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  He found a tired smile for her. “Yes, Teeba.”

  Outside, the night air nipped at his face. Thin and cool, it reminded him of Tatooine after sunset. He looked up at the distant stars, widely scattered in this part of the galaxy. And then, anger stirring, he looked at the battle droids massed beyond the storm shield. Had they run out of ammunition? Or did they now think their presence alone was enough to frighten Torbel into surrender?

  Prowling toward the shield perimeter, Anakin raised his fist.

  I wonder… I wonder…

  “Don’t,” said Obi-Wan, emerging from the shadows. “Not even you can destroy an entire army. And it’s best we leave them unprovoked.”

  Regretful, he relaxed his fingers. “I know. I just wish I could—”

  “So do I,” said Obi-Wan, and smiled at him. “Obi-Wan—”

  Another smile. “Yes, Anakin. We’re fine. Now come and eat, then get some rest.”

  They turned their backs on Durd’s army and walked away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  BAIL WAS BOGGED DOWN IN A FINANCE SUBCOMMITTEE MEETING when word blasted across the HoloNet News network.

  Chandrila’s Hanna City suffers devastating bioweapon attack.

  The machinery of the Senate came to a shuddering halt. Senators and their aides and their staff and their staff’s staff milled in circles, dazed by the ferocity of the unexpected assault. In stunned silence they gathered in front of the sprawling Senate Building’s enormous flatscreens and holoimagers and watched in horror as the HNE droidcams faithfully recorded and tight-beamed around the Republic images of suffering that made the service’s war footage look like a romp in the park.

  Standing with his senatorial colleagues in one of the open meeting areas near his office, Bail could feel nothing but a deep and freezing grief. The Separatist bioweapon was a monstrosity he was having difficulty comprehending, even as he witnessed its results—sentients of at least seven different species, of all ages, reduced to bloody slime and gritty froth. Beside him, his personal assistant began to weep.

  Heedless of protocol, he slid his arm around Minala’s shoulders. In all the years he’d known her, during all the crises they’d shared, she had never shed a tear in front of him. But this attack was unprecedented.

  And then his comlink sounded. Answering it, he heard the blandly autocratic voice of Mas Amedda, summoning him to the Supreme Chancellor’s office.

  “Minala,” he said softly. “I have to go. And there are things I need you to do for me.”

  She pulled herself together, breath by breath becoming the woman he relied on every day: rigorously efficient and self-contained Minala Lodilyn.

  “Of course, Senator.”

  He and Minala returned to his offices. With the door closed and his privacy screens engaged, he turned to her. Stunned grief was fast surrendering to rage.

  “Eyes only to Agent Varrak,” he said. “I want her on a needle job. I want to know how this happened before sundown today. Then contact Nathe at the Special Operations Brigade. I want the securecam footage from both of Chandrila’s public spaceports and all of its private docking bays—I don’t care who owns them—as well as the footage of every street in a five-klick radius of the dead zone, deconstructed frame by frame.”

  Minala nodded. “What about any incidental HoloNet News footage?”

  “That, too,” he said. “By executive order. Don’t let them give you any static about it, Minala. I don’t want to play dirty with this but I will if I have to.” He took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing thoughts. “Tell Nathe I need his best breakdown team on the vid material. I need them to extract every last detail, no matter how insignificant it might seem. Tell him and Agent Varrak to coordinate through Chandrila’s Security Bureau on a need-to-know basis. The bureau is to extend its full cooperation to the Senate Security Council and any of its designated agencies or representatives, by order of the Supreme Chancellor’s office.”

  Minala’s perfectly sculptured eyebrows lifted.

  “I’ll get executive authorization,” he added. “Don’t worry about it. Oh—and tell Varrak she might well hear from the Jedi Temple. That conversation goes nowhere but to me.”

  “Senator,” she said, with another crisp nod.

  Bail managed to find a small, tight smile for her. “And once you’ve sorted things with Agent Varrak and Nathe, and I’ve finished with the Supreme Chancellor, the Security Committee will need to meet. Organize that, too, would you? Let’s say three hours from now. I’ll let you know if the timing has to change.”

  “Sir,” said Minala. She had a mind like a permanently recording data crystal. If he asked, she’d be able to repeat his rapid-fire orders back to him verbatim.

  If ever she decides to quit politics, I’ll be sunk.

  What else? His mind was still spinning, haunted by those dreadful holoimages.

  Think, Organa. Think.

  “Right. And when that’s done,” he said, “I need you to alert Gold and Green Task Forces. I want every informant grapevine plucked until they’re stripped bare. The success of this infiltration is going to make somebody very, very bold. They’ll try again. And next time we need to be ready for them.”

  “Gold and Green,” said Minala. “Yes, sir. Senator—does Doctor Netzl know what’s happened?”

  Oh, mercy. “I don’t know. Master Yoda might’ve told him. Otherwise… probably not. He doesn’t set foot outside that lab. I’ll have to tell him.” He felt his belly churn. Tryn is going to blame himself. “So—delay that Security Committee meeting by half an hour.”

  “Of course, sir,” said Minala. And then her cool professionalism wavered again. “Senator, does this mean Master Kenobi is dead?”

  It better not. “I don’t know that, either. And I don’t want to jump to any unpleasant conclusions.”

  Her lips trembled. “But it doesn’t look good, does it? I mean, if he and young Skywalker could’ve stopped this terrible attack, they would have.”

  He couldn’t meet her eyes. “I know. But the fact that they didn’t doesn’t mean they’re dead.”

  She knew him too well. As well as Breha did, and Padmé. “Of course not. I’m sorry. I’ll start making those calls now.”

  “You run into any trouble, any resistance, get tough,” he said, heading for the door. “I am not in the mood for diplomacy today.”

  Once he arrived at Palpatine’s executive suite Bail was ordered by Mas Amedda to wait in the antechamber, where a flurry of droids and sentients came and went. Now that the first shock was wearing off, he felt so sick he was dizzy.

  Is this my fault?

  He couldn’t sit. He had to stand, had to fight the urge to pace. His secured Senate comlink buzzed sharply. It was Padmé, still mired in negotiations on Bonadan.

  “The news has just broken here. Are you all right?”

  How like her, to think first of his feelings. He’d already spoken briefly to Breha. She’d asked the same thing. He gave Padmé the same answer.

  “Not really.”

  “I’m coming back,” Padmé said, her voice tight with concern. “There’s nothing more I can do here. Bail, no matter what anyone says, even if it’s Palpatine himself—-this wasn’t your fault.”

  Breha had told him the same thing. His wife and his friend, such extraordinary women. Sometimes he wondered what he’d done to deserve them.

  “It’s not feeling like that just now,” he said, which wasn’t what he’d told Breha.

  “Your friend. Has he made any progress?”

  “Not enough,” he admitted. “But he’ll get there, I know he will. Padmé—”

  He turned as the antechamber doors slid open to admit Mon Mothma, her tall, slender frame clad in dark gray synthsilk. On the surface she looked unchanged by the attack on her homeworld, but he could see in her blank stare the depth of her shock.

  “Sorry, Padmé, I’ve got to go,” he said. “Find me as soon as you’re back on Coruscant. I don’t care what time it i
s.”

  “I’m leaving now,” she said. “Bail, we’ll get through this. I’ll see you soon.”

  Tucking the comlink back into his tunic pocket, he threaded his way through Palpatine’s crowding staff to Chandrila’s senator. Seeing him, her eyes widened and one hand lifted in what was close to an appeal.

  “Mon Mothma,” he said, reaching her. “I’m so, so sorry. Are you here alone? Where are your co-Senators?”

  “Offworld,” she said, her voice low. “They’re heading back to Chandrila now. I’ll be leaving myself as soon as I’ve spoken with Palpatine—provided he doesn’t need me to stay.”

  Beneath her composure thrummed the most appalling pain. “This attack. Are you personally affected? I’m sorry. What I mean is, was anyone you know—”

  She was shaking her head. “I’m not aware of any family members or friends who’ve been directly affected. But Ran Harva’s wife—”

  She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Senator Harva was the younger of her two co-Senators. A brusque man, rarely sympathetic—and now in mourning. Bail took a deep breath. Would he ever get used to life’s sheer capriciousness? Last night he and Mon Mothma had celebrated over dinner their discreet and circuitous success in keeping Umgul safely within the Republic family. And now that pleasure was torn to tatters.

  When she learns of my involvement in this she’s not going to forgive me. How could I have been so wrong?

  How could Yoda have been so wrong?

  And as if the thought were a conjuring trick, the antechamber’s doors opened again and the Jedi Temple’s most ancient and revered Master entered the room, leaning heavily on his gimer stick, nothing remotely readable in his wrinkled, watchful face.

  Conversations died. Hurried, frantic movement stopped. Doubt shivered through the crowded room, and a shared, searing cry.

  How did you Jedi not see this? Why weren’t we warned?

  If Yoda felt the scrutiny and the silent accusations, nothing in his demeanor revealed dismay or concern. “Senators,” he said, joining them. “Our condolences to you on this terrible day, Senator Mothma. Join with you in mourning your lost the Jedi do.”

  A little wary, rigidly self-controlled, Mon Mothma inclined her head. “Thank you, Master Yoda.”

  Feeling Yoda’s gaze on him, Bail looked down, aware of many seething emotions: grief, anger, disappointment, dismay.

  We did this, Yoda. You and I. We allowed this to happen. Now what are we going to do about it?

  Yoda met his stricken gaze calmly. It was still impossible to tell if the Jedi felt anything at all about what had happened on Chandrila. His self-mastery was complete.

  Mas Amedda looked up from his wide desk, with its bank of busy comm units, each one flashing coded lights and buzzing shrilly for attention. “You can go in now, Senators, Master Yoda.”

  The doors to Palpatine’s inner sanctum opened. Hanging back, Bail and Mon Mothma waited for Yoda to lead the way.

  Palpatine stood before his office’s wall-sized transparisteel window, contemplating the ever-changing, never-changing Coruscant cityscape. Clad in a discreetly luxurious deep purple robe, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, in the midday light his profile was an austere etching of sorrow.

  The suite’s doors closed behind them and they waited for him to speak. At last Palpatine turned from the window and considered them, his sorrow transmuted from spare etching to lush portrait.

  “First of all,” he said, his voice low and tightly disciplined, “Senator Mothma, allow me to offer you this office’s most sincere condolences. The suffering of the Chandrilan people is almost too great to bear. What you must be feeling I can only imagine. Of course I extend to you every assistance. You have but to ask and whatever you require or desire will be given to you, without question.”

  Mon Mothma nodded. “Supreme Chancellor, Chandrila thanks you.”

  Palpatine pressed a hand to his heart. “Even as we speak, Senator, an emergency session of the Senate is being convened,” he said gravely. “I shall address it, naturally, in hope of quelling the panic engendered by this wicked and cowardly attack. I wondered, though, if you might also like to address our colleagues? I understand you must wish to depart for Chandrila without delay, and naturally there is no obligation, but as the only Chandrilan representative currently on Coruscant I thought it would do your people good to see you accepting the Senate’s formal condolences—and for the Republic to hear you give voice to Chandrila’s grief.”

  Mon Mothma hesitated, then nodded again. “Thank you, Supreme Chancellor. Indeed I had thought to return home immediately, but perhaps a slight delay might prove to our benefit. My people will take great comfort in knowing the Republic stands with them at this terrible time.”

  Palpatine’s gaze warmed, just a little. “Of that I have no doubt. Your people will be heartened, just as the people of Naboo were heartened when we suffered unprovoked violence and Queen Amidala spoke for us.”

  “Supreme Chancellor, do you know if the Separatists are behind this atrocity?”

  Bail felt himself flinch as Palpatine’s gaze cooled and shifted to him, settled for a moment, then shifted to Yoda, and finally back to Mon Mothma.

  “Alas, Senator, while it does seem likely, I’m afraid at this time there is no hard evidence to support that theory,” he replied. “And as I’m sure you’re aware, no group has stepped forward to claim responsibility. But I have no doubt that the Republic’s security services are even now hot on the trail of the truth—and the perpetrators. Is that not so, Senator Organa?”

  Bail cleared his throat. “Yes, Supreme Chancellor. I’ve put all the relevant departments on high alert, and I’ll be meeting with their senior staff and the Security Committee later today. I can assure you, sir, that the apprehension of those responsible for this attack is our highest priority.”

  “Yes,” said Palpatine. His eyes were cold and hard. “I was certain you would say that. Senator Mothma—doubtless you’d appreciate a few moments to collect your thoughts before speaking to the Senate. If you’d like to step back to the antechamber, Mas Amedda will show you to my private retreat. I’ll join you there momentarily. There is a small matter I must first attend to with Senator Organa and Master Yoda.”

  “Of course, Supreme Chancellor,” Mon Mothma murmured. “Senator. Master Yoda.”

  Once the door had closed behind her, Palpatine turned back to the panoramic window. Bail exchanged a look with Yoda, who pursed his lips and shook his head, ever so slightly. And so once again they waited for Palpatine to speak.

  “I’m told the death toll will surpass ten thousand,” he said at last, still staring through the window. “I’ve seen the news recordings. I’m sure you have too.” He swung around, and this time his face was etched with anger. “I’m not a naïve man. I’ve seen brutality. Cruelty. But I have never—” He took a deep breath. “This cannot—this must not—happen again. Your security agents, Senator Organa, and your Jedi, Master Yoda, cannot let this happen again. You should not have let it happen at all.”

  Bail opened his mouth to answer, to apologize, but Yoda’s raised hand stopped him.

  “Supreme Chancellor, a tragedy this is,” the ancient Jedi agreed. “Great sorrow do we all feel for the loss of innocent life. But it is a war we are fighting, that choose to fight we did not. Without compassion or compunction is our enemy. Blamed for their cruelty we cannot be.”

  “No,” said Palpatine. “But blamed for your silence you can and will be. If you had told me as soon as you learned of it that this dreadful weapon was being developed—”

  “Prevent its use how, would you, Supreme Chancellor?” said Yoda.

  Stunned, Bail looked at him. What was he thinking? Nobody interrupted Palpatine. He waited for the Supreme Chancellor’s angry repsonse—but it didn’t come. Instead Palpatine pinched his lips tight.

  Yoda sighed. “Know the answer we both do. Send for me you would have. Request of the Jedi this weapon’s destruction you would ha
ve. Attempt to prevent this tragedy we would have. Attempt to prevent it we did.”

  “And you failed, Master Yoda!” Palpatine retorted. “You failed and now thousands of Chandrilans and other Republic citizens lie dead in the streets, their bodies so horrifically mutilated they might never be identified. And the damage this will do to Republic morale—the fear that will run like wildfire from world to world—I’m not sure you understand, Master Yoda. Fear can be a plague, and I fear a veritable pandemic. Now you tell me—what are you going to do about that?”

  Yoda stood straighter, and lifted his chin. “Trust I will that complete their mission Master Kenobi and young Skywalker can.”

  Palpatine stared. “You believe they’re still alive?”

  “Know it I do, Supreme Chancellor,” said Yoda. “Their deaths would I feel. Believe that you must.”

  “Then that is surely the only good news to come out of this sorry business,” Palpatine murmured. “And bearing that in mind—from now on I’m going to take an active interest in this affair. While I had hoped that Anakin and Master Kenobi could thwart Lok Durd’s ambitions, clearly my optimism was misplaced. As much as it pains me to admit it—and while I am in no way questioning Anakin’s valor, or Master Kenobi’s, either—I have no choice but to accept that this time the task of saving the situation is beyond them. Therefore we must intervene. I want Lanteeb liberated from Separatist control, immediately. Only the warships protecting Kothlis are exempt from redeployment. That situation remains too volatile to jeopardize.”

  Bail folded his hands before him, making sure to present a respectful demeanor. “Supreme Chancellor, we all want to avoid a repeat of what’s happened on Chandrila. But I’m not sure how quickly we can redeploy the fleet, especially given the ongoing comms—”

  “I have no interest in your excuses, Senator!” said Palpatine. “Can it be that you don’t grasp the severity of our predicament? You knew this weapon was ready to be used and you could not prevent Lok Durd from deploying it. Stars above, you couldn’t even keep him safely in custody. And because you could do neither of those things I am now tasked with calming a Republic that has just watched thousands of its citizens perish in unspeakable agony. Worse, I have to face them in the Senate and lie. I have to tell them they have nothing to fear because I have complete confidence that the Jedi will hunt down and apprehend the perpetrators of this monstrous crime.”