Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith Read online

  Firmly, Anakin set all those thoughts aside. “It’s going to be all right,” he told Padmé. “We’re not going to worry about anything right now.” He paused, and then he started to grin. We’re going to have a baby! “This is a happy moment. The happiest moment of my life.”

  As the Neimoidian shuttle came down to Utapau, Grievous studied the area through a viewport. The planet’s surface was ridged and drab, dotted with huge sinkholes where the inhabitants built their cities. The shuttle descended into one of the largest and deepest of the sinkhole-cities. A landing platform, surrounded by battle droids and super battle droids, stuck out of the sinkhole wall, and the shuttle came neatly to rest on it.

  As Grievous strode out of the ship, one of the droids approached. “The planet is secure, sir,” it told him. “The population is under control.”

  Of course, they’re under control, Grievous thought. Stupid maggots. He didn’t care about the locals. He was supposed to meet the Separatist Council here.

  One of his bodyguards approached. “There is a message on the special communication channel,” it whispered.

  All thought of the Council vanished. Grievous hurried to the hologram area. Blue light flickered above the hologram display disc, then formed into the image of a hooded figure. Grievous bowed deeply. This was the real leader of the Separatists, the real power behind the war. “Yes, Lord Sidious,” Grievous said.

  “I suggest you move the Separatist Council to Mustafar,” said the soft, cold voice.

  “Yes, Master,” Grievous replied.

  “Good. The Jedi will exhaust their resources looking for you. I do not wish them to know of your whereabouts until we are ready.”

  That probably means it will be a long time before the fighting begins again, Grievous thought. He hid his disappointment, and instead said, “With all due respect, Master, why did you not let me kill the Chancellor when I had the chance?”

  “It was not the time,” Darth Sidious replied. “You must have patience. The end of the war is near, General, and I promise you, victory is assured.”

  Grievous nodded. But for all his power and confidence, Darth Sidious was not a fighter. Does he understand how much that useless raid on Coruscant cost us? A little tentatively, Grievous pressed. “But the loss of Count Dooku?”

  Darth Sidious’ smile was only just visible below his hood. “The death of Lord Tyranus was a necessary loss,” he said. “I will soon have a new apprentice—one far younger and more powerful than Lord Tyranus.”

  Somewhat reassured, Grievous nodded. But when the transmission faded, he sat studying the empty air where Darth Sidious’ image had been projected. Sith Lords were tricky and treacherous. He would share more of Darth Sidious’ confidence, Grievous thought, if he had a clearer understanding of Darth Sidious’ plans.

  Padmé woke suddenly, alone in the large bed. She lay still for a moment, gathering her thoughts. She had not slept well for months, not since she discovered her pregnancy, but this time something felt wrong. Then she realized what it was. She was alone.

  “Anakin?”

  No response. Frowning, Padmé slid out of bed to look for her husband.

  She found him on the veranda, looking out at the lights of Coruscant. Tonight, the glowing strings of amber were patchy. Black, empty spaces betrayed the spots where the battle with the Separatist forces had blown up buildings. In some places, smoke from still-smoldering rubble blurred the running lights of the emergency vehicles still working to rescue beings trapped in the wreckage.

  Padmé joined Anakin. He did not look at her, even when she took his hand, but she could see light reflecting from the shine on his cheeks. He had been weeping.

  “What’s bothering you?” she asked, though she thought she knew.

  “Nothing.” Anakin’s voice was low.

  “Anakin,” Padmé said, very gently, “how long is it going to take for us to be honest with each other?”

  For a moment, she thought he would remain silent. “It was a dream,” he said at last. He spoke heavily, as if saying the words made something real, something that he would prefer to disbelieve.

  A dream? That was not what she had been expecting. “Bad?” she asked cautiously.

  “Like the ones I used to have about my mother, just before she died.”

  Padmé caught her breath. Anakin had dreamed about his mother’s suffering and torment for weeks. The dreams had finally driven him to go to her, against the advice and orders of the Jedi…and he had arrived too late. He had never forgiven himself. Sometimes Padmé thought he had never forgiven the Jedi Order, either. She looked at him. She didn’t think it was the memory of his failure that was upsetting him now. “And?” she prodded.

  Anakin swallowed hard. “It was about you.”

  Me? Padmé felt a cold chill, and her hand crept up to the necklace she always wore—the carved bit of japor that Anakin had given her “to bring you good fortune” when he was nine and she fourteen. If Anakin was having those dreams again, about her, she would need all the good fortune she could get. “Tell me.”

  “It was only a dream,” Anakin said, and looked away.

  If it was only a dream, why are you so unhappy? But saying that would only upset him more. Padmé waited.

  After a moment, Anakin took a deep breath. “You die in childbirth,” he said flatly.

  “And the baby?” Padmé spoke automatically, almost before she thought.

  “I don’t know.”

  “It was only a dream,” Padmé said, but she didn’t really believe that, any more than Anakin did. His premonitions had been right too often. Maybe I should have checked with a medical droid earlier, she thought. But she hadn’t dared, for fear the secret would get out.

  Anakin moved closer and put his arms around her. “I won’t let this one become real, Padmé.” She leaned into him, feeling safe and reassured, but she knew it was only an illusion. Anakin had saved her from war, from assassins, from battle droids, and from monsters, but this wasn’t something he could cut down with a lightsaber.

  Looking up at Anakin, Padmé tried for the first time to speak aloud all the fears she had kept bottled up inside for the past five months. “Anakin, this baby will change our lives,” she said slowly. “I doubt the Queen will continue to allow me to serve in the Senate.” Anakin looked stricken, and she hurried on. “And if the Council discovers that you are the father, you will be expelled from the Jedi Order.”

  “I know.” Anakin spoke the words soberly, and she knew that he’d had some of the same thoughts. But Anakin had only been thinking for a few hours; she’d had months. Months to study every angle of the box they were trapped in.

  She had accepted the fact that she would have to give up her position in the Senate. It still hurt, but there were many ways for a former Senator to continue to serve. With her experience, she was sure that she could find a position on the staff of one of the other Senators. And she would have the baby to take care of and teach. But Anakin…

  In the past thousand years, only twenty beings had left the Jedi Order. Anakin had spoken of them once, when they were talking of Count Dooku, the latest and last of the Lost Twenty. And Anakin had always wanted to be a Jedi. He had given his life to the Order—and no matter what he said, Padmé was sure that he would give up his life in the service of the Jedi. He had become a hero by taking on dangerous and deadly missions, several of which had nearly killed him. What would he do, if he had to give that up? What would giving it up do to him?

  Hesitantly, Padmé spoke the thought that had come to her more and more often lately. “Anakin, do you think Obi-Wan might be able to help us?”

  Anakin stiffened. “Have you told him anything?”

  “No,” Padmé said soothingly. “But he’s your mentor, your best friend—he must suspect something.”

  “He’s been a father to me, but he’s still on the Council. Don’t tell him anything!”

  Padmé sighed. “I won’t, Anakin
.” Not until you see for yourself that we have to do this.

  “We don’t need his help,” Anakin said a little too firmly, as if he were trying to convince himself as much as Padmé. “Our baby is a blessing, not a problem.”

  It’s both, Padmé thought, but she was tired of chasing the same thoughts around and around in her head. She leaned against Anakin, letting his confidence wash over her. They didn’t have to settle everything tonight. For now, it was enough to think of the joy the future would bring, instead of focusing on the problems. For now.

  To be invited to visit Master Yoda in his living quarters was usually a privilege and an honor, but today it was a privilege Obi-Wan would have preferred to do without. Meeting in secret, without the full Council…I don’t like it. Judging from their expressions, neither did Master Yoda or Master Windu. The dark side enveloped everything in a stifling cloud, making the future unclear. Between that and the war, fear was creeping into the Jedi sanctuary. Fear is the path to the dark side. What is happening to us?

  And now, this latest news. Master Yoda said, “Moving to take control of the Jedi, the Chancellor is.”

  “All on the pretext of greater security,” Obi-Wan said. In the years since the start of the war, Palpatine had gathered more and more of the Senate’s powers to himself. It had only been a matter of time until he came to the Jedi Order. But anticipating something did not lessen the shock when it actually happened.

  “I sense a plot to destroy the Jedi,” Mace Windu put in. Yoda looked at him with mild disapproval. Master Windu was a powerful warrior, but sometimes he was too quick to see plots and threats. And after eight hundred years of training Jedi, sometimes Yoda is too patient. But that the Chancellor wanted to destroy the Jedi seemed incredible. As if he sensed Obi-Wan’s reservations, Mace went on, “The dark side of the Force surrounds the Chancellor.”

  “As it surrounds the Separatists,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully. “There is a shifting of the Force—all of us feel it. If the Chancellor is being influenced by the dark side, then this war may be a plot by the Sith to take over the Republic.”

  “Speculation!” Yoda said with feeling. “On theories such as these, we cannot act.” He glared at Mace and Obi-Wan impartially. “Proof we need, before taking this to the Council.”

  Yes, but how are we going to get proof? Obi-Wan thought. Then he answered his own question: “The proof will come once Grievous is gone.”

  Mace Windu and Yoda exchanged glances. Mace’s lips tightened. Then he put into words the thing all of them had avoided saying. “If the Chancellor does not end this war with the destruction of General Grievous, he must be removed from office.”

  “Arrested?” Obi-Wan felt cold. They were coming perilously close to treason in even discussing such a possibility.

  “To a dark place, this line of thought will take us,” Yoda said, echoing his thoughts. “Great care, we must take.”

  Great care, indeed. But if the Chancellor continued the war, what choice would they have?

  Master Yoda sat studying Anakin Skywalker. The young Jedi did not consult him often, and it was rarer still for him to request an urgent private meeting. And this trouble, at this time—Of great importance to us all, this must be. But why?

  “Premonitions,” he said aloud. Premonitions were a rare talent for a Jedi, but not unknown. Yoda had searched the paths of the future himself on occasion. No one had done so deliberately in years, however; not since the dark side began to grow, making such foresight dangerous and unreliable. But Anakin was strong in the Force, stronger than any Jedi Yoda had known in all his hundreds of years. And he had not sought the visions, that much was clear, though he was reluctant to speak too plainly of whatever he had seen. Yoda nodded encouragingly. “These visions you have…”

  Anakin looked down. “They are of pain, suffering,” he said in a low voice. “Death.”

  And make you afraid, they do. But afraid of what? For whom? Cautious, he must be, or he would learn no more, and without knowledge, help he could not. “Yourself you speak of, or someone you know?”

  “Someone…” Anakin’s voice trailed off, and his hands closed into fists, as if he were trying to hold on to something.

  “Close to you?” Yoda prodded after a moment.

  Anakin’s voice, when he spoke at last, was barely a whisper. “Yes.”

  “Careful you must be when sensing the future, Anakin,” Yoda said. “The fear of loss is a path to the dark side.” And with the dark side grown so strong, a close and easy path it is.

  To Yoda’s dismay, Anakin did not seem to hear his words. His jaw clenched, and he stared at empty air, as if he were seeing his visions as they spoke, though Yoda sensed none of the changes in the Force that would normally accompany such seeing. Remembering, he is, Yoda decided.

  At last, Anakin spoke again. “I won’t let my visions come true, Master Yoda,” he said in a voice of grim determination.

  Ah, young one. Strong are you with the Force, but to hold back death—that strong, no Jedi is. Out of his centuries of experience, out of his memories of the thousands of shorter-lived beings he had taught and worked with and cared for, Yoda said gently, “Rejoice for those around you who transform into the Force. Mourn them, do not. Miss them, do not. Attachment leads to jealousy. The shadow of greed, that is.”

  Slowly, Anakin nodded, though Yoda sensed resistance in him still. “What must I do, Master?”

  “Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose,” Yoda told him. A hard lesson it is, but necessary. And it was a lesson that had to be learned again and again, Yoda thought sadly, remembering the hundreds of Jedi who had already died in the Clone Wars.

  The meeting with Master Windu and Master Yoda continued to worry Obi-Wan for the next several hours. He thought about it as he reviewed the latest messages from the Senate, as he prepared for the briefing he was giving, and even as he pointed out the latest battle zones for the crowd of Jedi and answered their questions in the briefing room. But he was not thinking about the Chancellor or the Jedi Council. He was thinking about Anakin.

  Master Yoda and Master Windu looked at the big picture—the way that the Chancellor, the Senate, and the Jedi dealt with one another and the different powers and authority and responsibilities that belonged to each. They considered the shifting proposals, orders, and demands like beings studying moves in a game of dejarik on a holoboard.

  Anakin didn’t look at the big picture. Anakin saw most things on a personal level. That hadn’t been a problem while he and Obi-Wan were out battling the Trade Federation in the Outer Rim—after all, a battle droid shooting at you was fairly personal, whatever the reason behind it. Now that they were back on Coruscant, though, Anakin would need to consider the political implications of his actions—and everyone else’s. Obi-Wan worried about Anakin’s reaction to the most recent developments. Someone should warn him about what might be coming. Obi-Wan sighed. In this case, he was the only “someone” who could give Anakin a hint. If only Anakin would listen…

  The door of the briefing room opened. Obi-Wan looked up from the holograms and charts he was shutting down and saw Anakin hurrying toward him. “You missed the report on the Outer Rim sieges,” Obi-Wan said.

  “I was held up,” Anakin said. He sounded tense, and more than a little preoccupied. Then he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I have no excuse.”

  Obi-Wan turned to shut down the last few electronic star charts. “In short, they are going very well,” he said. Perhaps he could ease into politics by starting from the briefing that Anakin had missed. “Saleucami has fallen, and Master Vos has moved his troops to Boz Pity.”

  Anakin frowned. “What’s wrong, then?” he asked bluntly.

  So much for easing into the subject. “The Senate is expected to vote more executive powers to the Chancellor today.”

  “That can only mean less deliberating and more action,” Anakin said with some satisfaction. Then he saw Obi-Wan’s face, and his e
xpression became puzzled. “Is that bad? It will make it easier for us to end this war.”

  It’s not that simple! Obi-Wan bit back the words. Anakin was no diplomat; to him, it was simple. “Anakin, be careful of your friend, the Chancellor.”

  “Be careful of what?” Anakin looked more puzzled than ever.

  “He has requested your presence.”

  “What for?”

  “He wouldn’t say.”

  That got a frown, at last. “The Chancellor didn’t inform the Jedi Council?” Anakin said. “That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

  “All of this is unusual,” Obi-Wan told him. “It’s making me feel uneasy.” At least now Anakin was paying close attention. “Relations between the Council and the Chancellor are stressed.”

  Anakin’s frown deepened. “I know the Council has grown wary of the Chancellor’s power,” he said. “But aren’t we all working together to save the Republic? Why all this distrust?”

  Because people can do more than one thing at a time, Obi-Wan thought. The Chancellor can work to save the Republic and work to increase his own power, both at once. And if we don’t pay attention, he’ll have too much power by the time the war is over. But that would be dangerous to say aloud, even in the Jedi Temple. “The Force grows dark, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said instead. “We are all affected by it. Be wary of your feelings.”

  Anakin nodded, but as they left the conference room together, Obi-Wan could only hope that he had said enough.

  The office of the Supreme Chancellor of the Senate boasted one of the best views of Coruscant on the planet. Most windows opened only onto the shadowy gray canyons between the enormous buildings that blanketed the planet’s surface. The huge skyscrapers were like manufacutred mountains, making it impossible to see very far.