Jedi Trial (16 page)

Anakin Skywalker was no stranger to fear, pain, despair, and rage, but all that was behind him now, in another life. He began to write again: “You are with me now, my love. I feel the warmth of your breath on my cheek and smell the scent of your hair and clothes as you press your body close to mine. We faced death together, my love, and conquered it. Tomorrow, though I face death again, your love is with me and will sustain me …” He wrote for some time. Often on this voyage he had wished he could use his considerable Force sensitivity to look in on Padmé. But even if he could, he knew he wouldn’t: that would be an inexcusable abuse of his powers as a Jedi, and because he had already broken his oath by marrying Padmé, he was determined not to do it again to satisfy his personal desires. Still, as he wrote, in his mind’s eye the walls of his spartan compartment seemed to fade away, and once again he was reunited with his beloved Padmé by the beautiful lake on Naboo where they’d consecrated their vows of eternal love and companionship.

A lump had formed in his throat by the time he finished the letter. He reread it. His handwriting was not easy to decipher, but something like this could not be committed to an electronic medium that might be read by someone else. It was private in the extreme and would remain that way. He shook his head and smiled. “I can’t believe I wrote this.” He brushed away the tear that had formed in the corner of his eye, then blinked and looked around. Well, there they were again, the steel bulkheads of his tiny compartment. The gentle throbbing of the
Ranger
’s drives coming up through the deckplates warmed the soles of his feet. Reality.
Carefully, Anakin folded the sheet of flimsiplast several times and then sealed it tight. He wrote across both sides,
PERSONAL FOR SENATOR AMIDALA
, and placed it lovingly inside his cloak. Before he left for the assault, he’d leave it and his other personal things in the custody of the captain of the
Neelian
, to be delivered in the event of his death.

He lay on his bunk and closed his eyes, but sleep just wasn’t there for him now. Halcyon had agreed that instead of taking a shuttle to the
Neelian
, Anakin could take his customized Delta-7 Aethersprite. Well, if he couldn’t have his Padmé, he’d have his starfighter and spend the next few hours tinkering with her.

A battle fleet never sleeps. Crew on board the ships might sleep when off their watches, but a battle fleet is always awake, always alert, and on the eve of going into action soldiers sleep in shifts at their battle stations. A tension runs through a battle fleet so that the individual vessels and their crews are like the components of a vast living creature, a predatory animal on the verge of leaping onto the prey it has tracked through the depths of space. But in this case the prey could fight back. Perhaps even the clone troopers felt the tension—not that it affected their mental states significantly—and Grudo felt it, too. For Jedi Master Halcyon, it was a familiar and exhilarating sensation, but nothing to lose any sleep over.

Halcyon had finished his last war council with his captains, and they had departed to their separate commands. All was ready. Now the final waiting had begun.

When Halcyon woke from a brief sleep he sat in his quarters and wrote, “My Dearest Scerra and Valin …” This was just the latest in a series of letters he had written to his wife and son to be delivered in case of his death—but hopefully in person once this expedition was over. He was writing them by hand, to protect them from prying eyes and to keep safe—for now—the secret of his violation of the Jedi oath. Finished, he folded and sealed the letter and added it to the packet he’d been keeping, a dozen letters in all. The thought of his wife and son warmed him.

He put the thought of his loved ones out of his mind. He had endured the separation from them for so long now that the pain had subsided into a dull throb deep in his vitals. It was no good to think of such things. He stretched. He’d go find Anakin, give him a last-minute pep talk, bolster both their spirits. The young Jedi was proving to be a commander in his own right. Oh, everyone knew he was brave—what he’d done at the Battles of Geonosis and Jabiim and in other desperate situations had proved that. On Jabiim he’d been personally ordered by Supreme Chancellor Palpatine to leave the battlefield after more than a month of hard fighting, forced to leave his friends, to help with the evacuation. And Anakin had obeyed the order, however reluctantly. He was no stranger to pain, death, defeat. He
knew
he had a destiny. He was destined to command. The young Jedi possessed a great Force sensitivity; he was bright, bright to the point of genius. Halcyon was sure Anakin would be a Master someday and even sit on the Council. And now he had demonstrated his aptitude for command, the ability to lead,
that ineffable quality of personality that convinces others that one knows what one is doing, and if they follow, they will succeed. Observing him daily, Halcyon was sure Anakin had put his emotions behind him.

Halcyon stood. There was only one place Anakin would be at this late hour.

“How’s it going, Anakin?”

Startled, Anakin stood up in the cockpit of his starfighter,
Azure Angel II
. “Just making some last-minute adjustments.” He hopped down from the fighter and wiped his hands on a rag. “I’m ready.”

It was quiet in the docking bay; the other machines, shuttles mostly, had been secured against the impending action. The pair sat on some empty crates.

“Just a few hours and we’ll be in it,” Halcyon said. “You have ten thousand troops under your command. How do you feel?”

“Ready.” Anakin slapped his knee. “Ready.”

“Is your arm all right?”

“Never felt better.” Anakin flexed his fingers to prove it. “Master Halcyon—I’ve been meaning to ask you something …”

Halcyon looked closely at Anakin. “Sure. What is it?”

Anakin hesitated, then blurted, “Grudo told me about your run-in with Slayke and, well, I thought I’d ask you …” He shrugged. “Why—that is, why did you fight him that day? Not so much why did you fight him, but why did you fight him the way you did?”

“I’ve wondered about that myself.” Halcyon took a deep breath. “I never wanted to go after Slayke, you
know. Others thought him a rebel at best, a pirate at worst. But I thought he was only doing what the Republic should have been doing all along. I had plans to go home to—” He caught himself. “—to visit with friends, take a rest, but the Council appointed me to lead the judicial corvette they were sending after Slayke, and I had to follow my orders, do my duty, do what I am sworn to do. We Jedi have no personal lives, no families like other people.” His voice took on a tone of bitterness that surprised Anakin. It was a bit how he felt himself right now. Unconsciously he touched the spot beneath his cloak where he was carrying the letter to Padmé.

“So,” Halcyon continued, “when we got to the clearing where Slayke’s ship had landed I knew he was not aboard, and I half suspected that Grudo standing there with his knives was part of some kind of diversionary scheme. At the time I thought it was designed to draw me away from the woods where Slayke and his crew were hiding.” He laughed harshly. “But at that point I just didn’t care,” he said with feeling.

Anakin was taken aback by the emotion in the Jedi Master’s voice.

“Anakin, can I trust you?” Halcyon blurted then.

The Jedi Master sounded terribly serious, and his eyes looked shadowed by sadness. Anakin wanted to tell him,
Of course you can trust me
, but suddenly he didn’t know if that was a reassurance that was his to give. “Go on,” he said uncertainly.

After a moment, Halcyon continued. “You know the reason we Jedi aren’t supposed to have any emotional connections with other people, don’t you?” Anakin
didn’t answer: the question was rhetorical. “It’s because emotions cloud a Jedi’s judgment, make it difficult for him to see his duty, to do the hard and difficult things he’s sworn to do. Well, I failed the test.”

Nejaa Halcyon told Anakin about his wife and son.

At first Anakin couldn’t speak, could only gape mutely at the man who had become a mentor. Halcyon chuckled and tapped Anakin under the jaw.

“Dropped so fast I thought you’d dislocated it,” he said. He sighed. “So there it is. You’re the only one who knows. Are you going to tell the Jedi Council when we get back?”

Anakin didn’t know what to say. “No,” he croaked, trying to control his voice. “I suspect Yoda already knows, or guesses. Not much gets by him.” Then guilt and honesty overcame him. “Besides, if I report you, you can retaliate by reporting me,” he said all in a rush. And then he told Halcyon about his marriage to Padmé.

It was Nejaa Halcyon’s turn to gape. When he could talk again he said, “Married? You?” He shook his head wonderingly. “So you married her when you went to Naboo together, didn’t you?” he said slowly. “And even Obi-Wan doesn’t know?”

Anakin reddened as the shame of his lie rose up from its hiding place deep in his heart. “It has been … difficult,” he admitted. “Obi-Wan is my Master—and my friend. I hate lying to him!”

Halcyon just nodded. “I know, I know. We have gone against everything we have ever been taught—against what it means to be a Jedi …” His voice trailed off.

“But it doesn’t feel wrong!” Anakin burst out. “I mean—the dishonesty, yes, but not the love! Not the caring! I feel no less a Jedi for my love of Padmé!”

“I, too, have struggled with that.” Halcyon frowned. “I wonder sometimes if Yoda does know about me—about us. But if that’s the case, then why did the Council pick me to lead this expedition? And why did they allow me to take you as my second in command, when they knew it would throw us together—two who share such a secret? It’s not because we were the only Jedi available. There were others at the Temple—or they could have recalled some from other commands. So why do it this way?” He looked at Anakin, and his shoulders straightened. “I’ll tell you what I think. I think we’re being given a chance to prove ourselves—they as much as told me that. And I’ve come to think this assignment may be more of a trial even than that.” He seemed to be about to say something more, then clamped his mouth shut and stood up. “It’s about time for you to shove off, young friend.” He stood. “Time to show them all what we’re made of.”

“I guess so.” Anakin also stood, and as they shook hands warmly, he wondered what greater trial the Council might have in mind.

A
ttack! Attack! Attack!” Tonith pounded the control panel. “Attack all along the line! Throw in as many battle droids as we need to break their defenses! We’ve already captured their forward bastion; press on now, press on!”

Tonith had established his command post near the communications center on the plateau that overlooked the battlefield. This gave him a commanding view of what was going on, while it placed him and his staff far enough behind the lines to avoid serious danger from the fighting.

“But Admiral,” B’wuf, the senior control technician protested, “we’ve already lost upward of one hundred thousand droids in our previous attacks. And we’ve taken the forward bastion twice before and lost it twice. Our losses have been enormous. I’m sorry, sir, but I seriously advise that our better course is to hold the line here until we’re reinforced, and then overwhelm them with sheer numbers.”

“My dear B’wuf, assets that just sit in the bank only earn interest. You must invest to make a fortune.” He regarded the controller carefully. B’wuf had the annoying
habit of speaking in a slow drawl, as if always looking for just the right words to express himself, as if he was afraid of saying the wrong thing and getting himself into trouble. In Tonith’s experience, he was typical of the technical breed, out of his depth when dealing with anything in the real world of business affairs. This man would give in when he should stand firm, and he’d stand firm when he should give in. Tonith had dealt with his kind before, but despite his shortcomings he had his uses.

“I—” B’wuf began.

Tonith cut him short. “Do you own these battle droids? Did you pay for them? You’re acting as if they’re your own personal property. They’re assets, my dear B’wuf, assets in an active market and worthless unless invested wisely, do you understand? It’s my job to make that investment and yours to obey my orders. To the letter, B’wuf, to the letter. Now—” Tonith noticed that the entire control center staff had stopped work and was listening to them. “You, get back to work!”

As one, the technicians spun back to their consoles. Tonith turned back to B’wuf. “We are being reinforced very shortly. When they arrive I want this situation cleared up. Keep your infantry moving forward, closely supported by armor and artillery—”

“But sir, our air assets were severely depleted in the battle with General Khamar’s army. You know success is possible only if guaranteed by, well, full employment and integration of arms.”

“They don’t have any air assets, either!” Tonith clutched his hands together in frustration.

“But sir, our fleet—”

“Our fleet is useless. Our ships watch theirs and none dare engage the others, because if just a few are lost, the balance of power will swing to one side or the other; and none dare come to our aid here, because if any are taken out of orbit, the other side has an advantage. Blasted credit pinchers,” he swore. “So none can interfere, we’re on our own until reinforced. When reinforcements arrive, their ships will overwhelm what’s left of the enemy fleet—”

“But sir, we have ships blockading Sluis Van. They could lay mines and come here to—”

“We don’t need them. Now get—”

“But sir, for every one of them we kill, they knock out hundreds of our droids!” B’wuf protested, his face coloring.

“Well, do the math! How many of the enemy are there? How many of our droids? Once we crack their defenses, their casualties will increase, and when they’re at last routed, we’ll wipe them out to the last fighter. Now hop to it!”

“But, Admiral …” B’wuf drawled.

“Blast it, stop arguing with me!” At the end of his patience, Tonith signaled for two guard droids to approach. “B’wuf, see that corner over there? Sit down there. You,” he said, turning to the droids. “If he moves, kill him.”