If he weren't a Jedi, he would certainly have given free rein to his rage.
But instead, he was forced to remain calm. To smile at every Jedi he met along the way. To radiate calm and confidence.
There is no emotion; there is peace.
So the Code said.
But a bloody veil clouded his vision. Demanded release. Devoured him from within.
She had left him. She hadn't waited!
For many months, he, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka had been on the Outer Rim, crushing Separatist armies wherever they could reach. Without mercy, without hesitation. He warmed himself with the sole hope that upon returning to Coruscant, after outrageously long briefings, he would finally see Padmé. Tell her how much he loved her. Hug her, hold her close, show her how much he'd missed her. Apologize for all those scenes of jealousy she'd had to endure. Repent...
But it was as if fate itself was pushing him in the opposite direction.
First — the Council's lectures over the report from his former teacher, who hadn't hesitated to report Ahsoka's transgression. Why did he do that? Why didn't he listen to his, Anakin's, advice to keep what happened between the three of them? Didn't he see that Ahsoka, like Anakin himself at her age, strived for victory. Didn't accept retreat. Saw things through to the end. Why did Obi-Wan, who had forgiven him for similar things for so many years, expose his Padawan this time?
Did he want to teach his former apprentice that he should be more principled in raising the younger generation? Then why didn't he say it in private? Why bring it before the Council? Even without Ahsoka's mistake, the Felucia campaign was doomed from the start! The forces they had were categorically insufficient to defeat the droids.
The more Anakin, like a dark mass striding through the corridors of the Galactic Senate, thought about it, the more often he caught himself thinking that Obi-Wan was simply jealous of him. Of how easily Anakin had established genuinely friendly relations with his own apprentice. Something Kenobi himself hadn't been able to do in his time.
Yes, they considered each other almost brothers after everything they'd both been through. But Anakin didn't feel that kinship of souls with him, the kind he had with Ahsoka. Despite everything, Obi-Wan remained his teacher, and the young Jedi always remembered that.
Ahsoka's expulsion from the Order hit him harder than he'd expected. The Council's harshness literally threw him off balance. Talkative and resourceful, he was simply at a loss, unable to find words in Tano's defense. And now he berated himself for not being able to deliver as passionate a speech as Dougan had.
At the mention of that arrogant Jedi, Skywalker caught himself clenching the fingers of his right hand into a fist until the servos creaked. And even though it was made of metal below the elbow, he still felt a strong electric shock in the nerve from the strain.
Dougan.
Anakin himself couldn't understand why, but that Jedi irritated him. His mere presence on the Council was enough to throw the Tatooinian off balance.
The arrogant man always treated him as if Anakin were guilty of something. He could literally feel the distrust emanating from the armored man, the displeasure that arose every time they ended up in the same company.
And especially after what he'd learned this morning...
After Ahsoka's expulsion, the Council had kept him until late at night, bombarding him with questions about the state of affairs in his legion and his readiness to leave for a new front. Anakin listened with half an ear.
His whole world had turned upside down when he saw Dougan among the members of the High Council. How?! For what merits had he become a Master? And at such a young age! Why him, why hadn't the Council invited Anakin?!
Before his departure, Obi-Wan had tried to explain to him that there was no reason for discontent. The Council had appreciated Dougan's contribution to the common cause — the units under his command had achieved the greatest results, albeit at the cost of heavy losses. But comparing them to those in other sector armies, it turned out that the newly minted Grand Moff had taken the best care of his troops' preservation.
Yes, like Anakin, he almost always achieved victory, with rare exceptions. But while Skywalker's clones suffered nearly thirty percent losses, Dougan's figures barely exceeded twenty. And the fact that the people of Christophsis adored him, supplying his army with volunteers and — unheard of! — warships! By the Hutt, he had fought there too! His soldiers had also taken losses defending the locals from the Separatists! So why was Dougan being honored as a hero, and not him, the "Knight Without Fear"?
Dougan... Over the year of war, Anakin felt that the name of the Jedi he hated was becoming synonymous with a headache, with everything he felt and carefully concealed.
And even when he'd finally managed to escape the Temple this morning, flying on the wings of love to his secret wife, Dougan had struck him on a front where Anakin least expected his appearance.
Though several hours had passed since it happened, Anakin remembered every word she had said to him during their short meeting.
His beloved pulled away from him the moment the young Jedi tried to embrace her.
"Anakin," she always used his full name when she thought his feelings were being shown inappropriately. "I'm in a hurry. A ship is waiting for me."
"What, but I just arrived! I have a whole week of leave while Obi-Wan is away from Coruscant! We absolutely must spend this time together!"
"Anakin, I can't," she slipped out of his arms again. "My mission is very important, and it can't be postponed!"
"Then let me fly with you!" Skywalker muttered, slightly taken aback by her detachment. "Someone has to pilot your ship..."
"I'm not flying on my yacht or a Senate starship," Padmé closed the last suitcase and looked at him with a barely warm gaze. It was how she acted when she thought he had done something wrong.
"But..."
"General Dougan is taking me to the destination on his ship," she explained.
Anakin felt his chest tighten with swelling displeasure. How? Why? Had they met behind his back?
"You didn't tell me you'd seen him since that incident on Rodia," he said slowly, carefully restraining his seething rage.
"I don't have to account to you for every step I take!" she exclaimed defiantly. "Anakin! It's time for you to grow up! Each of us has a duty to the Republic, and we can't shirk it to indulge our feelings."
Those were the last words she spoke before getting into the speeder that carried her away into the unknown.
Into the unknown with Dougan!
He'd sat for hours in the empty apartment, brooding. But he couldn't get his emotions under control.
And so, the Jedi had come here.
To this abode of bureaucracy and inefficiency.
A political swamp, an arena of posturing and lies, in which there was only one person worthy of his attention.
Sheev Palpatine.
The Chancellor of the Republic and his friend.
The only one who never judged. And who was always willing to listen — at any time of day or night. To give advice.
Even Obi-Wan and Yoda didn't possess a fraction of the wisdom hidden in the mind of the former senator from Naboo.
And now, noticing how a pair of Red Guards — the Chancellor's personal guard, who had replaced the utterly corrupt and incompetent Senate Guard unit that had repeatedly sullied its name in dirty scandals — parted at his mere appearance, Anakin noted that even these two, simple soldiers, showed him due respect and honor. The Jedi he surpassed in midi-chlorian count should learn from them. After all, it was Anakin who was the strongest Jedi, not only in his generation, but perhaps in all time.
Unfortunately, after the theft of all the Council's information sources, no one could verify whether that was true or not. But Anakin knew, even without historical chronicles, that he had no equal, past or present.
"Ah, Anakin!" As soon as he crossed the threshold of the office, the Chancellor rose from his desk to meet him. Mas Amedda, his loyal aide, who was also present, bowed reservedly to the young Jedi. "How glad I am to see you!"
"Supreme Chancellor," the Jedi returned the greeting. "The feeling is mutual."
"We'll talk about our affairs later, Mas," Palpatine instantly dismissed his deputy. "How are you, my boy?"
"Not well, Chancellor," he had never hidden the true state of his soul from Palpatine. The only secret inaccessible to his friend was the secret wedding on Naboo with Padmé. And even then, Skywalker was constantly tempted to tell him about it.
"Has something happened?" concern appeared on the Chancellor's face. As always, he genuinely worried about his protégé's affairs. After all, without lying, it was the Chancellor who had always been close to him.
"The Council..." Anakin collapsed into the chair opposite Palpatine's desk. "They expelled my Padawan from the Order."
"Is that so?" the Nabooian was taken aback. "That's an extremely serious step from the Jedi. Did she commit some offense?"
"The Council assigned her to guard the Temple Archives," at first Skywalker hesitated whether to tell such internal Order matters, but then dismissed all doubts. Who but the Chancellor could support him in a difficult moment? Whose advice would he accept without hesitation as a directive for action? Only his. But if so, why not tell the whole picture? Anakin couldn't find any arguments against frankness. "She left her post and didn't raise the alarm in time. As a result, saboteurs destroyed part of the Archives and captured Order relics. Yoda and the other Masters sent Jedi after them closer to nightfall, but no one is very confident they'll be caught. The Council fears that if Jedi knowledge falls into Mandalorian hands, it could lead to great trouble."
"Mandalorians?" Palpatine's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I thought they would never again go against the will of the Jedi."
"They were radicals from the Death Watch faction," Anakin explained. "Obi-Wan has gone to Mandalore to finally clarify the rumors about it supposedly joining the Separatists. Perhaps, with the help of Duchess Kryze, we can track down the attackers."
"In that case, I will pray for the success of his endeavor," Palpatine said benevolently. "Yes, today is rich in unpleasant news..."
"Has something happened to you too?"
"As on any other day," the Chancellor said wearily. "Last night, the daughters of the Chairman of Pantora, Baron Papanoida, were kidnapped. A search is underway, but so far no news."
"Why would anyone need to do that?" Anakin frowned. Of course, he understood that this kind of crime was committed to exert influence on the victims' parents. But what use was a backwater planet like Pantora?
"I'm afraid I have no answers, my boy," Palpatine spread his hands. "Just as there is no clarity in the matter of the destruction of the Spaarti Creation. You know what that is, don't you?"
"I've heard something about it," Anakin admitted. "A unique factory that can be reconfigured overnight to produce new products."
"In general terms, yes," Palpatine confirmed his guess. Smiling, he added, "I am filled with pride at how wise a Jedi you are becoming."
"All thanks to your guidance, Chancellor," Skywalker returned the courtesy. But he did it sincerely. Indeed, many of his achievements were possible only because he listened to the Chancellor's opinion, not the Council's. Which somewhat rankled Obi-Wan, but he never voiced any objections regarding his apprentice's friendship with the Chancellor.
"You flatter me, Anakin," Palpatine waved dismissively. "You yourself possess a wisdom that surpasses that of all other Jedi. It won't be long before, as I foresee, you become the strongest person ever to live in our galaxy. One day, even your teacher, Obi-Wan, will acknowledge it. And the entire Order."
"I'm not sure about that," Skywalker shook his head. "If you see a wise Jedi in me, why is the Council so blind? Why is Dougan on the High Council and not me? Obi-Wan let slip that the Masters made that decision at your insistence."
"Did he say that?" Palpatine blinked in surprise, as he always did when hit with completely new information. "He must have gotten something mixed up. Yes, Yoda and I discussed that our Grand Army should be reformed, creating system armies led by the most outstanding members of the Order and the Council. To be honest, I still thought Yoda had understood my words correctly — after all, I was speaking almost openly about you."
"About me?" Now it was Anakin's turn to learn something new. "Me at the head of a system army? You must be joking..."
"Absolutely not, my boy," Palpatine raised a finger, as if trying to emphasize his point to his companion. "When I say you are an exceptional individual, I say it from the heart, without the slightest concession. If it were up to me, I would have put you in command of the entire clone army from the first days of the war, because I am certain that only you can lead the Republic to victory. But if I did that, the Senate, all those petifoggers and bureaucrats, would immediately turn on me. It could even go as far as a vote of no confidence, as happened with the previous Chancellor. And then, in the midst of a bloody war, our state would be left without a leader."
"I understand, Chancellor," and he truly did understand. He clearly felt that Palpatine was telling him nothing but the truth. Because he could only trust him.
Anakin had caught himself thinking more than once that the Council was artificially trying to limit his power. To slow the rapid rise of his career and fame. To put him on the same level as those who had not achieved great success on the military field. The Chancellor was right — despite all their wisdom, Yoda and the other Masters simply could not keep up with the times, clinging to the echoes of the past. If Yoda were more far-sighted, he, Skywalker, would be sitting among the Council members, and not that upstart Dougan. Had that happened, none of the Masters would have dared to take his apprentice from him.
"You're right," Skywalker said with a sigh. "The Council cannot or will not listen to you. Yet it is unity, in such a difficult hour for the Republic, that could lead us to a quicker victory. I should be among the Council members!"
"It's disheartening to see that the Council doesn't want to properly appreciate your talents," Palpatine said with genuine regret.
"If only I knew why," the former slave said dejectedly. "More and more, I feel like a stranger in the Order. And the failure with my Padawan has only deepened our disagreements with the Council."
He met Palpatine's gaze. The Chancellor's face wore an expression he used to show his friend that the answer he was looking for was already within him. And only the fear that his thoughts might prove true kept the young Jedi from saying it himself. But not in the Chancellor's presence. Not after everything he had been through this year of war.
"The Council..." Anakin felt his throat tighten. "They know something about the Force, and they're hiding it from me."
Palpatine exhaled in relief. As he always did when he wanted to let his friend know that he had voiced exactly what the Nabooian had wanted him to say. Anakin thought bitterly about how simple everything would be if Palpatine were sensitive to the Force. Despite his status as a Jedi Knight, he would give anything in the world to become his apprentice and learn even a fraction of his wisdom.
"They don't trust you, Anakin," Palpatine said sympathetically. Skywalker flinched, embarrassed that the Chancellor had so plainly voiced his innermost thoughts. "They see your future, and they know you will attain a power that is beyond them. You must break through the veil... of mistrust with which the Jedi have surrounded you. I believe you have the strength to do it."
"I'm not sure I can," the Jedi shook his head. "I feel that after the failure with Ahsoka, the Council is even more suspicious of me. They wanted me to learn responsibility, empathy, they did me a great honor by placing her under my protection. And I failed..."
"Are you sure about that?" Palpatine asked with a hint of intrigue.
"What do you mean?" Skywalker swallowed the lump rising in his throat.
"You blame yourself for the failure with your apprentice, believing that her failure is your fault," the Chancellor explained patiently. "But have you ever considered that perhaps she didn't listen to your teachings not because you are a bad teacher — I would never believe that. Perhaps she is an incapable student? You could spend years teaching a Gungan the basics of piloting a starship, but he would still crash into a swamp."
"Do you really think so?" Palpatine had voiced a thought that had been gnawing at him like corrosion on durasteel. But if Anakin himself was afraid to even think along those lines, remembering everything they had been through together, the Supreme Chancellor had put his finger on the very essence of his inner torment. And it felt like a weight had been lifted from his soul. After all, these weren't his words, but the words of a man utterly removed from the Force. And if he had come to that conclusion, could it not be the truth? "I... have thought about it."
"Your wisdom is truly great," Palpatine smiled. "But I hope what I am about to tell you will remain between us?"
"Yes, of course," Anakin fervently confirmed his intention to keep the content of his conversation with the Chancellor secret.
"Reflecting on the fact that your apprentice was incapable of understanding your lessons, I wondered if there might be some deeper, more profound meaning behind it?"
"What do you mean?" Skywalker went cold.
"As Master C'baoth told me, every Jedi chooses their own apprentice," Palpatine recalled. "So why did the Council foist Ahsoka Tano on you? Why did they so crudely violate their own traditions?"
Anakin was silent. How had he not figured this out himself all this time? Why had he never even for a moment questioned this?
"I... don't know..."
"Where is your intuition, my boy?" Palpatine asked in a gentle but stern tone. "The answer is obvious. And if even I can see it, then you, with your potential, should have figured it out immediately..."
"I suppose I'm not as wise as you think," Skywalker tried to evade the answer. In truth, it had taken him less than a minute to understand the real reason for Ahsoka's appearance in his life.
"Anakin," Palpatine said peaceably. "Back on Naboo, when I promised to follow your progress, and later, when you first came to me for advice, do you remember what I asked of you?"
"Never to lie to you," the Jedi swallowed the saliva that had built up in his mouth. How could he have hidden the secret of his marriage from the Chancellor for so long... He was a terrible friend, and it was wrong to keep this secret any longer!
"Exactly," Palpatine nodded. "But don't forget, there is a difference between lying and keeping your own secrets. No matter how good friends we are, I won't reveal all the Republic's secrets to you, and believe me, sometimes I want to. But now, you are trying to deceive me by saying you haven't received the answer that is already in your mind. Am I really such a bad teacher?"
"No, Chancellor," Anakin felt guilty for this childish attempt to hide the truth from his friend. Letting out a noisy breath, he added, "You're right. I know the answer to why the Council assigned Ahsoka to me as a Padawan."
"And are you ready to voice it for me?" the Nabooian asked, squinting.
"Yes," Skywalker replied quietly. "The Council gave me a disobedient Padawan so that she would let me down. And in doing so, they could convince me of my own weaknesses as a Jedi and further restrain the growth of my power."
"Splendid," Anakin caught a hint of satisfaction emanating from the Chancellor. But he attributed it to a mentor's pride in his student for solving a difficult problem. "Understanding the cause is the first step to correcting the situation. If you want to achieve more, you must act as you see fit. And no one — not the Council, not the Jedi, not Obi-Wan — should stand in your way."
"I... understand, Your Excellency," Anakin felt like a student again, being lectured by his mentor. And if Kenobi's lessons only bored him, the Chancellor's wisdom inspired rapturous admiration.
"Just as in battle, having failed the first time, you must not give up," Palpatine continued, speaking in a strong, commanding tone. Anakin, absorbing his words, sat silently, staring at one point. From the outside, it might have seemed he had fallen into some kind of Jedi trance, but that wasn't the case. Skywalker could not allow himself to be distracted in the slightest from absorbing the advice of his true mentor. "Count Dooku, Yoda's former apprentice, went against the Order. But did the Grand Master stop teaching younglings?"
"No," Anakin echoed.
"Since you failed with one Padawan, whom the Council foisted on you to slow your progress, should you give up trying to raise at least one Jedi in the Order who can think for himself, rather than by the narrow dogmas of the Jedi?"
"No..."
"Then why haven't you found yourself an apprentice whose views align with your own?"
"I'm not sure there's anyone suitable in the Order..."
"Really?" Palpatine was surprised. "I was told that on Jabiim you saved a Padawan who, like you, doesn't believe in the Council's insight and prefers to think for herself."
"Aubrie Wyn?" Skywalker clarified in surprise, not at all surprised that the Chancellor knew that name. "But she's too close to the Dark Side, she gives in to emotions..."
"And don't you?" Palpatine asked with a benevolent smile. "It has always seemed to me that the wisest of those sensitive to the Force do not blindly follow the Order's dogmas. After all, you told me yourself how, to save your former apprentice's life, you chose to break the principle of non-violence and got the necessary information from Poggle the Lesser. And what about that incident with the Tusken Raiders on Tatooine?"
"I was close to the Dark Side," Anakin felt his mouth go dry.
"As was she. Doesn't that make you suitable as teacher and student?"
Anakin didn't answer.
Indeed, on Jabiim, Aubrie, to achieve her goal, had unhesitatingly done what was necessary. Just like him. The Force had literally made them mirrors of each other. What was that, if not a sign from above?
"You're right as always, Chancellor," he rose from his chair and bowed respectfully. Palpatine stood up, walked over to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. They walked slowly toward the exit. "Sometimes I regret that you cannot be my teacher."
"Perhaps one day, my boy," Palpatine said with approval and poorly concealed satisfaction. "Perhaps one day."
* * *
"Do you care so much about the safety of all senators, General?" Padmé inquired with a hint of flirtation. She felt a slight pang of guilt, mentally scolding herself for acting like a naive girl trying to impress a Jedi she had, until recently, simply couldn't stand.
On the other hand, they had only met once. And most of the information she had about Dougan came from her husband's stories. The longer she stayed in Rick's company, the more often she caught herself thinking that her previous judgments had been biased.
"Since when do I call him by his first name?" the Nabooian checked herself.
"No, Senator," the Jedi said without taking his eyes off the massive holographic terminal on the starship's bridge. "In that sense, you're my first."
"An immodest, ambiguous joke," Amidala thought with a hint of disappointment. Hearing something like that from a Jedi was surprising. But, the girl corrected herself, she had been in the company of a very unusual member of the Order for quite some time now.
"I've never seen this type of ship before," she tried to continue the conversation. "Something new?"
"More like — well-forgotten old," the Jedi turned to her. "Valor-class cruisers, like the Telos we're on, were built by the Republic during the Great Galactic War and the subsequent Cold War. Unfortunately, only this ship has survived to our time, and they significantly outclass all enemy equivalents."
"So why aren't they being built again?" Padmé asked in bewilderment.
"Building one such ship costs as much as a whole squadron of Venators," the Jedi noted. "It took a considerable amount of funds to upgrade the outdated systems and bring it into service. This flight is its first mission, aside from test flights."
"You have an astonishing fondness for antiquated things," Padmé observed. "The Hammerheads are also relics of ancient wars, aren't they?"
"For someone who actively advocates for cutting military spending, you are remarkably well-informed," the Jedi chuckled. "But it's not for me to choose. The Hammerheads were ordered by the government of Christophsis and are being transferred free of charge for the needs of my army. While we're flying to visit the Banking Clan, a fleet of a hundred of these cruisers, completed in a rush, is already arriving at the new headquarters of the System Army on Christophsis. Along with the Marauder-class corvettes produced by Sienar Technologies."
"You're not picky when it comes to arms suppliers. Raith Sienar was caught trading military technology with the Separatists."
"If I got a Star Destroyer every time I heard that," the Jedi sighed, "I'd have covered the ship shortage long ago. Yes, that information has reached me. But note, we live in a time when part of the Trade Federation and the Banking Clan are fighting against us. And for some reason, we still keep their representatives in the Senate. So why should I refuse excellent ships if the senators can't show unilateral firmness on such matters within their own circle?"
Padmé couldn't find an answer. Indeed, truly bizarre things were happening in the galaxy. The Jedi had only mentioned the ones everyone knew about. How much more didn't he know?
"Even on this mission, while on leave, you continue to handle army affairs?" she asked, pointing at the holographic figure of a combat vehicle.
"The position requires being constantly involved in matters," Dougan replied simply.
"I don't think I've seen that type of equipment in the ranks of the Grand Army of the Republic," Padmé admitted.
"They exist, but in very limited numbers," the Jedi informed her. "This is the AT-RT, an experimental walker created by Rothana Heavy Engineering for the infamous Katana fleet."
"Yes, I've heard about that loss," Amidala recalled. "A huge number of ships lost to the Republic forever."
"That's right," the Jedi agreed. "The Republic will never see them again, just like a surplus in its budget."
"I've heard about your ability to find the most productive weapon samples," Padmé flattered, preferring to ignore another barb aimed at her work. "So what makes this walker superior to those already in service?"
"With a crew of two, the AT-RT has the firepower of an entire platoon," the Jedi explained. "And unlike the slow AT-TEs, it can run, it can stalk. Yes, it's inferior in armor, but this machine isn't designed to fight heavy equipment. And in urban combat conditions, it significantly outperforms all its counterparts, primarily due to its maneuverability."
"If it's so good, why hasn't it been widely deployed in the army?" Amidala frowned.
"For the same reason I'm the only one buying the Marauders," Dougan smirked. "It's not profitable for everyone."
"You see corruption literally everywhere," Padmé said indignantly.
"It's sad that you don't see it," the Jedi retorted. "And why would you, a staunch opponent of military action, be interested in combat equipment?"
"I like gaining new experiences," the Senator smiled politely. "After all, the Senate allocates funds for the army. If I know more about what exactly the credits are going to, maybe I can convince my colleagues to reconsider their views on banning the purchase of certain weapon samples."
"Oh, I see," the Jedi shook his head. "In that case, let me show you the entire line of equipment I intend to purchase with all the money that has come into my System Army's account. Speaking of which, could you clarify for me why the amount of funds that has now come into the 'Gent' account is significantly larger than the total budget of all three armies last year?"
"I'm afraid you'll have to ask the members of the relevant committee about that," the Senator spread her hands. "I only know that the funding for the System Armies was increased through the patronage of the majority of senators on the Loyalist Committee. And even then, different amounts are allocated for each army — not all of them are on the cutting edge of the attack, like yours, for example."
"Let me guess," the Jedi snapped his fingers in the air. "You voted for budget cuts."
"Naturally," the former queen said as if it were a matter of course, without batting an eye. "So, what about familiarizing me with the weapon samples?"
"Don't put your finger in my mouth," the Jedi snorted.
"And not just your finger," Padmé noted coldly. Seeing the Jedi deliberately slowly turn his head toward her, tearing himself away from the holoterminal, she bit her tongue painfully. Why on earth did she have to remember a joke from her youth?
"Is that so," the Jedi said. "It seems, in that case, you'd bite it right off to the tip. I'll keep that in mind. So, military equipment... The ever-familiar AT-TE, can't do without it..."
Padmé listened with half an ear, catching herself more and more watching the Jedi's well-delivered, articulate speech. Without frills, strictly to the point, he spoke as if lecturing, barely checking the technical data on the hologram. He seemed to truly know what he was talking about.
For a moment, the former queen imagined him in the place of a politician. In the Senate, where most speakers either resorted to pleas and persuasion or haltingly read their speeches from datapads, he would certainly command the attention of the masses. Like herself, Bail Organa, Mon Mothma, Riyo Chuchi, the Jedi spoke, so to speak, "in his own words." But at the same time, simply and concisely enough that even an inexperienced listener, which she was playing the role of, found it perfectly clear.
So, from the very first seconds, she understood that despite all its advantages — protection from ion weapons thanks to built-in electromagnetic shields, the ability, due to its walking legs, to penetrate energy shields, relatively high speed, and acceptable maneuverability for its class — the AT-TE had a number of drawbacks. The unarmored, easily hit pilot's cockpit, the exposed position of the main gunner, the low rate of fire and low accuracy of the main gun, vulnerability to missile and air attacks due to the lack of anti-missile defense systems and anti-aircraft artillery, and the narrow firing arcs for the lower gun operators, combined with the walker's height, made it a relatively easy target.
The AT-HE, which was a modification of the previous combat vehicle on higher walking legs, in the General's opinion, turned out even worse than its predecessor, again on all the points mentioned. Perhaps the firing arcs for the lower guns had become wider. But at the same time, the new machine often got stuck where the AT-TE could pass.
The experimental AT-XT model, according to Dougan, despite never entering mass production, was still worthy of attention, largely because it retained the AT-RT's weapon concept — laser cannons combined with proton mortars. And again — one such relatively inexpensive walker could replace an entire platoon on the battlefield.
The light AT-RT walkers also received favorable reviews from the General, though not without noting drawbacks, such as the open cockpit with no protection whatsoever, which turned the single pilot into a target for the enemy's precision weapons. Examining the fragile-looking structure and listening to the Jedi's explanations, Padmé caught herself wondering why the creators of this combat machine hadn't installed, for example, field generators similar to those used by the Separatists on their Droidekas. Or shields technologically based on the principles of Gungan infantry shields. It seemed the creators of the equipment cared nothing for the safety of the soldier operating it.
The TX-130 tanks, like the SPHA units, the Jedi classified as a "necessary evil," since in the Republic's army, despite the length of the conflict, they remained the only representatives of repulsor tanks and long-range artillery, respectively. The next model demonstrated, the AV-7 antipersonnel cannon, fell into the same category.
The line of wheeled Juggernaut-class vehicles, in Dougan's opinion, were perfectly suited for operations on shifting and soft surfaces — in short, where walkers completely lost their maneuverability. Unsurprisingly, he had purchased truly colossal quantities of both vehicle modifications — the A5 and A6.
Then, the Jedi began a rather lukewarm account of equipment samples he characterized as "useless crap." The AT-OT walker — a huge monster on eight "legs," protected by only four light cannons — the manufacturer characterized as a transport walker. Capable of carrying a truly laughable number of soldiers — only thirty — it was, for some reason, as Padmé remembered from Anakin's stories, popular in the army.
Padmé no longer listened to the descriptions of the AT-AA, AT-AR, and UT-AT walkers, but didn't let on that the monologue had ceased to interest her.
Honestly, in this situation, the war and everything technically related to it interested Padmé very little. Yes, as part of her job, she had to be able to at least partially distinguish a walker from a Juggernaut, but she had never delved into the technical details.
Listening to the Jedi, however, she understood a simple truth for herself.
This man was consumed by war. Entirely devoted to it, and he saw nothing wrong with that.
His stories about the advantages and disadvantages of this or that type of ground equipment could, from the outside, seem like a tale of a few friends' adventures over a few drinks. Only people deeply passionate about their work could talk like that.
She had heard similar "breathless" stories from Anakin, when he got to pilot some new ship. With burning eyes, with the smallest details, with boundless attention to detail.
Padmé caught herself thinking that she hadn't noticed how this type of man had become firmly entrenched in her life.
The first was Rush Clovis, with his devotion to the Banking Clan's cause. He could talk for hours about monetary emissions, interest rates, new loan repayment programs, and his own vision for the future development of banking.
The second was her husband, Anakin. Sometimes, acting as a silent listener to his monologues, the Nabooian caught herself thinking that in this love triangle, she was completely superfluous. At times, it seemed that if it were possible, her husband would take a second wife — one of the Nabooian yachts at her disposal, whose complex construction drew complaints from mechanics in many corners of the galaxy. For Skywalker, it was the opposite — the more complex the technology, the brighter his eyes burned.
And finally, the third. Grand Moff Dougan. A man, a Jedi, a commander. As if mocking the Order's principles, he craved battle. His desire to care for his soldiers only underscored how deeply mired in all this he was. A man whose life was no longer about preserving peace, but waging war. Ever since Geonosis, she had feared that one day Anakin would turn into someone like Rick Dougan. A man-machine living in a realm of eternal war.
It frightened her. Peace-loving by nature, she certainly didn't hesitate to pick up a blaster when circumstances demanded it. And more than once, she had risked her life to get out of tight spots. But not for all the credits in the galaxy would she willingly jump back into them.
And at the same time, she was strangely attracted to such a fierce passion for one's work in men. On Naboo, she had often seen families where the husbands, though heads of the household, just drifted with the current. Without hobbies or aspirations, entirely devoted to their families. That was what Padmé had wanted for herself. Before.
Now, with the galaxy ablaze, she, like any woman her age, thought about conceiving and bearing a child. Leaving politics and devoting herself to motherhood. She was afraid to have such conversations with her husband — having mentioned it only once, she was met with his complete incomprehension of the miracle of childbirth. Anakin was firm in his convictions — the current galaxy was no place for an innocent child. Too dangerous, too unpredictable. But if not now, then when? The life cycle of a human woman is not long — a hundred years on average. The reproductive cycle is even shorter. And the longer this war dragged on, the more reasons her jealous husband had to object to conception.
She wondered if Dougan and Chuchi had ever thought about it? Padmé shamefully admitted she didn't know for sure whether Pantorans and humans could have common offspring. But the latter were a side branch of humans. Like the Korunnai, the Corellians. Surely it was possible.
"And, as I understand it, you're completely indifferent to what I'm saying now," the Jedi's mentor-like tone shifted to a mocking one. Padmé shook her head, snapping out of her thoughts.
"Just a little," she lied. "You tell it very engagingly; I got so caught up I drifted off into thought, considering how to convince the senators to pay enough attention to the equipment samples you recommended."
"Uh-huh," the Jedi said in a bored tone. "While I was talking, I was watching you. Whatever you were thinking about, it certainly wasn't walkers. It's not my habit to pry into someone's soul, but I'll make an exception for you. So, Senator, is something bothering you?"
Padmé didn't even try to hide her slight surprise. Of course, Anakin also reacted to her mood swings and general emotional state. But he had never asked so bluntly.
"Each of us has things to worry about," the Nabooian woman said vaguely. "Trust me, these are my personal problems; you don't need to know about them."
"As you wish," the Jedi shrugged. Turning to the holoterminal, he switched the device off, then extracted an information chip from it and tucked it into a pocket on his belt.
"If you need me, I'll be at the front of the bridge," he gave her a playful salute and strode off in the opposite direction at a leisurely pace.
The girl was left alone in the middle of the vast control room.
She had been on warships before. But comparing the size of the control bridge on the Telos with those she had seen, the girl concluded that several fighters could have fit in here.
Numerous tactical terminals manned by clones from the crew displayed constantly changing information, while the wide transparisteel viewports let in the blue-white light of hyperspace. The view was mesmerizing and frightening at the same time.
Padmé suddenly felt cold. Shivering, she regretted choosing an outfit with open shoulders and back. She should have picked something else. Too bad there was no time to go to her cabin and change.
In an hour and a half, they would arrive at the orbit of Scipio, then reach the surface on a military shuttle. After that, she had a meeting with the board of banks to complete her assignment.
Even though she often felt lonely in her work, right now she wished she had company. So, scanning the vast bridge with her gaze, the girl headed toward the viewport windows.
"Already bored, Senator?" the Jedi smirked the moment she approached him. Folding his arms over his chest, he stared out through the windows, as if he could make out something specific in the flickering haze.
"Something's wrong with the ventilation," she shivered. "I think I'm starting to get cold."
"And you came to me so I could warm you up?" the Jedi chuckled.
Padmé flushed at such tactlessness.
"If that was a joke, it was extremely inappropriate," she remarked dryly.
"What jokes are there," she didn't even have time to blink before Dougan deftly shrugged off his matte-black cloak, trimmed with silver-gray edging, and draped it over the girl's shoulders. And almost instantly, she felt better. The chills subsided, and her sluggish state immediately gave way to a sharp awareness of reality.
"Thank you," she murmured, embarrassed.
"Any time," he replied simply.
The girl looked at him curiously. As if seeing him for the first time.
He was taller than her, like Anakin. But unlike her husband, who was tall and lean, Dougan completely concealed his body under fabric armor, over which he wore gray-colored armor plates.
Yes, Anakin also wore armor, but only certain pieces. In all her life and political career, the girl had only ever seen members of the Crimson Guard — the Chancellor's new security unit — in such enclosed, full-body gear.
"Why do you wear armor?" she asked.
"It prolongs life," he replied. "Special types of metal are woven into the suit that, for example, deactivate lightsabers. A useful acquisition when you want to keep all your body parts intact."
"And the face mask is for that too?" At first, she thought he was wearing a helmet on his head, but now, with his cloak resting on his shoulders and the hood no longer covering most of his head except his face, she noticed it was actually just a mask worn over a tight hood that fit his head snugly.
"No," a chuckle came from under the mask. "Not just because I don't want to take a blaster bolt from an enemy sniper. In a fight with Count Dooku's servant, my body… changed a lot. My face became less presentable, I suppose."
"There are many ways in the galaxy to get rid of a disfigurement," Padmé reminded him. A typical female curiosity stirred inside her — to find out what her companion looked like under the mask. And what he looked like before his injuries.
"The Unknown Regions have plenty of everything," Dougan remarked philosophically. "The question of my own beauty isn't a priority for me right now, although a way to restore my original appearance does exist. I'll take care of it soon," he added with a smirk.
"And what is your priority?" the girl inquired.
"Establishing peace and stability in the galaxy," the Jedi replied simply, yet pretentiously at the same time.
"Isn't that a bit too ambitious?" Padmé doubted.
"Well, if the Senate can't handle it, who else will?"
"And again you're smearing the work of the people's elected representatives," the senator wrinkled her nose. How could such an apparently progressive person say such obvious nonsense?
"There's no work there," the Jedi stated. "In my homeland, there's a saying: 'Too many cooks spoil the broth.' It's the same with democracy — everyone pulls the blanket toward themselves instead of working together."
"And yet, democracy is the best form of government in the galaxy," the girl declared confidently.
"Really?" Sarcasm crept into the Jedi's voice. "Is that why they elect kings on Naboo, not presidents?"
"That's our tradition…"
"Gather everyone together and choose someone to clean up all the accumulated crap," Dougan commented. "Yes, incredibly efficient. And when the king doesn't work out — choose another. Our song is good, start over."
"Democracy is the path of the people's freedom!" the Nabooian protested hotly. "Even in the Republic, the Supreme Chancellor is elected — to set the course of development."
"Is that why you removed him, Senator? Didn't like his course?"
"No, that was a completely different situation!"
"Senator," Dougan tore his gaze away from contemplating hyperspace and turned his head toward her. "Ten years ago, thanks to your immaturity, a man came to power whom you are now effectively opposing, advocating for limiting his powers. Doesn't that strike you as some kind of farce?"
"I believe Chancellor Palpatine has good intentions," Padmé said. "But the emergency powers…"
"Have you ever wondered why the Senate so readily grants the Chancellor more and more power?"
"To resolve the crisis, of course."
"And, tell me, how is a chancellor who gets back all the powers that have been stripped from his office over the last thousand years any different from a monarch, a tyrant, or a despot?"
Amidala wanted to reply with something sharp and bold, but couldn't formulate a retort in time. And after a minute of silence, had she said it, it would have sounded truly ridiculous.
"You criticize the Chancellor," she remarked. "But it was he who put you in this position. Aren't you afraid someone might tell Palpatine about your thoughts?"
"And who, Senator? Perhaps you, his staunch opponent? Or one of the crew members? Trust me, the clones aren't interested in what we're talking about."
"You're so sure I won't betray you…" the girl murmured. "That's a good way to make friends."
"So we're friends now?" the Jedi chuckled. "But jokes aside, Padmé. The galaxy will be in a tight spot if the Chancellor gets unlimited power."
"For that, he'd need to eliminate the Senate," the girl objected, letting the fact that Rick had called her by her first name pass by.
"Believe me," the Jedi said in a strangely insinuating tone. "Palpatine is capable of anything to hold onto power. But you can trust me unconditionally. No matter how it looks from the outside — I'm categorically opposed to the Chancellor remaining in power."
Padmé felt slightly dizzy. The man kept talking, but she was no longer making out the words. His voice seemed to hypnotize her, and she obediently stood beside him, eyes closed, listening to the timbre. A slight huskiness in the man's voice gave every word a peculiar charm, making it harder and harder to keep her eyes open.
"Well," she heard his voice, which reached her as if from another galaxy. "You're worn out. Interesting side effect. Time for you to hit the sack. Heaven forbid you fall, hit your head. You're dumb enough as it is; wouldn't want it to get worse."
Without asking permission, the Jedi unceremoniously scooped her up in his arms and strode confidently off the bridge. Padmé felt the pleasant warmth radiating from Dougan, which, like rays of sun, lulled her, forcing her to relax. The girl, nearly in a daze, noted that this was wrong — for her, a married woman, to be carried to her quarters by a stranger, a man, her husband's colleague. How humiliating. As if she were back at the graduation ball at the political school on Naboo.
But on the other hand, what did it matter? Anakin couldn't see this anyway.
* * *
As soon as the canopy of his fighter's cockpit swung open, Obi-Wan nimbly climbed out of the Ethereal Fairy cockpit, jumping onto the landing pad with youthful ease. Taking a noisy breath, he imagined for a moment the first time he had set foot on this planet.
Mandalore.
The homeworld of fierce warriors, ruthless killers, sadists, and the best mercenaries in the galaxy. No wonder Sifo-Dyas had chosen one of them as the donor for the clone army.
"Duchess Satine is expecting you," a palace guard in a sealed helmet appeared in his field of vision. The personal guard of Mandalore's ruler.
"I can't afford to keep her waiting any longer," Obi-Wan sighed, boarding a repulsorlift transport that, as soon as he was near the guard sent to meet him, took off.
They had met at the height of the Mandalorian Civil War, when the young Duchess Kryze — who had become the face and symbol of the pacifist movement in a barbaric and doomed world — was wanted dead by almost everyone who wasn't completely lazy. Together with his teacher, Qui-Gon, he had spent a whole year protecting the girl from being killed.
That was what had brought them together back then — a lush youth rich in colors, fantasies, dreams, and an overwhelming desire to share one's destiny with the person most dear to you.
As with his first unrequited love, Siri Tachi, Obi-Wan had chosen to remain faithful to the Order, to return to Coruscant after the mission. Though if she had asked him to stay… He probably would have left. No, he would have definitely left the Order, just to stay with her.
But she had remained silent. As befits a duchess, she had coldly received his message about his departure, restrainedly thanked him for saving her life. And since then, they hadn't seen each other… for too long.
And now, once again, only duty had brought him to this planet. Duty and obligation to the Order, for which he had sacrificed his happiness. And it was unlikely he should expect a warm welcome.
The mere fact that, after a short ride, Kenobi was greeted not by the ruler of Mandalore herself, but by her prime minister, said enough.
After exchanging greetings in the throne room, Obi-Wan watched the empty throne with hidden longing.
"As unpleasant as it is for me to see a Jedi on our planet," Almec continued, "It concerns me that you were brought here by unfounded accusations and suspicions. Mandalore is a neutral system, and there can be no question of any alliances with the separatists."
"And yet, certain facts exist," Kenobi countered. "Weapons and armor of clearly Mandalorian design have appeared on the black market. If it's merely a coincidence, I apologize in advance. And besides, I would like to speak with the Duchess in private," he asked the Prime Minister.
"Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi," a fragile-looking woman in traditional Mandalorian attire suddenly emerged from a hidden door to the side. "Have the worlds in the galaxy that need your help run out?" the Duchess inquired.
"Glad to see you in good health," Obi-Wan smiled, sensing the cold politeness emanating from the Mandalorian ruler. And a hidden joy at the reunion. "I'm sorry, but tragic events have brought me to Mandalore again…"