Shuffling robotic feet drew Padme’s head up from her book.
C-3PO was in the doorway of her opulent bedroom, his stiff arms gesturing out.
“Excuse me, miss Padme, but Master Anakin is waiting on the veranda.”
Nothing more needed to be said.
Padme sprung up from her bed and rushed for the door, snatching a nightgown on the doorside hook as she passed Threepio.
She fumbled with the gossamer sleeves, pulled it on, and hurriedly made for the glass doors leading outside.
Sure enough, there was Anakin, beside a rental speeder, already on the broad veranda, arms crossed and leaning on one of the ivory pillars.
His long, wavy hair was windswept and filtered the red Coruscant sunset behind him.
He noticeably brightened up upon spotting Padme approaching.
“Ani!” Padme cried, hugging him.
Anakin swooped her in one revolution before setting her down.
“Angel,” Anakin addressed, tousling her undone hair.
“I’m back.”
“So soon?”
“The distress call was bogus. Waste of time. But I did get in contact with the Huttslayer.”
“And you’re still alive?” Padme asked, examining Anakin some more.
“Senator Bolkrin mentioned that he wouldn’t kill Jedi, but I wasn’t sure…”
“Oh, he fights them,” Anakin admitted, moving over to one of Padme’s opulent couches and plopping down.
“But he doesn’t kill them. He doesn’t view the Republic as a threat.”
“You’re positive?” Padme reiterated, moving to sit beside Anakin.
She snuggled into his nonmechanical left side.
“His little companion told us himself,” Anakin said.
His hand began entangling itself in her hair.
“Me, Quinlan, and… Ahsoka.”
“Hm? Were you about to say something?”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Anakin dismissed.
“Just the three of us.”
Padme, of course, knew better, but Anakin didn’t do well when he felt like he wasn’t trusted.
“Well, I’m just happy you’re out of there alive. And that you’re not on the case anymore.”
Anakin was silent.
Padme didn’t pressure him, and the two of them remained silent.
Contentment began to set in.
“…Do you think…” Anakin began.
“…that there are more Jedi like me? That aren’t content with what we have as Jedi?”
“What do you mean?” Padme quietly asked.
“Officially, Jedi don’t keep secrets,” Anakin started out.
“Transparency and trust are vital to keeping the Order safe. But there are Jedi out there that do have secrets. Things they don’t want others to know.” Anakin indicated himself and Padme with his mechanical hand.
“And it’s not just me, either. I think there are many things from Jedi that would cause outrage and scandal among the Order if every Jedi’s personal dirt came to light. For, uh, example, Quinlan Vos may have a secret romance. Or Saesee Tinn may have committed more crimes and unlawful skirmishes before the Clone War. We’re supposed to be trusted, to be peacekeepers. And yet…”
“Perhaps it’s just the fault of the war,” Padme suggested, looking up at Anakin.
“No, the war just accelerated things. What, did every dirty secret the Jedi’re guilty of happen in the last year and a half?”
“All warfare’s based on deception,” Padme reminded Anakin gently.
“I’ve been a part of it. You’ve been a part of it. It’s like every day, things slip more and more out of our control.”
Anakin nodded tightly.
“I wish it wasn’t. I wish everything just fit together. Like a podrace engine, or a puzzle. Seems like we’re missing a few pieces, though. There are too many holes in the picture.”
Padme, after thinking for a moment, decided to get his mind off that stuff.
She held his arm above the elbow and looked up more at him.
“You’re a piece that filled a hole in my life, Ani.”
Anakin smiled at that, then kissed her forehead.
“I love it when you’re like this. I wish you didn’t have to be such a politician the rest of the time, but hey, that’s what we’re dealing with here. Out of our control.”
Padme remained silent, laying her head in his lap.
Padme knew that these feelings within Anakin were still there, but Padme didn’t want to make things worse.
Anakin got through it.
He always did.
“I promise,” Anakin whispered, running his fingers through her hair.
His eyes were locked onto her, and Padme could see the red sunset paint his face.
“I promise, I’ll change that. I’ll become strong enough to control our fates. I’ll become the most powerful Jedi ever.”
And Padme couldn’t help but feel something twist in her gut upon hearing him say that.
___________________________________________________________________________
It had only been one and a half, maybe two days since Concordia.
But Ventress’ feelings towards the Slayer had already seriously morphed away from her original intent to kill him.
Even if she could.
Ventress scowled to herself as she passed the doorway of the hissing blast doors and stalked past the droids on the Invulnerable’s bridge.
No doubt, Admiral Trench could hear her approach, and he turned his monstrous, arachnid body to face her.
His mandibles chittered together.
“My lady,” he addressed in a deep, formal tone.
Ventress suspected there was a hint of irony in there somewhere.
“Admiral,” Ventress coldly replied.
She looked over the rest of the bridge deck and out of the transparisteel window.
The gargantuan sun the Separatist fleet was patrolling near was still rather far away, but Ventress still felt blinded.
The light was so uninviting sometimes.
So harsh and cruel.
Wouldn’t it be easier to surrender?
For the night was cozier, more sleep-inducing and dreamy.
And the darkness was everywhere.
The empty nothingness of space could smother all light in the galaxy one day.
But for now, one lone light held the darkness back.
Gave life to the planets in its ideal range.
The darker the night, the more the light glared in its void.
Admiral Trench sidled beside her, and his chittering teeth made goosebumps rise on Ventress’ bare arms.
“May I offer you something to drink?” he innocently asked.
Ventress turned to glare down on him and said nothing.
“It simply struck me that you might be thirsty,” Trench explained.
It was banal enough, but every word from his fangs most likely contained a dark, underlying malice.
“You must have worked up an appetite, fighting the Huttslayer. Please, soothe your throat before you contact Count Dooku.”
Ventress’ face wrinkled in distaste and turned away.
“I’m fine.”
“The only people who say that… are the ones who are not fine,” Trench dryly observed.
Ventress huffed and turned to the ship’s holoprojector.
She began to dial up the Count on the keyboard.
“There is nothing you can do that can help me at the moment, Admiral. I thank you for your concern. If you will, I would like to be left alone on this call.”
Admiral Trench simply nodded and waddled back into the hallway leading to the bridge, a sharp clack on every second step as his cane hit the floor.
“Do be careful, my lady,” he bid, and the doors squealed shut.
Now alone with naught but the droids on the bridge, Ventress should have been calmer.
Instead, her fingers began to shake even more.
Finally, Dooku’s contact was brought up, and Ventress bowed, waiting in a cold sweat and with a hammering heart for his response.
Dooku’s upper body shimmered to life, blue and bisected by flickering lines of the hologram.
“Master,” Ventress said, and suddenly her throat did feel dry.
Perhaps she should have taken Trench up on his offer.
“Why are you calling on Admiral Trench’s ship?” Dooku asked, as posh and regal as ever.
“The Huttslayer was too much for me,” Ventress admitted, and every word seemed to cut deep into her gut.
“I needed a place to regroup. The datafile I’m sending right now should contain my findings on the Huttslayer.”
Dooku’s lips thinned and waited for an agonizing three seconds before responding.
“Too much for you.”
“His martial prowess is incredible, and his suit is impenetrable to lightsabers!” Ventress was quick to say.
“If you don’t believe me, get Grievous to fight him, or see for yourself how powerful he is.”
Dooku waited briefly again.
“So nothing of value has come from your expedition. Your report only serves as a confirmation of data that Darth Sidious leaks to me from the Jedi. You have already lost your own fleet. How many more losses must we incur before we receive substantial results?”
Personally, I’d be skeptical around Dooku… Dooku’s master could easily order you to be disposed of…
Quinlan Vos’ words from the Nar Shaddaa nightclub jolted Ventress’ brain, and in her desperation, she blurted, “Not many more, Master. I’m in a… an advantageous position.”
“Yes?” Dooku slowly said.
“…I have gained the trust of a Jedi,” she was quick to say.
Though her voice betrayed nothing, Ventress couldn’t help but feel shocked at the words hurriedly pouring from her mouth.
“He, too, is hunting the Slayer. That is how we gained this information to give in the first place. That is how we barely managed to survive our encounter with him. Now that I have his ear, I can gain access to the secrets of the Jedi, the Republic war plans, the blackmail on him personally. This may be a long game, however.”
Dooku hummed.
“The Jedi do not concern me. But you are indeed in a rare position. Your relation to him ought to be strictly confidential. If it’s true that he is a source of information, you must be by his side and protect him at all costs. Prove yourself invaluable to him. It will increase his trust, and prove him vulnerable to betrayal at the right moment. Assuming that you are capable of such a thing, of course.”
Betrayal.
Ventress’ sternum seemed to curdle at the words.
Treachery was the way of the Sith.
One of these days, either she would betray Quinlan, or he would betray her, or Dooku would.
“Yes, Master.”
“Remember, Ventress,” Dooku slowly sounded out.
“I trust you to handle this operation. Fail me, and my trust in you won’t be the only thing that’s broken.”
“It won’t be a problem,” Ventress promised.
Oh, Quinlan, how am I going to explain this to you?
Dooku nodded stiffly, and the hologram fizzled out.
A snarl ripped from Ventress’ throat, and her hand slammed on the console hard enough to dent the hardware and startle some passing B1s, who muttered, “Well, excuse you.”
Ventress growled in consternation and gripped the sides of her smooth head.
“I’m trapped,” she murmured to herself, and began to pace in a circle around the bridge holoprojector.
“Damned if I surrender to the Republic, damned if I fail Dooku… and…”
And damned if I betray Quinlan.
She refused to say it out loud, but that didn’t matter.
Why did that bother her so much?
Why was she reluctant to just abandon this maverick of a Jedi on a whim?
She had her suspicions and doubts upon thinking about why, but upon those reasons entering her head, she scoffed.
She still couldn’t shake it, however.
The more the reason for her attachment lingered, the more it made sense.
The more she hated it.
She couldn’t have fallen for that bumbling buffoon!
___________________________________________________________________________
The Council meeting in session went silent after Quinlan’s report finished its last detail– omitting, of course, Asajj Ventress’ presence.
Quinlan himself awkwardly shifted from foot to foot on the pristine marble floor reflecting the clear skies and bright sun outside.
Quinlan subtly turned, observing the reactions of the Council members present on the room’s circumference.
Yoda’s elderly swamp-green face was creased in thought, the tips of his ears curled inward.
Mace Windu could have been carved from stone.
His perfectly still brown head reflected the glare of the sun through the windows.
Ki-Adi Mundi leaned his ponderous head forward, his hands gripping the edges of his council seat.
Kit Fisto was curling one of the small green tentacles hanging over his shoulder, his solid black eyes downturned.
Plo Koon’s fingers were steepled, and all the sound that came from him was the static of his hologram flickering in and out.
His face and fanged mandibles did not give way to expressiveness.
No Kel Dor did.
And Obi-Wan Kenobi was intently hanging on to every word he had said.
Not that it surprised Quinlan; this encounter dealt with his former apprentice, after all.
Quinlan felt the urge to break the silence first.
He scratched the shortened stump of his left arm, peeking out from the cut of his robe.
“…At least, that’s what I make of the situation.”
Yoda grumbled to clear his throat and looked up.
“Unorthodox, this warrior is. Your report speaks of a being of unmatched ferocity, by a single purpose driven. Unbound by Jedi tradition, he is.”
“Where did he get his lightsaber training before he took Master Chi’s?” Ki-Adi Mundi inquired innocently.
“He didn’t take it,” Quinlan corrected, turning to the wizened Cerean master.
“Master Chi willingly surrendered his weapon. I saw it in the memories of the lightsaber.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that this highly powerful individual took on you and Skywalker. And beat you both,” Windu pointed out, measured and firm.
“If he’s a former Jedi, we need to know his identity and when he vanished from the archive.”
“The lightsaber’s memories didn’t go that far back,” Quinlan reminded him.
“And as I’ve said, he can’t use the Force. I couldn’t sense it from him. He uses a mix of highly advanced tech and an innate natural strength to meet us on equal ground. Whatever his suit’s made out of– beskar, Zillo beast chitin, neuranium, phrik– lightsabers can’t cut it. Blasters tickle him. He can take rockets to the face, and he was able to plow through battleship armor like foam.”
“Was there anything else about his suit that stuck out to you?” Plo Koon rumbled, muffled from his mask and the hologram.
“Perhaps it was a life support system, like I must use.”
Quinlan shook his head.
“No life support system is that slick or empowering. Only thing that comes to mind is General Grievous’ body. But I’ve no doubt that the Slayer could dominate Grievous, and Grievous could take on five Jedi and hold his own. The Slayer could take on ten, if he weren’t holding back.” Quinlan thought for a little bit as he realized he was rambling.
“There were some words and numbers on his suit, but they weren’t written in Aurebesh. Or any language I’ve come across. And his helmet played music.”
Kit Fisto raised an eyebrow.
“Music.”
Quinlan pointed at Fisto and nodded.
“Violent, warped, and chaotic. I’m still not sure if it was intended as a psychological weapon to discourage me or if it amped me up to fight harder. In some odd way, it did both. It was as dark and brutal as he was. Oh, and that AI that spoke for him? It’s the same one that hacked an entire Separatist fleet. Imagine what could happen if it were in the wrong hands.”
“I agree. I worry what his presence means for the shape of the war,” Windu noted without emotional giveaway.
“You said he was eventually coming to us for a favor, but I fear what he asks of us, we cannot supply. What can we offer him that he does not already have? What if he asks us to do something against the Code?”
“Deal with that, we will, when and if it happens,” Yoda shut down.
“If willing to make peace, he is, then a madman he is not.”
Quinlan bit his lip.
After some moments, he spread his remaining hand allowingly.
“Masters? Do you believe he has something to do with the tremor in the Force we all felt some time ago?”
“Hm.” Yoda’s eyes flickered to the ground.
“Perhaps. If so powerful he is, not surprised I would be.”
“Let’s assume, for the sake of the argument, that he is. He’s too wild of a card out there on his own. And we don’t know when he will come to us. Could be a year. Could be a week.” Windu glanced around the council room, meeting the eyes of several members.
“Now that we know we can’t fight him without incurring significant losses, we can’t fight the Huttslayer straight on. Yet our inaction would be seen as compliance by the rest of the galaxy.” Enjoying the story? Read on at NovelPing.
Yoda shook his head.
“Disturbing is his means and motive, yet mercy he has shown. Subtle are the ways of the Force, and judgment clouded by fear is not the path of a Jedi. Action without understanding risks corruption. Careful observation, we must employ. Decide our course, we must, only when certainty there is. See him in person, we must, before judgment we pass.”
“But the public’s perception of the Jedi on this matter–” Plo Koon started.
“-is out of our control,” Yoda finished.
“If in haste we act, sour our reputation it will, even more.”
Ki-Adi Mundi wrung his hands as he leaned forward in his seat.
“We cannot ignore his impact, however. His presence has caused disturbances across the Outer Rim and across many black markets and syndicates. We must determine whether his actions indirectly destabilize the fragile conflict between the Republic and the Separatists, even if he claims he fights for neither side.”
“Seems to me like making him our ally won’t hurt,” Kit Fisto said, indicating something nonchalantly.
“What, are we going to antagonize him for no reason? We can send him a box of chocolates or something every few weeks. Or a chainsaw, whichever appeals to him more.”
Only a few Council members laughed briefly.
Mundi was not one of them.
“You must realize, Master Fisto, that association with a man of his reputation and capability might harm us more than help. He has ripped the throat out of a Hutt and painted the walls with their blood. His raw, ravenous ferocity may spread fear more than hope.”
“…Master Vos?” Obi-Wan asked after a moment.
“You mentioned that you and Anakin fought the Slayer. How did Anakin respond to the Slayer’s ferocity?”
Quinlan paused for just a second longer than he otherwise would.
“He did fine. And he tapped deeper into his connection with the Force. No other Jedi I’ve seen can lift an Octuptarra droid in the air.”
“That’s because Master Yoda hasn’t had the opportunity to yet,” Mace Windu quickly chimed in.
“Did you notice anything off about him?” Obi-Wan pressured.
“Was he angry, driven by fear, perhaps?”
“When we act out of anger, Master Kenobi,” Quinlan said as if he was telling him something he already knew, “we become uncontrollable, and reckless. Anakin was certainly motivated when Ahsoka was ejected from the fight, but he managed to get the Slayer on the ropes. That doesn’t happen without tremendous control.”
“But you just reported that the Slayer was only testing you both,” Windu pointed out.
“He held back and permitted Skywalker to lose himself again.”
“Yes, he did,” Quinlan acknowledged.
“And Anakin still drove him back regardless. He’s not a bad Jedi. Even I could tell that, and this was my first encounter alongside him.”
“In question, his goodness is not,” Yoda said, pounding his gimer stick on the marble floor.
“His anger, we are discussing.”
“Look, all I’m saying is, it’s understandable for him to push himself to the limit where Ahsoka’s concerned. I see where he’s coming from. He cares for her. Same as how my own master cared for me. How I cared for Aayla Secura.” Quinlan indicated Yoda.
“Yet, even though you’ve known me since I was a child, Master Yoda, if ending this war one year sooner required me to take your life, I would do it.”
“As you should,” Yoda affirmed.
“As I would yours, Master Vos. As any Jedi would for any other, in the cause of peace.”
“Any Jedi except Anakin,” Obi-Wan quietly finished.
The Council took a silent, thoughtful turn at those words.
“…Develop this strength in Skywalker, then, we must,” Yoda proposed.
“Discover himself, Skywalker is already doing. Shun him, we must not.”
“Indeed. In this time of war, why do we hold back the Chosen One?” Ki-Adi Mundi queried.
“Master Kenobi’s earlier report on Mortis indicated as much.”
“Just because we know who the Chosen One is now doesn’t mean we know what he must specifically do,” Mace Windu reminded the quorum.
“And we still don’t know if Mortis actually happened or was simply a vision. Either from the Dark Side or the Light. Until Anakin does bring balance to the Force, he must follow the Code, same as the rest of the Jedi.”
“No one’s denying that, Master Windu,” Quinlan hurriedly said.
He bowed respectfully.
“In any event, I can vouch for myself that Anakin’s skill with a lightsaber is most proficient. His power in the Force is still relatively unfocused, but its raw strength is staggering. If there were any three Jedi in the Order who I would trust to face the Huttslayer, it’s you, Master Yoda, and him.”
Master Windu nodded after a moment.
“Thank you for your insight, Master Vos. You may resume your operations tracking the Slayer. I know you know you shouldn’t try to engage him in combat again. If possible, befriend him. At the very least, don’t antagonize him.”
Quinlan gave a wry smile and lifted his stump of an arm.
“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind,” he dryly confirmed.
He turned to face the turbolift going out.
“Master Vos,” Yoda gently called before he could exit.
“More to say, have you?”
Quinlan paused.
After some seconds passed, he shook his head no.
“Nothing comes to mind.”
And he left, his cloak billowing behind him.
The instant the doors to the Council chambers shut, Quinlan let out a deep breath.
There had been a part of him that was scared of the Council finding out about Ventress’ involvement.
Even though he knew that she was a puppet of Dooku, and even though he knew she was not to be trusted, he still felt an urge to protect her from the clutches of either the Jedi or Dooku.
For her own safety, she needed to remain his cohort.
Perhaps the day would come when Ventress tried to betray him.
Perhaps if Dooku discarded her, she would cling to him even more.
But Quinlan didn’t want to force Dooku to do that, since if Ventress found out, she’d resent him.
As if he cared about what Ventress thought.
Right?
As if he’d care if Ventress sunk deeper into the Dark Side and left him forever, right?
Quinlan grumbled something indistinct as he punched the turbolift button.
“I can’t keep doing that forever,” he muttered.
“What am I gonna do?”
As he trailed down the ivory tower of the Jedi Temple’s tallest peak, he got a chiming notification on his comlink.
Curious, he held his one wrist up, activated the hologram button with the Force, and squinted over the yellow stripe bisecting his face.
Quinlan’s eyes instantly bulged, and he staggered back a few steps.
Five hundred thousand credits had been forwarded to his personal account.
Along with a note.
Sorry about cutting off your arm.
Nothing personal.
Get yourself a new one.
Quinlan was still making useless babbling noises as the turbolift doors opened at his stop, making a passing Caleb Dume and Depa Billaba gape at him.
___________________________________________________________________________
“Where is Ahsoka? Is she safe? Is she all right?”
Anakin sighed and shrugged.
“The Halls of Healing are still working on her. It’s nothing too serious, but it was enough to take her out of action the day after we got back from Concordia. She’ll be out of there this evening.”
“I’m terribly sorry to hear that, Anakin,” Chancellor Palpatine morosely said, patting Anakin on the back.
They were in his private office at the top of the Senate Office Building on Coruscant, and the early afternoon light streamed easily through the ceiling-tall and wall-wide window behind them, giving the room a gorgeous natural lighting.
The two of them were slowly striding from one end of the room to the other, as they usually did with conversation-heavy meetings.
“She’s resilient,” Anakin said.
“Ahsoka’ll get through it like she always does.” He huffed briefly with laughter.
“Here I was, thinking that a padawan would only slow me down when the Clone War broke out. But she’s been fine so far.”
“Indeed,” Palpatine commented.
His mottled, wrinkled hands wrung together.
“I have read the reports from many campaigns of your bravery and your camaraderie with young Tano– and with many others, might I add. War seems to suit you well.”
“Ah, it’s not like that,” Anakin brushed aside nonchalantly.
“I’d rather not have that ascribed to me. That I love war and all. Eugh. Just doesn’t sit well.”
“Anakin, you must understand that war isn’t inherently a good or bad thing. War and strife are a proving ground that reveals human nature unlike anything else. It may bring out the best in us all, or the worst. War provides the greatest background for heroism.” Palpatine sighed, and the bags under his eyes seemed to deepen.
“Though no nation benefits from prolonged warfare, of course. I’m the one in charge of the state, after all, and it takes a toll on any man, let alone one as old as I. Even after deferring the more menial tasks, this whole affair of war makes a mess of the highest proportions.”
“I’m surprised you managed to hold out for as long as you have,” Anakin noted.
“I’d have cracked in the first month under all the paperwork and the listening to senators for hours on end. I don’t have the temperament for it.”
“A most well-known secret,” Palpatine remarked, and the two of them laughed briefly before Palpatine straightened his chancellor’s robes.
“I imagine it came out when you faced down this, er, Huttslayer fellow?”
Anakin nodded briefly.
“Yeah.”
Palpatine turned to him, more intently than before.
“What was it like, Anakin? Tell me everything.”
Anakin pondered on that.
How it felt, what was going through his mind…
“It’s not like it was an unusual feeling,” Anakin started.
“Or an alien one. I wasn’t uncomfortable with it. And it wasn’t like I was angry for no reason, either. Ahsoka had been hurt, and I couldn’t just allow the Slayer to do that without me showing him what I thought about it.”
“Hm.” Palpatine nodded.
“Justified anger, then?”
Anakin took a few seconds to answer.
“The Jedi want me to have a bit more control than that. To be more disconnected from Ahsoka and Obi-Wan, so that if something happens to them, it won’t impact me as much.”
“Yet you stood up for your padawan when no one else could. That feeling in your bones stemmed from a deep, yearning passion to protect. That’s inherent to not just Jedi, but the male sex at large. You must understand, Anakin, that without passion, nothing gets done in this galaxy. You think I would still be in this office, doing the paperwork, if I did not have the passion for what I do?”
Anakin listened intently.
Was that really so?
To the Jedi Anakin had talked to, passion always seemed to be linked to some kind of underlying connection and attachment to the material.
“Passion is– put simply– incentive. And no man does something without an incentive. Even denying yourself of passions stems from a desire to allegedly be in touch more with the Force– I wouldn’t know, of course. And you’re driven to do such a thing because…” After waiting as if he was expecting an answer, Palpatine answered himself.
“…you have a passion for the Force.”
“I never thought of it like that,” Anakin admitted, a hand to his chin.
“I suppose it’s… the uncontrolled passion that the Jedi were warning of. A spice addict has a passion for the stuff, but he isn’t free. He lets it control him, instead of him controlling it.”
“Of course, of course, Anakin. Passions, temptations, emotions, are all yours and yours alone. They are deeply personal things which must be studied, not shunned. It’s possible to do that without violating the Code. Learn to use your anger so that it becomes an ally rather than an enemy. When you do, you will see that even the darkest feelings can illuminate a path to strength.”
Anakin’s brow furrowed.
“Darkness leading to light, sir?”
Palpatine put a hand on Anakin’s back.
“I understand your confusion.
Not everything makes sense.
Not everything has to.
That’s where the element of belief comes into play.
How many people have you seen throughout the war who have lost their passion, their beliefs?
You’ve seen the hollow husk it has made them, Anakin.
The conviction in your beliefs, inside the Jedi Code or not, gives you strength, creativity, and luck.
You needn’t be bothered by the micromanaging that most other Jedi require.
Even the Jedi Council sees it; they only tell you what, not how.
Your passion has molded you into the Hero With No Fear.”
Even amidst the praise, Anakin sagged a bit.
“Oh, not you too.”
“What, don’t you like it?”
“From the news anchors, yes. Between friends, it’s just… Eugh.”
Palpatine broke into a broad smile.
“Tell you what, you must now call me ‘His Royal Highness, Supreme Emperor Palpatine,’ in return.”
Anakin straight-up gagged at the pompousness in his otherwise calm voice, and both men broke into more laughter.
Palpatine moved back to his swiveling office chair and sank into its cozy embrace.
“Oh, Anakin. It’s always a treat to have you along.” He pushed a small glass bowl on his desk forward.
“Please, take a chocolate. Dark, sea salt caramel.”
Anakin grew a knowing smile.
“But sir, I’ve been told to not touch the Dark Side.”
Palpatine huffed once with amusement.
“Promise I haven’t poisoned them. This time.”
Anakin took one, then two.
Palpatine did not begrudge him.
He unwrapped one and took a bite.
“…Hm. Very nice. It just melts in your mouth!”
“They’re Donpilier chocolates,” Palpatine supplied.
“They make the best candies in the galaxy, as far as I’m concerned.”
Anakin nodded and chewed on some more.
He talked around it in his mouth.
“I’d never had one before I became a Jedi. Turns out, Tatooine wasn’t the best place for sweets.”
“I… understand it must have been hard,” Palpatine conceded.
“No child should go without the small pleasures in life.”
“…What was your childhood like?” Anakin pondered, swallowing.
“You know all about mine, but you never told me about yours.”
Palpatine gave a sober nod.
“There wasn’t much to tell. Relatively normal, as far as a burgeoning politician’s childhood goes.” Palpatine sat back in his office chair and drummed his fingers on the armrest.
“I never knew any other life. It was overwhelming at times, Anakin, sensing the decay and manipulation going on all around me. It was, er, hard to know what was true, who to trust, in this… foggy miasma of corruption we call a Senate. What if one day, the man you thought was your best friend turned out to be some slimy bloody bastard without a lick of moral sense?”
“…You don’t want what happened to you to happen to anyone else,” Anakin figured out.
His tone was subdued and respectful, and Anakin suddenly found his respect for the man increasing.
Palpatine spread an arm.
“Anakin, we’re both sensible men. We take the ugly world as is, not how we’d like it to be. Only by acknowledging what’s actually real can we take any decisive action. It’s real, for instance, that the Republic I preside over is rife with bureaucratic bloat and corporate red tape that makes my teeth hurt. It’s real that the longer this war goes on, the worse things will get for everyone involved.” Palpatine leaned forward for emphasis.
“I’m putting my trust and faith in you, Anakin. The entire Republic is. You can stop the Separatist war front like no other Jedi out there.”
Anakin was silent as he digested Palpatine’s words and the chocolate.
Was that truly the case?
The entire galaxy, depending on him?
Being the Chosen One, of course, Anakin expected it, but hearing it from Palpatine’s lips made it seem more visceral than the title of the prophecy.
Palpatine glanced at the clock on his red wall.
“Speaking of bureaucratic bloat, I’ve got a meeting in ten minutes. I’d hate to–”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Anakin insisted, leaning over Palpatine’s desk and shaking his hand.
“Thank you for the time, Chancellor. It means a lot.”
“Oh, dear boy, the pleasure is all mine,” Palpatine warmly said.
“Remember, if there’s something you need to get off your chest, my doors are always open. Barring my presence in a meeting, of course.”
___________________________________________________________________________
Cad Bane lazily drifted his eyes about the throne room as he slowly entered, inconspicuous and quiet.
It was dark, humid, smelled foul, and was filled with every manner of loathsome creature imaginable.
Their murmurs and arguments filled the air, mixing badly with the dull music playing and making Bane’s eyes crunch in annoyance.
If it weren’t for one creature in this mess, Bane wouldn’t even be on Tatooine, much less in this palace.
Jabba the Hutt was the prominent feature on the far side, taking up nearly all the available space on his upraised dais.
He barely moved in the first place, and the only parts of him that showed movement were his bright green eyes, flickering all over the Twi’lek dancer twisting hypnotically for him, and his tongue, occasionally moisturizing his monstrous lips.
Bane grimaced in preparation, then stalked down a short collection of steps and pushed aside some skinny, wimpy, leather-skin loser in his way.
This action caught Jabba’s enormous eyes as Bane glided up to him.
The rest of the throne room obediently scattered back, and the green Twi’lek dancer on the grate in front of Jabba hurriedly scuttled out of the way. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
“(Bane,)” Jabba grumbled out in Huttese; every word from the disgusting Hutt was deep and throaty.
“(What do you want this time? Go back to Dooku.)”
“Not until your little Slayer problem’s dealt with,” Bane slowly oozed out in return.
“Till he comes here, I’m staying right where I am. I’m not losing his trail.”
Jabba narrowed his eyes.
“(Whose side are you on, Bane?)”
“The side that makes me money.”
“(In war? Please. Money might win a war, but loyalty’s a currency that transcends beskar. I know you’ve worked for Dooku. And he kidnapped my son.)”
Bane flipped a small toothpick in his fingers before fitting it between his teeth.
“Dooku commissioned me to kidnap Jedi kids too. You’ll have ta try harder to accuse me of bad faith, Hutt. ‘Specially cause I’m bringing help.”
Jabba blinked.
“(Help.)”
“Some bounty contractor called Ezra Kerrin’s organizing a group effort to kill the Slayer,” Cad Bane explained lazily, knowing that Jabba would listen no matter how slow and deliberately he talked.
“I’ve already got half a dozen of the biggest names in the galaxy on board with it. Many more’re coming soon. Since the other syndicates have either gone underground or have been dissolved by now, the Slayer’s gonna go after either you or the Pyke Syndicate next. But an army of bounty hunters’ll be here before he does, I promise you.”
Jabba pointed one of his sausage-like arms at Bane.
“(If that’s true, then I want you to settle this outside my palace. I don’t want his blood on my walls. My army of Gamorrean guards will back you up, and you’ll get your money. But bring me his head. I’ll display it above my throne.)”
“That’ll cost you. Five thousand.”
“(Done),” Jabba relented, but there was pain in his strained voice.
He snarled something indistinguishable and clenched his fists.
“(Only after the deed is done.)”
“If you insist,” Bane said, flicking something invisible away.
“When he comes, Jabba- and he will- He’ll be in a world of pain.”
___________________________________________________________________________
The only pain the Slayer was feeling at the moment was a small pull in his shoulder.
Punching through a battleship more than a thousand feet in the air was no small feat, even for the Doomslayer.
He circled his shoulder and pushed into the sensitive points there through his thick suit.
He was inside the Research and Development center onboard the Unbreakable, back in orbit around Mustafar.
With Concordia’s success, the only thing left to do now was figure out where to go next- and to come up with a suitable replacement chainsaw weapon.
The un-helmeted Slayer used his hand to swipe through the blue holographic designs VEGA had sketched for him, and his other hand picked up a small mug of Caf (what they called coffee) and sipped it.
The Slayer could withstand any heat, so no matter how boiling hot it was, the Slayer simply couldn’t be burned on the inside of his mouth.
Though that was nice, the Slayer at the moment found himself missing the sensation of it.
That potential pain was part of the whole experience.
The Slayer frowned as he set it down.
Pain, part of the experience.
So did that mean he was missing out?
He eventually settled on a design that particularly appealed to him.
Though the Divinity Machine had made him beyond human- beyond all creation- the Slayer still found himself resonating with this design in particular.
They both tickled that particular part in his male subconscious.
Perhaps this designs wasn’t the most practical as a plain chainsaw.
Nor was it a multi-purpose tool like the Shield Saw in the Dark Ages.
But it simply looked fun.
And when you were nigh-invulnerable, that was all that really mattered.
The only problem was, of course, trying to reconfigure an electric guitar into a chainsaw.
So the Slayer nodded at the prototype designs, submitted the parts order, turned to the table beside him, and began picking up some intriguing metal pieces.
Soon- very soon- he’d be back out there.
But there was work to be done here.
The door of the design bay cycled open, and Doom-64 walked in, a clack on every footfall.
The B1 saluted.
“Great Slayer. The comms team has discovered a call for every top bounty hunter in the galaxy to come to Tatooine, awaiting your arrival. The credits offered for your head is staggering. Should we concoct a plan to lead them away?”
Well, that was one piece of good news.
The Slayer still creased his head in thought.
How could the bounty hunters have known he was going after Jabba in short order?
Did he make a mistake somewhere?
It didn’t matter.
They couldn’t stop him.
In order to get those pests out of the way, then…
Sensing his thoughts and his battle plan, VEGA softly recommended, “I say we give the hunters a few days to assemble at Jabba’s palace and make a big commotion as we go through the galaxy.” He spoke from the holographic display’s speakers in the room’s center.
Given how VEGA was fully integrated into the ship like a spirit into a body, VEGA could appear from anywhere and everywhere at once.
“We intentionally leak our trajectory and our intentions to the criminal underworld. If that happens, we will deal with all our enemies in one fell swoop on Tatooine.”
“Yeah!” Doom-64 agreed, slowly recognizing it.
“And then we can blast every one of the top 50 bounty hunters in the galaxy!”
“I believe the Slayer would prefer to do this alone,” VEGA softly shot down.
Doom-64 was silent for a minute.
“You mean I won’t be able to do any blasting? Not even just a little?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Doom-64 gave the best approximation of a sigh he could, drooping his cheap gun in his hand and shaking his thin head.
“One of these days, I’ll get to blast alongside you, great Slayer.”
And, incredibly, the spindly little droid extended a metal hand dramatically and began to sing.
“Life is so long-lasting For a B-1 who’s not blasting He’s not at home without a soul to fire on. Ah, those good old days when we were deadly! Suddenly those good old days are gone. For one week, we’ve been rusting Needing lots of skulls for busting Needing maintenance, a chance to rack up kills! Most days, we just lounge around the cruiser~”
“The maintenance bay is always open,” VEGA said before he could continue.
“Yeah, I know,” Doom-64 mourned dejectedly.
He turned and walked out of the bay, evidently going down to maintenance.
The Slayer, meanwhile, was smiling.
VEGA must have taught them some tunes from Earth.
These little useless clowns were amusing in their own way.
Perhaps just for the novelty of it, he’d permit Doom-64 to come along on some excursion later.
Like when they eventually met up again with Anakin Skywalker.
The Slayer’s countenance turned grim again upon remembering him.
His power and combat intuition was raw and unrefined, but extremely powerful and full of potential.
Now that they were on somewhat good terms, the Slayer was looking forward to meeting him again.
And teaching him some pointers.
When you spend a few eons in Hell, you tend to learn a few things.
Once the business with the Hutts was done and over with, he’d contact the Jedi and pull in that little favor with them.
To see if the Force could really get him home.
And if the Force couldn’t?
Then he’d have to resort to getting back the hard way.
___________________________________________________________________________
Anakin, having already eaten dinner, was in his small, crowded room in the Jedi temple, bent over a table with tiny machine parts littered all over it.
The lights were on, but Anakin’s eyes were closed.
His hand was above the scattered scrap, trembling imperceptibly.
Piece after piece was hovering up.
Some parts screwed into each other and others snapped into place, gradually taking shape.
Anakin opened his eyes once each part had been put into place.
The sleek steel model of a Jedi Delta starfighter was pristine and perfect, unpainted, and incredibly detailed.
Anakin floated it over to the stand he had built earlier, then exhaled heavily, laid his lightsaber on the table, and reached for a new box of parts.
Despite knowing how fluid and slick the Force was in construction, Anakin much preferred using his hands.
There was something more real about it, more honest.
More direct.
The door to his quarters hissed into the ceiling, and Anakin turned.
Obi-Wan was there.
He was always welcome, after all.
“Something wrong?” Anakin asked, turning back to his work and picking up a small screwdriver.
“Oh, not at all,” Obi-Wan calmly defused.
“What are you working on this time?”
“Just finished another model,” Anakin started, jutting his head at the unpainted thing.
“Trying to work on lightsaber improvements.”
“Again? Ever since you got that lightsaber, you’ve been tinkering with it, making it heavier, easier to grip. Trying to improve it for combat and dueling. Dooku must have gotten to you on Geonosis.”
Anakin didn’t respond.
“What are you thinking of adding?” Obi-Wan asked, moving over Anakin’s shoulder.
“Perhaps this’ll be another day of simply looking at the components and being unable to conjure up thoughts.”
Anakin shut his eyes in frustration, unseen to Obi-Wan.
Didn’t he know that by looking over his shoulder, he was guaranteeing that outcome?
“Perhaps, but the Huttslayer’s given me ideas. A beskar crossguard, perhaps, like in the High Republic with their saber guards, but they always seem to not make them correctly. Why use the saber blade when there’s plenty of things like phrik, you know, the stuff they make Magnaguard staffs out of?”
“Planning to meet him in combat again?” Obi-Wan mildly asked.
“Preparing to,” Anakin corrected, poring over his box of parts.
“There’s a difference. Fierfek, do I not have any phrik parts anywhere here?”
“Anakin, I… highly doubt we’ll meet the Slayer in combat again. The Council’s given special orders forbidding direct contact.”
“Yeah, because the Council’s never made mistakes before, or misjudged the situation,” Anakin sourly said.
“What if he gets mind controlled, or blackmailed?”
“I’ll grant you that we make mistakes. But with the limited info we have on him, I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do until he comes to the temple himself. We can’t force the Huttslayer to do anything.”
“I forced him to a stalemate on Concordia,” Anakin pointed out, turning to Obi-Wan and waving the screwdriver.
“Did the Council have any words for that beyond another scolding?”
“Scolding?” Obi-Wan repeated, exasperated.
“The Council has high expectations for you, because they want you to be the best Jedi you can be.”
“The best Jedi they want me to be,” Anakin corrected.
“That’s one and the same, Anakin! The Jedi Order has survived for twenty-five millenia by setting a standard all must follow. You are the Chosen One, but the laws of the Jedi do not bend for the sake of one man.”
Anakin rose from his chair, suddenly malcontent to stay sitting down.
“Then what, precisely, am I chosen to do? Grow up to be the Council’s definition of the perfect Jedi? No, bring balance to the Force. We don’t even know what that means, but I need to become more powerful to face it.”
“You will be best prepared to fulfil your destiny by becoming mentally awake and morally straight,” Obi-Wan advised.
“We acknowledge your power and strength. That was never in question. But when faced with temptation, Anakin– when you believe you are alone and no one else is watching you– what kind of Jedi are you? What kind of man are you?”
Anakin fell silent.
That last part struck a bit close to home, given his relationship with Padme.
“…What more needs to be done?” he quietly asked.
“When will it be enough?”
Obi-Wan sat on his bed and took a second to answer.
“We’re not expecting perfection, Anakin. I’m sorry if that message was ever unclear. We expect… intentionality. That you do things with a clear understanding, not a clouded mind. Understanding leads to insight, insight leads to wisdom, and wisdom leads to enabling power.”
Anakin huffed with acknowledgement and sat beside Obi-Wan.
“Yeah. I get it. Look, it’s not that I hate the Jedi Order or the Council or anything. It’s just… I don’t know. There’s something about it all that rubs me the wrong way occasionally.”
“We’ve all been there,” Obi-Wan said.
“Cin Drallig or Depa Billaba might have advice, if you seek them out–”
Obi-Wan’s comlink chimed to life.
Obi-Wan looked down, sighed, and pressed the right button.
“Yes, Cody?”
“Sir, we have a report incoming from Republic High Command. They requested your presence.”
“I’ll be down,” Obi-Wan promised, then ended the transmission and turned to Anakin.
“Want to join me?”
“Sure,” Anakin relented, getting to his feet.
He felt very antsy, eager to move around.
“Beats staying here.”
___________________________________________________________________________
The briefing rooms of the Jedi Temple were in dark side rooms of a main hallway, each at the bottom of a small flight of stairs.
The humming holoprojectors were equivalent to those on capital ship bridges, making details exquisite, though often unneeded.
Anakin and Obi-Wan, squinting in the dark, were gazing at one of the Republic’s newest officers: Commander Kendal Ozzel, holding a datapad he was looking down on with a slight frown.
He looked up.
“We are most grateful for the speed in your response, Generals. This news doesn’t bode well for anyone involved.”
“What’s the news, then, Commander Ozzel?” Anakin asked, folding his arms.
Ozzel began to swipe on his datapad.
“Well, first off, do either of you know Delta Squad?”
“We’ve met before,” Obi-Wan replied evasively.
“Good. Then you’ll be assured of the veracity of their work. Delta Squad gets results, if nothing else. And news, be it good or bad.”
“Get to it, then,” Anakin prompted.
Commander Ozzel nodded.
“Intelligence gained from Delta Squad on Concordia revealed that Death Watch was receiving funding directly from the Separatists. Funding terrorists alone makes their cause look bad. But that’s not everything. The Separatists also informed Death Watch of a new and experimental energy source that a Republic research lab on Bracca was developing. Seems like it was working for the Unified Agency of Colonization. It’s a government branch that’s looking into ways to terraform planets and expand the Republic’s settlements.”
“And Death Watch would swoop in and take the energy once it was fully refined, correct?” Obi-Wan assumed.
“We believe so,” Ozzel confirmed.
“Which means we can leak that info to Separatist citizens and discredit their government’s authority. Terrorist funding doesn’t exactly sit well with normal people, especially the knowledge that it was Dooku who was in direct contact with Death Watch. But as for Bracca, the UAC lab hasn’t been putting out progress reports. It’s been months now.”
Obi-Wan’s fingers had been flying over the keyboard, pulling up the lab on Republic research sites and opening files with the clearance of a Jedi Master.
Obi-Wan zoomed in on one classified article.
“Odd. And it seems like the lab simply shut off its communications array entirely just a few days ago.” His face pulled.
“No, that can’t be right…”
“What can’t, sir?”
“Nothing important,” Obi-Wan quickly said.
“It looks like we must put together a team to investigate. I’ll scrape up what we can muster and let the Council know of our intent.”
Commander Ozzel nodded, and his hologram winked out.
The instant that happened, Anakin leaned into Obi-Wan’s ear.
“You sure that was just nothing?”
“Of course not,” Obi-Wan quietly murmured back.
“The day the Bracca lab’s communications went down was the same day we got back from Mortis.”
Anakin’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair.
“That so? Well, it could be a coincidence. Lots of things happen throughout the galaxy in twenty-four hours.”
“Yes, perhaps,” Obi-Wan acknowledged.
“We must prepare for the event that it is not, however. Prep the 501st and notify Ahsoka. If this is a Separatist invasion of that junkheap planet, we need all the help we can get.”