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Chapter 45

The Soul of the Force

Outside the emperor's chambers were his royal guards, draped in red robes and helmets with thin black vizors in which Grievous saw his reflection. Their pikes made an X, denying him entry.

Grievous tapped his comlink: "Emperor Vader, I have news."

A beep signaled permission. The door opened and the guards stood down.

Previously these were Sidious' chambers. He'd filled the room with Sith holocrons and artifacts. Sentient plants, from Felucia, were held at bay by dark magic.

In Vader's care, the chamber was empty, except for a very large bacta tank, which he occupied now. What was left of the man was decoupled from machine. Strange, four-eyed lizards swam all around him, to Grievous' befuddlement.

Vader's eyes snapped open. He floated up to meet mechanical arms, which removed him from the tank and delivered him into armor on the chamber floor. Mask and helmet were placed on his vacuum-burned face.

Once Anakin had attracted keen lovers. But Vader understood that true power is to be a monster and receive as many.

Throughout the fleet, it was said Vader's women received riches and villas. A useful whisper, if foolish. Only one person saw Vader's face and lived.

"Forgive me, Emperor," Grievous bowed.

Vader stroked a lizard where it lay on his shoulders. "I welcome the interruption."

The droid-man straightened, voice loosening. "Darkfall Squad's mission was successful. They await further orders."

"Tell Commander Keller to stand by."

"My lord, may I ask...?"

"Ysalamiri," Vader said. "They come from Myrkr. Remarkable creatures. They create a small bubble where the Force is repressed."

"Repressed?"

"If I wished to use the Force at this moment, I could not."

The dark lord waved his hand. The ysalamir lifted from his shoulders, floating to the tank, where it plunked in the water and scampered along the glass.

Grievous' head turned. "How is that possible? You just said..."

"It is not The Force I used. I told you of a greater being: The Dark Intelligence. I am training myself to hear it, to use it. The ysalamiri prevent the Force from interfering."

The glow from the bacta tank—the room's only illumination—backlit Vader's silhouette. The outline of his armor, the stately cape that even stillness made billow, was more formidable than death, or any destination such end requires. It wasn't a trick of light. It was a glimpse into the future.

"And when you've mastered it..." Grievous said.

"The Force will die," Vader answered. "And I alone will hold power over Life."

Grievous raised his head proudly. "You are a king of a different kind, my lord."

"And you are more than my servant."

Vader placed a hand on his shoulder, turning to the door. They walked side by side from the chamber. Grievous wished he were capable of smiling.

Colonel Veers climbed the steps to Yoda's meditation room. The diminutive Jedi sat cross-legged on a mat, eyes gently closed, palms turned to the ceiling. His timeworn brow was deeply rimpled.

"Hmm," Yoda whispered.

Veers walked to the window. The great gleaming towers that surrounded the temple presided over streets silent and empty. Window lights jeweled the endless horizon, and in each one Veers imagined a child crying.

Yoda's eyes slipped open. "Troubled, you are."

"Not troubled, just concerned," Veers said. "Every man I have is scouring Coruscant, arming the civilians. They're organized into companies, led by a single officer. Each one is assigned a different strategy. None conventional. The Sith will have no way to predict our tactics."

Yoda levitated to the floor. He called his gimer stick and leaned heavily on it. "Very good... General." Receiving no reaction, the Jedi Master smiled fondly. He might've made a good Jedi, but he was right where he ought to be. "Think what, do you, of the Force, Mister Veers?"

Veers' eyebrows pulled in. "I'm sorry, sir?"

"The Force..."

"It's a great advantage to wield it." He blinked twice and met Yoda's stare. "I think it's too much power to put in men's hands. It corrupts very easily."

"Corrupt, the Force does not. Corrupted by ideas, by people, Jedi are."

It was a practiced response, liberally dispensed throughout many years. Yet under cloak of Yoda's wise, aged voice, it still held sway.

"Perhaps so," Veers said dully.

"A wife, you have," Yoda remembered.

"Yes, sir. Her name is Suna."

"Mean to you, what, does she?"

If another man said it, Veers might've punched him. But 900-year-old Yoda had a child's curiosity, seeking new understanding from his youthful companion.

Veers remembered the day he met her, when he was staring at the lights in a Coruscant hospital. "She's remarkable. She's my only oasis, away from this violence... at which I'm regrettably skilled," he said thickly and quietly.

"Evil, would you do for her?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?" Yoda pointed his stick. "Love her, you do! Save her, you must!"

Veers exuded confidence and calm. "Evil is rot. Once it begins, nothing survives, not even love." He looked at the Republic emblem sewed to his sleeve. "This means something: who we are, what we'll do, and what we won't."

"Mmm. Yes. What my robes mean, I am not certain."

"Why do you say that?"

"Wrong, have I been, about a great many things," Yoda lamented. "Forbidden, have been attachments. The shadow of greed, I called it."

"It's a fair assumption, all things considered."

"Know Senator Amidala, do you?"

"Not personally," Veers answered.

"Intelligent. Kind. Strong-willed. But soft also, she is," Yoda said. "In love with her, two of my best pupils have been."

"Did they turn?"

"Only one. Learned a great deal, I have, from the other."

Veers turned his whole body, meeting the little man's stare with naked curiosity. "I would think your feelings on attachment have had ample consideration."

"Ponder forever, may a fool, and still find the wrong answer."

"You are no fool."

Yoda stabbed his stick down, laughing deliriously. "Mm. No. But too practiced, my imitation has become."

"This other Jedi... what has he taught you?"

"A difference, there is, between attachment and possession. Dominate her, he would not. Betray the Republic, he would not."

A warm smile creased Yoda's face, and he looked larger than he ever had. "In its purest form, he is Light. As though wherever he stands, the Dark Side vanishes."

"Perhaps you could ask him to stand right here," Veers said.

The gnarled hands on Yoda's stick moved one over the other. His wizened brow deepened, even as he smiled. The green Jedi stared into the first empty night in thousands of years.

"He will... he will..."

The jungle was luminous, verdant, but serpentine, too, in the way that treachery clutches everything beautiful. Trees cleaved the light so it came in pieces, glorious at some angles, painful at others.

Arachnids scurried underfoot. Moaning prey met ends in the foliage. Twisted vines hung down, at times blocking the path, until a blue saber slashed them away. Thick, humid air made each step a battle, especially for Obi-Wan.

Ragged, exhausted, he was moving by the Force. No one mustered temerity to tell him to rest. His only concession: he'd given up trying to carry young Galen. The boy hung sleeping on Landon's back.

Landon watched their leader with deep admiration. He was old enough to recall a time before war. Jedi had been revered as keepers of peace. Few had been ready to become what was needed. Kenobi was one of them. Perhaps he did it best. He constantly evolved for benefit of others, until this moment when he carried quadrillions of lives.

The least Landon could hold was one little boy.

"I'm glad I met you, Boss."

"If you hadn't, you'd be dead," Obi-Wan said.

"I've been dead a long time. It's just my body didn't know," Landon mused.

"You only wished it so." Suddenly Obi-Wan's hooded eyes were endless, crystal-clear, like a perfect river rippling over stone from the soul of the Force. "Every day is a chance to be a better person," Obi-Wan said.

He suddenly raised a fist, halting the group.

Ahead the path made an "S," rising steeply to a ridge. Obi-Wan shut his eyes, smelling sap and decay and sweat not his own.

"Take the long way," he said.

He bent his knees and leapt.

At the top of the ridge were two men. He landed true and they turned, lifting rifles. By the time they were brandished, Obi-Wan had kicked one screaming from the ridge, to break and tear and burst on boulders.

The other found his wrist locked. The point of Obi-Wan's elbow loosed his gun. Obi-Wan rolled, still holding the wrist, flipping the gunman hard on his back. He mounted his chest, pressed his disengaged saber hilt to the gunman's temple.

"Greetings," Obi-Wan heaved a breath. "Tell me: who do you work—?"

The man went for his holster. Blue plasma ignited, abolishing life.

"It was just a question," Obi-Wan said.

Brummel was first up the path, peering over the ridge. Skin, blood, and clothes painted the rockface. Below Obi-Wan, brains leaked from a charcoal hole.

"That's pretty brutal. Am I rubbing off on you?"

"Nothing soap won't fix," Obi-Wan said. He raided the corpse for grenades and a climbing knife. He tossed Landon the rifle.

Brummel offered his hand, pulling Obi-Wan up.

Landon remarked, "Vorka's way ahead of us if he set up checkpoints."

"Then I suggest we move faster," Obi-Wan said, jilting Padme's glance of concern.

Obi-Wan grimaced, looking up. He found himself in Padme's lap. In the dark he couldn't see her expression. Through the Force he didn't want to.

She helped him to a sitting position, presenting a food pack. "You should eat something," she rubbed his back.

He knew he should look at her. But how could he, when she'd seen him bare, lost in the figment he'd indulged in the Dream Chamber?

Padme squeezed his shoulder. After a moment's pause, she took her leave, joining Wilk and Coda by a fledgling fire.

Obi-Wan peered unseeing into oblivion.

He had to reckon with it.

This couldn't go on.

Obi-Wan was in love with Padme Amidala.

The Jedi Code forbade this. Second only to Yoda, Obi-Wan may have been his Order's most devout member. But he could no longer ignore the flaws in its charter.

The Code forbade attachments, even as it fostered them. The Code forbade love, even as it demanded it. The Code instilled fear of being afraid.

Why these contradictions? The answer was simpler than he'd ever admitted.

The Jedi Code was not written by the Force. It was written by men. Those men lived in a day and age, with contemporary troubles.

Times had changed.

So must the Jedi Code.

So must I.

Because I'm in love with Padme Amidala.

It is not wrong.

It dirties nothing.

My love is pure.

I will not forsake it for fear of weaker men who failed to honor theirs.

I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I will love Padme Amidala forever and always.

"What did you see?" Brummel asked, rising from his slumber.

Obi-Wan's mouth twitched at the corners. "I saw my life. If I only have faith."

"You need more than faith to end the Sith."

"You're right. I need you. And everyone else. And we need to get moving."

Obi-Wan staggered to his feet, leaving his food pack. The first scattering of light signaled morning.

There was work to be done.