from Palpatine's lab.

Anakin struggled to clear his throat. He had to step out—say something. "I knew it was you," he pretended, his voice coming out all gravelly.

Firor smirked, giving him an 'unintentional' smack to the face as he reached up to tangle with some wires attached to the pallet he was strapped to. Anakin fought back anger. Who did this creature think he was? And to think he was supposed to work for Palpatine! What on earth was going on?

"And how was your experience, Anakin?"

His heart caught in his throat. That was a familiar voice. Not a familiar tone, however.

"Palpatine, what is going on?" he growled at the man through grit teeth.

"A very grave matter, Anakin; I'm afraid a matter which deserves both of our full attention."

Anakin squinted through the light, but it was simply too bright for his eyes to adjust to it. He couldn't see Palpatine at all.

"Oh, do turn off that hideous light, Firor," Palpatine's voice spoke again, as if he'd just thought of it. If Anakin hadn't been squinting he would've rolled his eyes. The light shut off with a bang and he blinked for twenty seconds or so before he could see anything.

"Undo the bonds as well!" Palpatine's voice exclaimed impatiently. "The man may start to think you tied him up purposely!"

"Huh?" He felt the bonds that secured him to the pallet unlatch, and, hesitantly, he brought himself to sit up and take a look around. To his surprise, they were back in the same laboratory Palpatine had taken him into the day before. The man himself was standing a few meters away, calmly looking on.

Anakin forced himself to stay relatively calm. "What," he repeated, though he felt his voice starting to get louder, "is going on?!"

Palpatine held up his hands in defense. "You don't have to be upset with me, my boy; I was only doing what I thought best in the trying circumstances."

"What, torturing me?" Anakin exploded, not sure if he should try to get to his feet just yet. He swung his legs over the side of the pallet, aching all over his body.

"Certainly not!" Palpatine exclaimed, shocked. "Firor, bring me the bottle—it was only this, Anakin," he held up the same bottle of gold-colored liquid he'd seen yesterday. The cure for Durrown poison. "We injected you with the first dose of it while you were asleep—I do apologize for not giving you an advance warning."

"You forget why I was asleep," Anakin narrowed his eyes at him. "Your guards, I'm assuming, were the ones to knock me unconscious last night. And it was—" he reached up, remembering something slicing into his skin, and touched the right of his forehead where it stung from a deep gash, which had apparently been bandaged while he was out.

Palpatine frowned. "You had broken into my office," he reminded him. "Which is perfectly excusable, but you understand my guards deemed the situation much more seriously. I do apologize, but frankly it was your own—"

"You had Sith artifacts in your desk!" Anakin exclaimed. "Tell me, Palpatine, were those yours?" It was the first time he could recall addressing the Chancellor by his first name alone. This time he was pleading with him, a friend to a friend, praying so hard he'd been wrong in his judgment of him.

Palpatine's face changed for a moment, as he carefully considered what to say next. Anakin waited, then decided to stand up. His legs wobbled and he went a successful couple of steps away from the pallet, but then his stomach suddenly turned and he bent over double.

Seeing it, Palpatine hurriedly snapped out of his reverie and grabbed a bucket sitting mysteriously close by for him just before he got sick.

Gasping for breath, he stood up slowly and Palpatine steadied him, which he was grateful for. He felt such mixed and confusing emotions looking at his old friend's face. Was the Chancellor from Naboo his friend or his enemy? There was no telling with him anymore, just as there was no telling with so many others he and Padmé had known before the war had gotten so enormous. He certainly no longer felt threatened by the man. But something about the Sith book still made him wary. He'd been through betrayals before—many of them.

"Listen, my boy," Palpatine said slowly, honestly. Anakin leaned back against the pallet to listen. "The war has changed so much. It has changed people so much—you and I included, you know that. I am not looking into—" he looked uncomfortable for a moment; so much that Anakin couldn't help but believe him. "—evil. I am looking into—alternative ideas—that can help shed some light on the spirituality of living beings.

"You are the one who got me interested, you know. Perhaps, being a Jedi, you've never looked into the Sith teaching, but as a scholar I cannot help but feel that if we are to accurately determine our beliefs on the Ultimate Power, ourselves, our loved ones, and others as well, then we must examine every side of the equation. Just because the Jedi have said one thing to be evil does not necessarily make it so. Do you understand?"

Anakin nodded slowly. At least the Chancellor was trying to explain himself slowly, instead of at the breakneck pace he'd tried to keep up with yesterday.

A sad look crossed Palpatine's eyes as he finished his explanation. "I was once well-known as a proponent of the Jedi," he remembered. "Now they mistrust me enough that I fear they will use your position as my representative to ask you to spy on me. And who can blame them?" he shook his head. "I trust them no more than they do me!" His gaze as he looked up at Anakin was penetrating. "How can I trust an organization that claims to be dedicated to my own religion, yet confuses millions by changing its basic document countless times?"

Anakin felt the same grief. He knew there was much that the public now missed out on and was confused by. He was one of those millions, when he was younger and now still, even after all his studies on the Jedi Code.

"I know you may still be abhorrent of this," the Chancellor smiled slightly, taking a book from his robe, "but as a fellow scholar—don't smile like that, Anakin, it's true!—won't you take another look at the Sith writings, if only to tell me what you think. It will be worth your time, I promise."

Warily, Anakin took the book he'd found in Palpatine's desk that night and reluctantly thrust it into the pocket of his robe, which he'd found hanging on a rail a few steps away. He swung the material over his shoulders, feeling the warmth of it soothe his aching muscles just a little.
"You believe in this stuff?" he asked the Chancellor, feeling the outline of the book from inside the pocket.

Palpatine raised his eyes and met Anakin's with narrowed eyes. "Every word of it. With a fervor."

Anakin swallowed hard, but they'd discussed this long enough. He didn't want to lose another friend. "Thank you, Chancellor," he extended his hand to the older man, who shook it firmly and led him toward the exit. He started to leave, stepping out into the hallway of this familiar Senatorial building.

"Bring them back to me, my boy."

He turned, bewildered. "Bring who back to you?"

"The Jedi," the Chancellor stated, as if it had been obvious. "If they do not respect your leadership enough to follow you, then they should!"

When Anakin hesitated, he spoke up again.

"Bring them back to me, and we will continue with this," he pulled out the gold-colored bottle again and looked it over. Noticing Anakin's expression, he shrugged. "At any rate, you now know the deal isn't too good to be true!"

Anakin grinned in spite of himself. His head still hurt and he still felt weak, but the antidote had done some good. He could already tell. "No, it really is," he replied.

The Chancellor smiled back. "Your life is all about your family, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes."

"That's wonderful, Anakin. Something I respect very much. I know you would give anything to be there when your child is born, and you will be."

Anakin nodded in reply, and turned, heading for the turbolift. The Chancellor shut the door behind him, probably intending to spend some more time in scientific study that day.

What a day it had been for Anakin already! Inside the lift, he leaned against the railing, taking a deep breath. It was actually something of a relief to be alone, even if the book in his pocket seemed to be heavy and speak of a dark something he couldn't help but sense through the Force.

Suddenly, he felt a sense of something else, something completely unrelated to the events of the day. A pleading, sobbing voice inside his head, calling his name, begging for help, for him to come. Puzzled and concerned, he honed in on the sense and let it direct him to a name, a location. He gasped as the doors slid open in front of him and the presence came into recognition in his mind.

Ahsoka!