Part 17 (2/2)
”Yes, Lord Sidious.”
”Have you moved the Separatist Council to Mustafar?”
”Yes, Master.” He risked a glance out the viewport. Most of the council had reached the stars.h.i.+p. Gunray should be joining them any second; Grievous had seen firsthand how fast the viceroy could run, given proper motivation. ”The s.h.i.+p will lift off within moments.”
”Well done, my general. Now you must turn your hand to preparing our trap there on Utapau. The Jedi hunt you personally at last; you must be ready for their attack.”
”Yes, Master.”
”I am arranging matters to give you a second chance to do my bidding, Grievous. Expect that the Jedi sent to capture you will be Obi-Wan Ken.o.bi.”
”Ken.o.bi?” Grievous's fists clenched hard enough that his carpal electrodrivers whined in protest. ”And Skywalker?”
”I believe Skywalker will be . . . otherwise engaged.”
Grievous dropped his head even lower. ”I will not fail you again, my Master. Ken.o.bi will die.”
”See to it.”
”Master? If I may trouble you with boldness-why did you not let me kill Chancellor Palpatine? We may never get a better chance.”
”The time was not yet ripe. Patience, my general. The end of the war is near, and victory is certain.”
”Even with the loss of Count Dooku?”
”Dooku was not lost, he was sacrificed-a strategic sacrifice, as one offers up a piece in dejarik: to draw the opponent into a fatal blunder.”
”I was never much the dejarik player, my Master. I prefer real war.
”And you shall have your fill, I promise you.”
”This fatal blunder you speak of-if I may once again trouble you with boldness ...”
”You will come to understand soon enough.” Grievous could hear the smile in his Master's voice. ”All will be clear, once you meet my new apprentice.”
Anakin finger-combed his hair as he trotted out across the restricted landing deck atop the Temple ziggurat near the base of the High Council Tower. Far across the expanse of deck stood the Supreme Chancellor's shuttle. Anakin squinted at it, and at the two tall red-robed guards that stood flanking its open access ramp.
And coming toward him from the direction of the shuttle, s.h.i.+elding his eyes and leaning against the morning wind that whipped across the unprotected field-was that Obi-Wan?
”Finally,” Anakin muttered. He'd scoured the Temple for his former Master; he'd nearly giving up hope of finding him when a pa.s.sing Padawan had mentioned that he'd seen Obi-Wan on his way out to the landing deck to meet Palpatine's shuttle. He hoped Obi-Wan wouldn't notice he hadn't changed his clothes.
It wasn't like he could explain.
Though his secret couldn't last, he wasn't ready for it to come out just yet. He and Padme had agreed last night that they would keep it as long as they could. He wasn't ready to leave the Jedi Order. Not while she was still in danger.
Padme had said that his nightmare must be only a metaphor, but he knew better. He knew that Force prophecy was not absolute-but his had never been wrong. Not in the slightest detail. He had known as a boy that he would be chosen by the Jedi He had known his adventures would span the galaxy. As a mere nine-year-old, long before he even understood what love was, he had looked upon Padme Amidala's flawless face and seen there that she would love him, and that they would someday marry.
There had been no metaphor in his dreams of his mother. Screaming in pain. Tortured to death.
I knew you would come to me, Annie . . . I missed you so much.
He could have saved her.
Maybe.
It had always seemed so obvious to him-that if he had only returned to Tatooine a day earlier, an hour, he could have found his mother and she would still be alive. And yet-And yet the great prophets of the Jedi had always taught that the gravest danger in trying to prevent a vision of the future from coming to pa.s.s is that in doing so, a Jedi can actually bring it to pa.s.s-as though if he'd run away in time to save his mother, he might have made himself somehow responsible for her death.
As though if he tried to save Padme, he could end up-blankly impossible though it was-killing her himself. . .
But to do nothing ... to simply wait for Padme to die . . .
Could something be more than impossible?
When a Jedi had a question about the deepest subtleties of the Force, there was one source to whom he could always turn; and so, first thing that morning, without even taking time to stop by his own quarters for a change of clothing, Anakin had gone to Yoda for advice.
He'd been surprised by how graciously the ancient Jedi Master had invited him into his quarters, and by how patiently Yoda had listened to his stumbling attempts to explain his question without giving away his secret; Yoda had never made any attempt to conceal what had always seemed to Anakin to be a gruff disapproval of Anakin's very existence.
But this morning, despite clearly having other things on his mind-even Anakin's Force perceptions, far from the most subtle had detected echoes of conflict and worry within the Ma.s.ster's chamber-Yoda had simply offered Anakin a place on one of the softly rounded pod seats and suggested that they meditate together.
He hadn't even asked for details.
Anakin had been so grateful-and so relieved, and so unexpectedly hopeful-that he'd found tears welling into his eyes, and some few minutes had been required for him to compose himself into proper Jedi serenity.
After a time, Yoda's eyes had slowly opened and the deep furrows on his ancient brow had deepened further. ”Premonitions . . . premonitions . . . deep questions they are. Sense the future, once all Jedi could; now few alone have this skill. Visions . . . gifts from the Force, and curses. Signposts and snares. These visions of yours ...”
”They are of pain,” Anakin had said. ”Of suffering.” He had barely been able to make himself add: ”And death.”
”In these troubled times, no surprise this is. Yourself you see, or someone you know?”
Anakin had not trusted himself to answer. ”Someone close to you?” Yoda had prompted gently. ”Yes,” Anakin had replied, eyes turned away from Yoda's too-wise stare. Let him think he was talking about Obi-Wan. It was close enough.
Yoda's voice was still gentle, and understanding. ”The fear of loss is a path to the dark side, young one.”
”I won't let my visions come true, Master. I won't.”
”Rejoice for those who transform into the Force. Mourn them not. Miss them not.”
”Then why do we fight at all, Master? Why save anybody?”
”Speaking of anybody, we are not,” Yoda had said sternly ”Speaking of you, and your vision, and your fear, we are. The shadow of greed, attachment is. What you fear to lose, train yourself to release. Let go of fear, and loss cannot harm you.”
Which was when Anakin had realized Yoda wasn't going to be any help at all. The greatest sage of the Jedi Order had nothing better to offer him than more pious babble about Letting Things Pa.s.s Out Of His Life.
Like he hadn't heard that a million times already. Easy for him-who had Yoda ever cared about? Really cared about? Of one thing Anakin was certain: the ancient Master had never been in love.
Or he would have known better than to expect Anakin to just fold his hands and close his eyes and settle in to meditate while what was left of Padme's life evaporated like the ghost-mist of dew in a Tatooine winter dawn . . .
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