Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith Page 3

  These Jedi, however, seemed unimpressed. That would change. “That wasn’t much of a rescue,” Grievous told them. They didn’t react. Well, he had a way to get at Jedi. It never failed. He swept back his cape, revealing the lightsabers hanging in its lining. “I look forward to adding your lightsabers to my collection,” he said. “Rare trophies, they are.”

  Obi-Wan smiled. “I think you’ve forgotten, Grievous. I’m the one in control here.”

  Had the man gone mad? He was surrounded by enemy droids, hands bound, with no one to come to his rescue. In control? Grievous stared. “So sure of yourself, Kenobi,” he purred. “But it’s all over for you now.

  “Artoo, now!” said Skywalker, and suddenly smoke poured from the astrodroid. Startled, Grievous turned, and an invisible hand yanked one of the lightsabers away from him. The lightsaber flew toward Obi-Wan; he grabbed it behind his back and ignited it, cutting neatly through his electrobonds. A second later, he freed Anakin.

  Another invisible hand tore the second lightsaber from his grasp with a screech of metal on metal. Unbelievably, the two Jedi were free, standing back-to-back and deflecting laser fire from the droids. Even the useless little astrodroid had brought down one of his super droids with some kind of cable attachment.

  Grievous backed up, leaving his droid magnaguards between him and the flying laser fire. That was what bodyguards were for. Some of his Neimoidian bridge crew had already been hit by reflected bolts, and he wasn’t about to let that happen to him. Let the droids tire the Jedi out.

  One of the pilots shouted at him over the chaos. “Sir! We are falling out of orbit. All aft control cells are dead.”

  “Stay on course,” Grievous said automatically. He stepped back another pace, calculating furiously. Without aft controls, could they still make the jump to hyperspace? No, and as fast as the repair droids fixed something, the Republic’s starfighters would blow it up again. They couldn’t—

  The gravity grids shifted. Suddenly, the ceiling was “down.” “Magnetize!” one of the pilots shouted into the intercom.

  A few of the battle droids reacted in time to stick to the floor, but most of them fell to the ceiling along with the Jedi. The Jedi, Grievous noticed with dislike, seemed to take the change in stride. They’d even used the gravity shift to cut down a few more of the droids, who hadn’t adjusted quickly enough.

  “The ship is breaking up!” the Neimoidian pilot cried.

  Just like a Neimoidian to panic, Grievous thought. Useless beings. But plainly, they’d run out of time. No point, now, in staying to win this fight. Let the Jedi burn up when the crippled ship crashed.

  Without warning, gravity returned to normal. The Jedi dropped to the floor and ran forward. Nearly all the droids were gone; they were coming after him, now. Too late. Grievous turned and threw his electro-staff upward. It hit the viewport an instant later, cracking the tough, transparent material. As the Jedi closed in, Grievous jumped with all the force his mechanical legs could provide.

  The weakened viewport burst, and air rushed out of the sudden breach. Grievous let himself be sucked away from the bridge along with all the pieces of droids, bits of machinery, and dead crew. He caught a glimpse of the two Jedi and the Republic’s Chancellor, clinging to a control console, and then he was outside.

  As he was swept away from the ship, he pointed at the hull and triggered the built-in cable in his arm. The anchor struck solidly, attaching to the hull. He let the cable pay out until the automatic blast shield snapped shut over the broken viewport, cutting off the storm of air rushing out of the ship. Then he swung himself onto the ship’s hull, his clawed metal feet digging in.

  It really was convenient to have a mostly droid body, Grievous thought as he crawled along the surface of the battleship. An ordinary being would need to breathe, would be damaged by the vacuum of space, would need special equipment to cling to the ship. For Grievous, none of that was a problem.

  He reached a hatch and opened it. His calculations were correct; he was in one of the escape-pod bays. He started for the pods, then hesitated. Why not make things a little harder for those annoying Jedi? He crossed to the control panel and began flipping switches, jettisoning all the escape pods, row by row.

  Finally, only one pod remained. There, Grievous thought. Let’s see them get out of this! He climbed into the last escape pod and blasted away from the remains of his command ship. There were Federation ships close enough to pick him up, and the clone fighters were too busy with his droids to worry about an unarmed escape pod. He had gotten away.

  And with any luck, he could lay the blame for this fiasco on Count Dooku, who wouldn’t be coming back to offer his own explanations. Yes, that would do nicely. Planning rapidly, the droid general steered for the nearest battleship.

  Anakin felt the ship shudder as he and Obi-Wan cut down the last of the magnaguards. Alarms sounded. “The hull is burning up!” Palpatine shouted.

  Looking up at the remaining viewport, Anakin saw sparks flying off the front of the ship. He still saw the blackness of space and the stars, so they weren’t in the atmosphere yet. But if the ship was that hot already.…He moved toward the navigator’s chair to study the readouts.

  “All the escape pods have been launched,” Anakin said as Obi-Wan joined him. That has to be General Grievous’s work. If we’d only been a little faster, we’d have had him!

  Obi-Wan glanced at the readouts, then at the controls. “You’re the hotshot pilot, Anakin,” he said, keeping his tone light. “Do you know how to fly this type of cruiser?”

  Obi-Wan is asking me to pilot? He must really be worried! Not that they had any other choices. Anakin matched his tone to Obi-Wan’s, acknowledging and confirming the danger. “You mean, do I know how to land what’s left of this cruiser.”

  Obi-Wan nodded. Anakin took the pilot’s chair—at least the layout of the bridge was more or less the same on any starship, whether Trade Federation or Republic—and looked at the screens. He was just in time to watch a large piece of the ship break away.

  “Well?” Obi-Wan said as the ship bucked and shuddered.

  “Under the circumstances, I’d say the ability to pilot this ship is irrelevant,” Anakin told him. “Strap yourself in.”

  Distantly, he was aware of Obi-Wan and Palpatine following his instructions, of R2-D2 taking up a position at the auxiliary controls, but his fingers were already busy with the unfamiliar controls. First, stop the shooting. This switch? No…There. Quickly, he tapped out a message to the Republic’s clone fighters: General Kenobi and I have taken the ship. The Chancellor is safe. Stop firing. He signed it with his name and the code that would mark it as an authentic message, and sent it off.

  Dismissing the fighters outside from his mind, he set himself to fly the ship. It was a lot like trying to fly a large rock. The cruiser had no wings or landing gear. The engines had broken off with the back half of the ship. The few steering thrusters were mostly dead, and the ones that weren’t dead were so damaged that anything might happen if he fired them.

  And there was no time to experiment. The ship had reached the outer atmosphere, and the friction was heating up the remains of the hull. The room shook and shivered as more pieces broke away.

  From the navigator’s chair, Obi-Wan calmly called out information on their hull temperature, altitude, speed. Anakin’s attention was focused on the controls, not Obi-Wan, but some part of him absorbed the numbers, integrated them, used them. By luck, by instinct, by feel, Anakin flew.

  They were well within the atmosphere now, and still moving far too fast. Anakin opened all the hatches and extended every drag fin that still worked, trading the growing heat from the increased friction for a decrease in speed.

  For a moment, it seemed to be working. Then there was an enormous jolt, and the speed readout picked up again. “We lost something,” Anakin said.

  “Everything from the hangar back just fell off,” Obi-Wan reported. “Not to worry—w
e’re still flying half the ship.”

  Anakin spared a glance for the Chancellor, who was clinging grimly to his seat. He’s an administrator; he’s not used to this. But he didn’t have time to explain things to the Chancellor, not if they were going to survive this. “I’m going to shift a few degrees and see if I can slow us down,” Anakin told Obi-Wan.

  “We’re heating up,” Obi-Wan warned, and began calling out numbers.

  I know, I know. Anakin played the controls, opening and closing hatches, using steering thrusters to brake, anything to slow their fall.

  Obi-Wan’s steady chant broke off. “Fire ships are on the left and right.”

  Anakin flicked a switch, and the voice of one of the fire ship pilots filled the bridge. “Follow us. We’ll put out what fire we can.”

  Follow you? How? But there were numbers reading out on the comm; coordinates. They’d cleared a heavy-duty landing strip in the industrial section. Strong enough to stop what’s left of this bucket of bolts, and well away from the residential areas so that if we miss, we won’t set fire to a lot of apartment buildings. Somebody’s thinking.

  “What’s our speed?” Anakin demanded, and Obi-Wan started reciting numbers again.

  Through the smoking viewport, Anakin caught glimpses of the towering buildings of Coruscant streaking past below them. Too close. We’re too low, too soon. R2-D2 beeped madly, and Anakin gestured at one of the controls. “Keep us level,” he told the droid, and went back to work to slow them down.

  “Steady,” Obi-Wan said. “Five thousand.”

  “Hang on,” Anakin said. “This may get a little rough. We lost our heat shields.”

  “Landing strip’s straight ahead,” Obi-Wan said a moment later.

  Too low, too fast, too hot…too late. This isn’t a landing, it’s a controlled crash. And not all that controlled. Someone had been paying attention, though; the landing platform was surrounded by emergency fire speeders. Now if we can just hit it…

  The ship rocked. Anakin saw a fire speeder dodge out of the way just before they plowed into the landing platform, and then the view vanished under a thick coating of fire-suppressing foam. For an instant, he was sickeningly afraid that he hadn’t cut their speed enough, and they would slide off the far side of the landing platform. Then the ship shuddered to a stop.

  “Come on; let’s get out of here,” Anakin said, unstrapping himself from the seat. Obi-Wan and the Chancellor followed his example, and soon they ducked out an escape hatch into the open air. A shuttle waited among the emergency ships to whisk them back to the Senate.

  While the medical personnel aboard the shuttle looked over the shaken Chancellor, Anakin and Obi-Wan argued about the final step of the mission.

  “This whole operation was your idea,” Anakin said to Obi-Wan. “You planned it. You have to be the one to take the bows this time.”

  “Sorry, old friend,” Obi-Wan said. “You killed Count Dooku.” Anakin winced, but Obi-Wan didn’t notice. He went on, “You rescued the Chancellor, and you managed to land that bucket of bolts safely. You—”

  “Only because of your training, Master,” Anakin said earnestly. “You deserve all those speeches.” And I certainly don’t want praise for the way I killed Dooku.

  “Those endless speeches.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “Anakin, let’s face it—you are the hero this time. It’s your turn to spend a glorious day with the politicians.”

  The shuttle had reached the Senate landing platform. Anakin could see Master Windu and a dozen Senators waiting to welcome the Chancellor—and to assure themselves of the Chancellor’s safety. There was no time for more argument.

  “Then you owe me,” Anakin told Obi-Wan. “And not just for saving your skin for the tenth time.”

  “Ninth time,” Obi-Wan corrected. “That incident on Cato Neimoidia doesn’t count.” Anakin rolled his eyes, and Obi-Wan smiled. “See you at the briefing.”

  Anakin couldn’t help smiling back, but his smile faded as he followed the Chancellor out the door of the shuttle. He was no hero this time, no matter what Obi-Wan said. A hero wouldn’t have done what I did.

  Mace Windu stepped forward to greet Chancellor Palpatine. They exchanged a few stiff words, and then the attending Senators surrounded the Chancellor, congratulating him on his safe return.

  Anakin watched for a moment, feeling lost. Behind him, he heard a sudden string of beeping, and then a fussy voice said sternly, “It couldn’t have been that bad. Don’t exaggerate.”

  C-3PO! If the protocol droid was there, surely Padmé had come, too. Forgetting his depression, Anakin studied the mob of Senators, searching for his wife.

  He didn’t see her. He took a step forward, and the Senators began moving away from the landing platform, into the Senate Office Building.

  Senator Bail Organa of Alderaan saw him and left the crowd around Palpatine to join Anakin. Together, they followed the rest.

  “The Senate cannot thank you enough,” Bail told Anakin. “The end of Count Dooku will surely bring an end to this war and an end to the Chancellor’s draconian security measures.”

  Anakin winced, but the Senator’s words made him feel a little better. He knew it had been wrong to kill Dooku when he was helpless, but perhaps it wasn’t as awful as he thought. Chancellor Palpatine seemed to think it had been necessary, and if Bail was right and Dooku’s death ended the war, billions of beings would live instead of being killed in the endless battles. Surely that made a difference? And I’ll never break the Jedi Code again, he promised himself. Just thinking that made him happier.

  Bail was waiting patiently for Anakin’s response. Hastily, Anakin reviewed the Senator’s last comment in his mind. “The fighting is going to continue until General Grievous is spare parts,” he told Bail. “The Chancellor is very clear about that.”

  Bail frowned and started to say something else, but Anakin was no longer listening. He sensed something, someone, nearby, following them. He sensed—“Excuse me,” he said to Bail, and started for the row of giant columns that lined the hallway.

  “Certainly,” the Senator said to his back.

  As Senator Organa hurried after Palpatine and the other Senators, Anakin slipped into the shadows behind the pillar. He was sure—yes! He turned, and Padmé slid into his arms.

  Anakin forgot about Dooku, Palpatine, and everything else. Holding Padmé, kissing her, he felt complete again. Centered. Happy.

  When they broke the kiss at last, Padmé echoed his thoughts. “Thank goodness you’re back. I’m whole again.”

  Whole. “I missed you, Padmé. I’ve missed you so.”

  She shivered in the circle of his arms. “There were whispers that you’d been killed. I’ve been living with unbearable dread.” She clung to him, as if to assure herself that he was real.

  Anakin took hold of her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “I’m back. I’m all right.”

  Padmé smiled, and he pulled her back into his arms, wanting her close. “It seems as if we’ve been apart for a lifetime,” he went on. “And it might have been—if the Chancellor hadn’t been kidnapped, I don’t think they would ever have brought us back from the Outer Rim sieges.” He started to kiss her again, but she pulled away.

  “Wait,” she said. “Not here.”

  “No, here!” Anakin said, reaching for her again. She didn’t know how much he needed her right now—her calm acceptance, her love. She didn’t know about Dooku. “I’m tired of this deception. I don’t care if they know we’re married.”

  “Anakin, don’t say things like that,” Padmé chided. “You’re important to the Republic, to ending this war.” She smiled reassuringly, as if she sensed his distress. “I love you more than anything,” she said softly, “but I won’t let you give up your life as a Jedi for me.”

  “I’ve given my life to the Jedi Order,” Anakin said slowly, meaning every word. “But I’d only give up my life for you.”

  “I wouldn�
��t like that,” Padmé said thoughtfully, and grinned at him. “I wouldn’t like that at all.” Anakin reached for her again, but she slipped away. “Patience, my handsome Jedi. Come to me later.”

  She sidestepped again, but not quickly enough to avoid Anakin’s Jedi reflexes. He held her close—and this time, with the pleasant shock of their meeting fading, he felt her trembling. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m just excited to see you,” Padmé said, but her voice was too high and she avoided his eyes.

  “That’s not it.” Disturbed, Anakin extended his Jedi senses. “I sense more. What is it? Tell me what’s going on!”

  To his distress, Padmé began to cry. “You’ve been gone five months,” she said through her tears. “It’s been very hard for me. I’ve never felt so alone. There’s—”

  Anakin could stand it no longer. There was only one thing he could think of that Padmé would be so reluctant to tell him. “Is there someone else?”

  To his surprise—and relief—Padmé stopped crying. “No!” she said, with an angry sincerity that was impossible to mistake. “You still don’t trust me, but nothing has changed.”

  But there was a change; he could sense it even more clearly now. “It’s…just that I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” Padmé turned away for a moment, then looked back at him. “Something wonderful has happened.” She hesitated, and Anakin thought Wonderful? Then why are you so frightened? Why were you crying? And then she took a deep breath and went on. “I’m…Annie, I’m pregnant.”

  Anakin felt his mouth drop open. Of all the things it could have been, he hadn’t expected this. A baby? We’re going to have a baby?

  Padmé was looking anxiously at him, waiting for his reaction. We’re going to have a baby, Anakin thought. “That’s…wonderful.”

  Padmé closed her eyes and leaned against him. “What are we going to do?”

  A host of unwelcome thoughts poured through Anakin’s mind. They could never keep this a secret. You’re important to the Republic, to ending this war, Padmé had said, but when the Jedi found out he’d married Padmé, he would have to leave the Order. How could he help the Republic then? What would Obi-Wan say when he discovered how his friend and apprentice had lied to him for so long? And what would it mean for Padmé?