Part 4 (1/2)
One touch blew his canopy and he sprang from the c.o.c.kpit, flipping upward to stand on the wing. Battle droids opened fire instantly, and Anakin's lightsaber flashed. ”Artoo, locate a computer link.”
The little droid whistled at him, and Anakin allowed himself a tight smile. Sometimes he thought he could almost understand the droid's electrosonic code. ”Don't worry about us. Find Palpatine. Go on, I'll cover you.”
R2 popped out of its socket and bounced to the deck. Anakin jumped ahead of it into a cascade of blasterfire and let the Force direct his blade. Battle droids began to spark and collapse.
”Get to that link!” Anakin had to shout above the whine of blasters and the roar of exploding droids. ”I'm going for Obi-Wan!”
”No need.”
Anakin whirled to find Obi-Wan right behind him in the act of slicing neatly through the braincase of a battle droid.
”I appreciate the thought, Anakin,” the Jedi Master said with a gentle smile. ”But I've already come for you.”
This, then, is Obi-Wan and Anakin: They are closer than friends. Closer than brothers. Though Obi-Wan is sixteen standard years Anakin's elder, they have become men together. Neither can imagine life without the other. The war has forged their two lives into one.
The war that has done this is not the Clone Wars; Obi-Wan and Anakin's war began on Naboo, when Qui-Gon Jinn died at the hand of a Sith Lord. Master and Padawan and Jedi Knights together, they have fought this war for thirteen years. Their war is their life.
And their life is a weapon.
Say what you will about the wisdom of ancient Master Yoda, or the deadly skill of grim Mace Windu, the courage of Ki-Adi-Mundi, or the subtle wiles of Shaak Ti; the greatness of all these Jedi is unquestioned, but it pales next to the legend that has grown around Ken.o.bi and Skywalker.
They stand alone.
Together, they are unstoppable. Unbeatable. They are the ultimate go-to guys of the Jedi Order. When the Good Guys absolutely, positively have to win, the call goes out.
Obi-Wan and Anakin always answer.
Whether Obi-Wan's legendary cleverness might beat Anakin's raw power, straight up, no rules, is the subject of schoolyard fist-fights, creche-pool wriggle-matches, and pod-chamber stinkwars across the Republic. These struggles always end, somehow, with the combatants on both sides admitting that it doesn't matter.
Anakin and Obi-Wan would never fight each other.
They couldn't.
They're a team. They're the team.
And both of them are sure they always will be.
=2=.
DOOKU.
The storm of blasterfire ricocheting through the hangar bay suddenly ceased. Cl.u.s.ters of battle droids withdrew behind s.h.i.+ps and slipped out hatchways.
Obi-Wan's familiar grimace showed past his blade as he let it shrink away. ”I hate it when they do that.”
Anakin's lightsaber was already back on his belt. ”When they do what?”
”Disengage and fall back for no reason.”
”There's always a reason, Master.”
Obi-Wan nodded. ”That's why I hate it.”
Anakin looked at the litter of smoking droid parts scattered throughout the hangar bay, shrugged, and snugged his black glove. ”Artoo, where's the Chancellor?”
The little droid's datajack rotated in the wall socket. Its holoprojector eye swiveled and the blue scanning laser built a ghostly image near Anakin's boot: Palpatine shackled into a large swivel chair. Even in the tiny translucent blur, he looked exhausted and in pain-but alive.
Anakin's heart thumped once, painfully, against his ribs. He wasn't too late. Not this time.
He dropped to one knee and squinted at the image. Palpatine looked as if he'd aged ten years since Anakin had last seen him. Muscle bulged along the young Jedi's jaw. If Grievous had hurt the Chancellor-had so much as touched him-The hand of jointed durasteel inside his black glove clenched so hard that electronic feedback made his shoulder ache.
Obi-Wan spoke from over that shoulder. ”Do you have a location?”
The image rippled and twisted into a schematic map of the cruiser. Far up at the top of the conning spire R2 showed a pulsar of brighter blue.
”In the General's Quarters.” Obi-Wan scowled. ”Any sign of Grievous himself?”
The pulsar s.h.i.+fted to the cruiser's bridge.
”Hmm. And guards?”
The holoimage rippled again, and transformed into an image of the cruiser's General's Quarters once more. Palpatine appeared to be alone: the chair sat in the center of an arc of empty floor, facing a huge curved viewing wall.
Anakin muttered, ”That doesn't make sense.''''
”Of course it does. It's a trap.”
Anakin barely heard him. He stared down at his black-gloved fist. He opened his fist, closed it, opened it again. The ache from his shoulder flowed down to the middle of his bicep-And didn't stop.
His elbow sizzled, and his forearm; his wrist had been packed with red-hot gravel, and his hand-His hand was on fire.
But it wasn't his hand. Or his wrist, or his forearm, or his elbow. It was a creation of jointed durasteel and electrodrivers. ”Anakin?”
Anakin's lips drew back from his teeth. ”It hurts.”
”What, your replacement arm? When did you have it equipped with pain sensors?”
”I didn't. That's the point.”
”The pain is in your mind, Anakin-”
”No.” Anakin's heart froze over. His voice went cold as s.p.a.ce. ”I can feel him.”
”Him?”
”Dooku. He's here. Here on this s.h.i.+p.”
”Ah.” Obi-Wan nodded. ”I'm sure he is.”