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Chapter 49

A God Has Every Face

Coda's heart froze. She tried to inhale but found it impossible. Beside her, Padme was trembling, nails cutting her soft palms.

Amaymet's boiling form rose from the platform. The flesh that dripped from his image disappeared in the darkness.

Amaymet glided on air, placing himself on the floor. And in the process, his burning body, with its slimy, scaly, cracking skin, faded from existence, so that when he landed he was only two red eyes inside a white cloak.

He gave a breathy laugh that sounded like Palmer's. His cloak whipped in the air but didn't move it, as he glided forward to Obi-Wan.

Blue eyes met red. The Jedi stared into a glorious void, every bit as awing as the light of the Force. It was a separate eternity, where nothing grew, where there was only silence.

"I smell your lust, little one," Amaymet said. "You haven't claimed her. Are you afraid?" He floated slowly by Padme, who clenched but didn't move, before continuing to Coda. "Or maybe you prefer this one?" They heard the malignant smile in his voice. He whispered wantonly, "I remember you, pretty one. The final decider. Destroyer of worlds. A man lays with you, he tastes that blood."

"You're sick!" Padme growled.

Amaymet moaned out laughter, returning to the Jedi.

Obi-Wan fearlessly met his feral stare. "Is this your true face?"

"A god has every face, though he may prefer one."

"You're not a god," Obi-Wan said. "You're just a vagabond, wandering the empty spaces of the Force."

Amaymet's wicked voice softened, like a father's soothing post-punishment. "Have you ever heard the story of the Miracle of the Chosen One?"

Obi-Wan's face flushed, but nary a muscle twitched. He held silent and waited.

"You may be clever enough to know that Chancellor Damask was a dark lord of the Sith, and master to Sidious," Amaymet explained.

Damask was the last chancellor of the Republic before The Great Schism, when Sidious staged a Jedi attack on the Senate—killing Damask in the process—and persuaded half the galaxy to join his new Sith Empire.

"His true name was Darth Plageuis," said Amaymet. "Plageuis was a visionary, interested in abilities that are impossible with the Force… but may be learned from its enemy."

Obi-Wan's eyes darted side to side.

Amaymet's voice was softer than baby flesh. "He learned to overpower the midichlorians… to create life."

It took everything in Obi-Wan not to stagger. A sick feeling was rising from the bottom of his soul.

"Together… we created Anakin Skywalker."

Obi-Wan's mind quivered with images and sound. Every moment with Anakin came rushing back. His every warning to Qui-Gon screamed at him at once.

He broke eyes with Amaymet, granting him a victory, walking five paces to stare into the library. His grasp on the Force, two intertwined hands, was clammy and loose.

"He's lying," Padme said.

The sliding clasp of the Force suggested otherwise. But Padme succeeded in refocusing him on the matter at hand.

Obi-Wan turned, admirably calm. "Why have you appeared here? Why the charade?"

A breath that wasn't there preceded the raspy voice. "The Force will be destroyed. I have foreseen it, little one. But its ruiner matters not. It could just as soon be you as Vader, if you have the strength."

Padme scoffed, "Do you know who you're talking to?"

"Indeed," Obi-Wan echoed. "Destruction is the creation of the uninspired. And I have never been that."

A vile cackle chilled him to the bone. Amaymet's red eyes flickered delightedly. "You have no idea what you will become…"

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw. "Fine then. Tell me where the Mercy Seat is, and I'll get right on it."

There was a moment's silence, enough to strike Coda with realization. "He doesn't know. The Force is subverting him. It's keeping him from seeing."

Obi-Wan's heart buoyed. Suddenly he felt on balance. He stood eye to eye with the dark intelligence, staring into the void. Two Eternities met on an unbodied battlefield.

"I will win this war," Obi-Wan said. "Against the Sith, and you."

Amaymet breathed, and this time Obi-Wan could feel it on his face. "You lost your war when my seed took hold…"

Everything in the room powered up. Machines flashed to life with great moaning beeps. The shining glass of the archive lit blue and white. And in the blink of an eye, Amaymet was gone.

Callum's voice crackled from a comlink: "You guys there? I've restored power to a few sections. Hopefully you're one of them."

Obi-Wan didn't react until Padme took his arm. He looked at the women, their soft gazes underpinned with the mutual remnants of terror. "I'm here, Mister Adler," Obi-Wan responded. "Is everything all right?"

"Palmer wandered off," Brummel interjected. "I think he went to the crew quarters. Left his comlink here."

"Understood. We'll track him down."

The channel closed, and he walked to the console, turning to lean on it. Obi-Wan heaved a long breath. His friends watched him expectantly.

"Are you two all right?" he asked.

A perfunctory question, meant to be ignored. Coda would break down later. The encounter would spoil every night's sleep for the rest of her life. It was part of her blood memory, to be passed to future children she now despaired at the thought of having.

For now, Coda mimicked his unnatural composure. "How did he do that? Make himself appear?"

"And why?" Padme added. "He had to know you would never help him."

Obi-Wan shook his head, pushing off the console. He took his chin in his hand, stroking his beard with thumb and pointer. "I don't know. But I believe him. About Vader. Vader practically told me when we fought on Halm. I just didn't understand."

"The Force binds everything," Coda said. "Destroying it would kill every lifeform in the galaxy—including Vader."

"Perhaps not, if there were something to take its place."

Padme shivered. Suddenly she imagined her midichlorians as cancerous nanites eating her innards. "You're talking about Amaymet—" The word stalled in her throat in revulsion and horror. "—connecting to all of us. Penetrating all of us. Pushing every living being to their lowest potential. What would be the point of even existing?"

"To fight," Obi-Wan said.

Coda felt his determination like a weight of armor. "Then we fight, Master Jedi. Mine is here. The location of the Mercy Seat could be in these archives."

Obi-Wan agreed. "Call us if you need us."

Padme dissected the encounter with Amaymet. His revelation that Vader was his creation—not that of the Force—brought much into focus. She'd always attributed his fall to Qui-Gon's influence. But perhaps Qui-Gon's fall was attributable to Anakin.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan was incorruptible. Amaymet's suggestion that Obi-Wan would aid him was absurd. He was posturing, sewing doubt. She believed with all her heart that Obi-Wan was incapable of evil.

She found him watching her. "Do you think Sidious is aware of all this?"

"I think Sidious is dead," Obi-Wan said. "Amaymet didn't mention him once."

"A coup?"

"It was a matter of time. Vader always resented the notion of a better."

The door ahead opened, ushering them into an unexpectedly vast corridor—fifty meters across—with entrances to individual quarters at least as far apart. Above, a platinum-gilded, domed ceiling reached the edge of vision, perfect but hazy like a small detail in a matte painting.

Straight ahead, beyond this segment of quarters, were shared living areas, anchored by glorious fountains with animated carvings repeating simple movements that looked just real enough for the uncanny valley. All around were thousands of flowers still shockingly in bloom.

In the middle of the corridor, Palmer lay on his side, wearing the remnants of a security droid, which he'd presumably destroyed at cost to himself.

Obi-Wan hurried to reach him. Kneeling, he turned Palmer on his back. Broken circuits flung off, revealing various abrasions that appeared superficial. Still, Palmer was unconscious.

"Is he okay?" Padme asked.

"I think so. Let's—"

His head whipped at a movement. Down the corridor, a BD droid stood watching. The shin-high unit stood on two bent legs. At the front of its flat, rectangular head were two optics: one glass, the other metal. Two antennae jutted from the back.

"Well, that's interesting." As Obi-Wan stood, BD ran into some nearby quarters. "Stay with Palmer," he told Padme. "I'm going to chat with our little friend…"

"Be careful."

"I'm wearing shin pads."

Padme rolled her eyes. She sat by Palmer, legs splayed to one side. She pushed his thinning hair away from a bruise. Even the damned could trigger her maternalism.

She wondered who attacked first: Palmer or the droid. Was there something here they weren't supposed to see?

As soon as it formed, the thought was forgotten. She was suddenly distracted. A warm blue miasma slowly enveloped her. She felt something safe, something good.

Padme looked about. It felt like being in Obi-Wan's arms, only he wasn't here.

Something supermundane pulled her gaze to a door. Whatever she sensed, she knew its source was those quarters. A bright halo framed the entrance.

She stood, transfixed, and found herself moving. Suddenly she was at the door. Breathing hard. Shivers pimpled her skin. Peace and purpose unfurled in her limbs.

She was a little girl, sitting in a field. It was a warm day and nothing was wrong.

Padme walked through the door.

A very old man smiled kindly. "Hello there."