FicWad

The cross of burn-scar beside Anakin's eye from a contest with the Dooku-trained Asajj Ventress snaps tight and flashes palely as he turns his starfighter in pursuit. Obi-Wan is right, of course. He almost always is.

You can't save everyone.

A sudden wave of agony crashing out through the Force, blasting through him, almost as soon as his feet hit the ground in the main hanger of the palace in Theed, on Naboo -

Master Qui-Gon's Force signature, suddenly a guttering spark where before it had always been a towering pillar of flame -

Obi-Wan's grief and pain tearing into him, almost more painful than Qui-Gon's actual bodily agony, lashing at his heels, driving him forward even though it was already too late -

The echoes from Obi-Wan's screams, the sound of him crying, the sight of his broken huddle, cradling the collapsed form of Master Qui-Gon, who had just passed on into the Force -

His mother's far too light body, broken and bloody in his arms -

Her bruised eyes struggling to open in her badly battered face -

The gentle and oddly sweet touch of her badly torn lips -

I knew you would come to me . . . I missed you so much . . .

That's what it means to be not quite good enough.

It could happen anytime. Anyplace. If he were a few minutes late. If he let his attention drift for even a single second. If he were but a whisker too weak.

Anyplace. Anytime.

But not here, and not now. Anakin Skywalker will not be late for a third time, not today.

He forces memories of feeling Obi-Wan's anguish and Qui-Gon's murder, of watching his mother face slackening into death, back down below the surface of his consciousness.

It is already far past time to get to work.

Grimly silent, they flash through the battle, wordlessly working together to dodge flak and turbolaser bolts, slipping around cruisers to eclipse themselves from the sensors of droid fighters. They are only a few dozen kilometers from the command cruiser when a pair of tri-fighters whip across their path, firing at them on the deflection. Anakin's sensor board lights up and R2-D2 shrills a warning. "Missiles!"

Anakin isn't worried for himself - after all, the two on his tail are coming at him in perfect tandem, and, since missiles lack the sophisticated brains of droid fighters, to keep them from colliding on their inbound vectors, one of them would inevitably have to lock onto his fighter's left drive, leaving the other one to lock onto his right. A quick snap-roll is enough to make those vectors intersect. Which they do in a silent blossom of flame. But Obi-Wan hasn't been so lucky. The pair of missiles that have locked onto his sublights aren't precisely side by side, which means that a snap-roll would be worse than useless. Instead, Obi-Wan fires retros and kicks his dorsal jets to halve his velocity and knock him a few meters planet-ward. The lead missile overshoots and spirals off into the orbital battle. However, the trailing missile comes close enough to Obi-Wan to trigger its proximity sensors, at which point it detonates in a spray of glowing shrapnel. It happens so quickly that Obi-Wan's starfighter flies through the debris - and, to make matters worse, the shrapnel tracks him. Little silver spheres flip themselves into his path and latch onto the starfighter's skin, then split and sprout spidery arrays of jointed arms that pry up hull plates, exposing the starfighter's internal works to multiple circular whirls of blade shaped rather like ancient mechanical bone saws.

This is a problem.

"I'm hit." Obi-Wan sounds more irritated than concerned. "Anakin, I'm hit. What was that? Did you see it?"

"I have visual. Buzz droids." Anakin immediately swings his starfighter into closer pursuit, determinedly ignoring the sickening, sinking sensation in his stomach. "I count five."

"Get out of here, Anakin. There's nothing you can do."

Leave Obi-Wan!? He wants me to /leave /him?! It is a ridiculous command. An impossible demand. Surely, Obi-Wan must know that. No matter how bad things may look, no matter how important the mission might be, there is absolutely no way that Anakin could ever simply leave Obi-Wan behind to die. He's never given up on Obi-Wan before - not even when his Master was supposed to have already been dead - and he certainly isn't about to start doing so now, not when he can still save him. So Anakin shakes his head immediately, decisively, baring his teeth at the buzz droids daring to threaten his former Master's life and utterly refusing to consider even the possibility of leaving Obi-Wan behind. "I'm not leaving you, Master. Move to the right so I can get a clear shot!"

Cascades of sparks fountain into space from the buzz droids' saws. "Anakin, the mission! Get to the command ship! Get the Chancellor!"

"Not without you!" Anakin snarls through his teeth.

One of the buzz droids crouches beside the cockpit, silvery arms grappling with R4; another works on the starfighter's nose, while a third skitters towards the ventral hydraulics. The last two of the aggressive little mechs spider across to Obi-Wan's left wing, working on the already damaged control surface.

"You can't help me." Obi-Wan still maintains his Jedi calm, something that strikes against Anakin's heart like a missile. "They're shutting down the controls."

"I can fix that . . . " Anakin brings his starfighter into line only a couple of meters off of Obi-Wan's wing. "Steady . . . " he mutters, more to himself than anyone else, "steady . . . " and then triggers a single burst of his right-side cannon that blasts the two buzz droids into gouts of molten metal. Along with most of Obi-Wan's left wing. Anakin's head thumps back against his supports and his eyes fall briefly shut as he winces. "Whoops."

***

"What in the name of - ?!" The starfighter bucks hard enough to knock Obi-Wan's skull against the transparisteel canopy - hard. As a gust of stinging smoke fills the cockpit, Obi-Wan fights the yoke to keep his starfighter from falling into an uncontrolled tumble, trying to use the Force to strengthen the ship without truly feeling (or having to worry about physically reacting to) the damage, yelping, "Anakin, that's not /helping/."

"You're right, bad idea! Here, let's try this - move left and swing under - easy . . . "

"Anakin, wait! You're too close! Wait - " Shocked completely out of his calm center, the acceptance he has been building towards - by embracing the Force and yielding to its will in the face of his seemingly imminent (however unwelcome) end - utterly and irretrievably violently broken, Obi-Wan can only stare in disbelief as his former Padawan's starfighter edges even closer to him so that Anakin can, with a dip of a wing, physically slam a buzz droid into a smear of metal. The impact jolts Obi-Wan again, pounding a deep streaking dent into his starfighter's hull and shattering the forward control surface of Anakin's own wing. Anakin has, apparently, forgotten the first principle of combat. Again. As usual. "You're going to get us both killed!" His little ship's atmospheric scrubbers are already draining the smoke out of the cockpit, but the buzz droid on the forward control surface of Obi-Wan's starfighter's already slightly damaged right wing has easily peeled away enough of the surface hull plates to allow its jointed saw arms access deep inside the wing. Sparks flare into space, along with an expanding fountain of gas that instantly crystallizes in the hard vacuum. Velocity identical to Obi-Wan's, the shimmering gas hangs on his starfighter's nose like a cloud of fog. "Blast!" Obi-Wan snaps irritably. "I can't see a thing. My controls are going."

"You're doing fine. Stay on my wing."

Easier said than done, Obi-Wan thinks, sighing. "I have to accelerate out of this."

"I'm with you. Go."

Obi-Wan eases power to his thrusters and his starfighter parts the cloud, but new vapor continues boiling out to replace it as he goes. And the ship is so damaged now that he has to block out almost all of his awareness of it, which greatly reduces what he can sense of his surroundings. "I still can't see. Is that last one still on my nose? Arfour, can you do anything?"

The only response he gets comes from Anakin, his voice quietly apologetic. "That's a negative on Arfour. Buzz droid got him."

"It," Obi-Wan automatically corrects. "Wait - they attacked /Arfour/?"

"Not just Arfour. One of them jumped over when we hit."

Blast! Obi-Wan snarls mentally. They are getting smarter. This could be a problem . . .

All thought of the potentially problematic and perhaps even dangerous ramifications of the increasing intellect of the enemy droids tumbles far from the forefront of his mind, though, when, through a gap torn in the vaporous cloud by the curve of his cockpit, Obi-Wan spies R2-D2 grappling with a buzz droid hand-to-hand. Or saw-arm-to-saw-arm, in any case. Even while flying almost blind and all but completely out of control through the midst of a wide-ranging space battle, Obi-Wan cannot avoid a second of disbelief at the bewildering variety of auxiliary tools and aftermarket behaviors Anakin has tinkered onto his starfighter's astromech, even beyond the sophisticated upgrades performed by the Royal Engineers of Naboo. The array of devices extending out of the depths of the little droid virtually form a second partner in their own right. Soon, R2's saw has cut through one of the buzz droid's grapplers, sending the jointed arm flipping lazily off into space. Then it does the same to another. Then a panel opens in R2-D2's side and its datajack arm stabs out and smacks into the crippled buzz droid, sweeping it right off of Anakin's hull. The buzz droid spins aft until it gets caught in the blast wash of Anakin's sublights, after which it blows away faster than even Obi-Wan's eye can follow.

With a slightly bemused smile, Obi-Wan takes a moment to reflect that the Separatist droids aren't the only ones that are getting smarter.

Then the datajack is retracting and a different panel opens, this time in R2-D2's dome. A claw-cable shoots out from that into the cloud of gas that is still billowing from Obi-Wan's right forward wing, pulling back out to drag off a struggling buzz droid. The silver droid twists and squirms and its grapplers take hold of the cable, climbing back along it, saw arms waving, until Anakin pops the starfighter's underjets and R2 cuts the cable so that the buzz droid drops away, tumbling helplessly through the battle.

"You know," Obi-Wan muses quietly, "I begin to understand why you speak of Artoo as though he's a living creature."

"Do you?" He can hear Anakin's smile. "Don't you mean, it/?"/

"Ah, yes." Obi-Wan frowns obligingly. "Yes, of course, Anakin. It. Erm, thank it for me, will you?"

"Thank him yourself."

"Ah - yes. Thank you, Artoo."

The whistle that comes back over the comm has a clear flavor of You're welcome.

Then the last of the fog finally disperses, and the sky ahead is suddenly full of ship.

More than one kilometer from end to end, the vast command cruiser fills his visual field. At this range, all Obi-Wan can see are savannas of sand-colored hull studded with turbolaser mountains that light up space with thunderbolts of disintegrating energy.

And that immense ship is getting bigger.

Fast.

"Anakin! We're going to collide!"

"That's the plan. Head for the hangar."

"That's not - "

"I know: first Jedi principle of - "

"No! It's not going to /work/. Not for me."

"What?"

"My controls are gone. I can't head for /anything/."

"Oh. Well. All right, then, no problem."

"No /problem/?"

Then his starfighter is clanging as though he's crashed into a ship-sized gong.

Obi-Wan jerks and twists his head around to find the other starfighter just above his tail. Literally just above: Anakin's left lead control surface is barely a hand span from Obi- Wan's sublight thrusters.

Anakin has hit him. On /purpose/.

Then, of course, he does it again.

CLANG!

"What are you /doing/?!"

"Just giving you . . . " Anakin's voice comes slow, tight with concentration, " . . . a little help with your steering . . . "

Obi-Wan shakes his head helplessly. This is completely impossible. No other pilot would even attempt it. But for Anakin Skywalker, the completely impossible has an eerie way of being merely difficult . . . and hard on his former Master's nerves.

He takes a moment to consider the fact that he ought to be used to this by now.

While these thoughts are chasing each other aimlessly through his mind, Obi-Wan stares bleakly at a blue shimmer of energy filling the yawning hangar bay ahead. Belatedly, he registers what he is looking at. Then the full gravity of the situation dawns on him. Oh, this is bad.

"Anakin - " Obi-Wan tries as he attempts to reroute his battered ship's control paths through his yoke. No luck.

Anakin gives no sign that he's heard his name, drawing up and tipping his forward surfaces down behind the sparking scrap that used to be Arfour.

"Anakin - !"

"Give me . . . just a second, Master." Anakin's voice has gone even tighter. There comes a muffled thump, then another. Louder. And a scrape and a squeal of ripping metal. "This isn't quite . . . as easy as it looks . . . "

"Anakin!"

"What?!"

"The hangar bay - "

"What about it?"

"Have you noticed that the /shield is still up/?!"

"Really?!"

"Really." Not to mention so close that Obi-Wan can practically taste it -

"Oh. Sorry, Master. I've been busy."

Obi-Wan just closes his eyes and moans, "Anakin, I have a bad feeling about this!"

Then, reaching into the Force, his mind follows the starfighter's mangled circuitry to locate and activate the sublight engines' manual test board. With a slight push, Obi-Wan triggers a command normally used only in bench tests: full reverse. The cometary tail of glowing debris being shed by his disintegrating starfighter shoots past him and evaporates in a cascade of miniature starbursts on contact with the hangar shield. Which is exactly what is about to happen to him. The only effect that full reverse from his failing engines has is to give him more time to see it coming.

Then Anakin's starfighter suddenly swoops down in front of him, crossing left to right at a steep deflection. Obi-Wan distinctly hears Anakin growl, "A taste of what's coming when we meet in the flesh, General." Energy flares from his cannons, and then the shield emitters at the right side of the command cruiser's hangar door are exploding into scrap. The blue shimmer of the bay shield flickers, fades, and abruptly vanishes just as the battered hulk of Obi-Wan's starfighter comes spinning across the threshold to slam down along the deck, trailing sparks and a scream of tortured metal. His entire starfighter - well, what's left of it, anyway - vibrates with the roar of atmosphere howling out from the now unshielded bay. Massive blast doors grind together like jaws. Another deft Force-touch on the manual test board cuts power to his engines, but Obi-Wan can't manage to trigger the explosive bolts on his cockpit canopy, and he has a bad feeling that those canopy bolts are the only thing left on the badly battered little craft that aren't about to explode. Disengaging himself completely from the last few remaining traces of his earlier deep Force-assisted rapport with the now essentially destroyed starfighter, Obi-Wan sighs as his lightsaber finds his hand and blue energy flares. One swipe and the canopy bursts away, ripped out into space by the hurricane of escaping air. Obi-Wan flips himself up into the stunningly cold gale and allows it to blow him tumbling away as the remnants of his battered craft finally explodes. He rides out the shock wave while he allows the Force to right him in the air and then lands, catfooted, on the blackened streak - still hot enough to scorch the soles of his boots - that his landing has just gouged into the deck.

The hangar is, of course, full of battle droids.

His shoulders drop and his knees bend as his lightsaber comes up to angle in front of his face. There are far too many for him to fight alone, but Obi-Wan doesn't mind.

At least he is finally out of that blasted starfighter.

***

Anakin slips his craft towards the hangar through a fountain of junk and flash-frozen gas. One last touch of the yoke twists his starfighter through the closing teeth of the blast doors just as Obi-Wan's canopy flies the other way.

Obi-Wan's ship is a hunk of glowing scrap punctuating a long smoking skid mark.

Obi-Wan himself, beard rimed with frost, lightsaber out and flaming, stands in a tightening ring of battle droids.

Anakin slews his starfighter into a landing that scatters droids with the particle blast from his sublight thrusters and for one second he is nine years old again, still just a few days shy of his tenth birthday and not even a bonded initiate of the Jedi Order yet (thanks to the High Council's disapproval of his attachment to his mother, among other things), behind the controls of a sleek Naboo starfighter in the Theed royal hangar and getting his first touch of a real ship's actual cannons, blasting battle droids and about to accidentally flip the switches that would engage a series of protocols for takeoff and autopilot, launching him on a ride that would take him up to the Trade Federation's droid control ship and the lucky shot of torpedoes that would make him a hero and help save the day, by ending the battle -

He would do much the same again here, opening fire on the droids from his faithful little Eta-2, except that Palpatine is somewhere on this ship. They just might end up needing one of the light shuttles in this hangar to get the Chancellor safely to the surface, and a few dozen cannon blasts bouncing around in here could wreck them all.

This, he will have to do by hand.

One touch blows his canopy and then Anakin is springing from the cockpit, flipping upward to stand on the wing. Battle droids open fire instantly, and Anakin's lightsaber flashes. "Artoo, locate a computer link." The little droid whistles at him, and Anakin allows himself a tight smile. Sometimes he thinks he can almost understand the droid's electrosonic code. "Don't worry about us. We'll be fine. I need you to talk to the ship and find Palpatine, okay? Go on, Artoo, I'll cover you." R2 pops out of its socket and bounces to the deck. Anakin jumps ahead of it into a cascade of blasterfire and lets the Force direct his blade. Battle droids begin to spark and collapse. "Get to that link!" Anakin has to shout above the whine of blasters and the roar of exploding droids. "I'm going for Obi-Wan!"

"No need."

Anakin whirls to find Obi-Wan right behind him in the act of slicing neatly through the braincase of a battle droid.

"I appreciate the thought, Anakin," the Jedi Master informs him with a gentle smile. "But I've already come for you."

Obi-Wan's beatific expression - partially due to simple relief at being out of the fighter and no longer having to worry about piloting the damaged craft and partially due to pure joy at being back where he belongs, at Anakin's side, their lightsabers already bared and ready to strike against any enemy that might come against them - calls forth an answering grin from Anakin, a wildly flashing hunter's smile. For a moment, though, they simply stand together, as if preparing themselves for the coming battle. What they are doing, however, is far simpler. They are already ready for whatever might come at them. Just the fact that they are together means they are ready.

Instead, Anakin and Obi-Wan pause to stand together, just for a moment, to savor that togetherness, that readiness, and the challenge of the coming battle. Only an instant, and then they are moving, a flashing whirling dual-centered dervish of balletic leaping, kicking, ducking, rolling, and swinging, knowing each other so well, able to see so deeply into each other's minds, that they are perfectly in time with each other, their moves entirely in synch, their lightsabers violently weaving a deadly counterpoint to their mesmerically graceful dance across the hanger.

And this is Obi-Wan and Anakin, the iconic duo who are the darlings of the HoloNet and the hope - and terror - of all the known galaxy: they are closer than friends, closer than brothers. Although Obi-Wan is sixteen standard years Anakin's elder, they have become men together. Neither can imagine life without the other. Neither wants such a life, a life without his beloved Force-partner - ever. The war has forged their two lives into one. The war that has done this is not the Clone Wars, though; Obi-Wan and Anakin's war began on Naboo, when Qui-Gon Jinn died at the hand of a Sith Lord. Master and Padawan and Jedi Knights together, they have fought this war for over thirteen years, now. This war, their war, is their life. And their life is a weapon of unimaginable potential. Others may say what they will about the wisdom of ancient Master Yoda, or the deadly skill of grim Mace Windu, the courage of Ki-Adi-Mundi, or the subtle wiles of Shaak Ti; the greatness of all these other Jedi is unquestioned, but it pales next to the legend that has grown around Kenobi and Skywalker.

They stand alone.

Together, they are unstoppable. Unbeatable. They are the ultimate go-to guys of the Jedi Order. When the Good Guys absolutely, positively, have got to /win/, the call goes out to them.

Obi-Wan and Anakin, the legendary Kenobi and Skywalker team, always answer.

Perhaps Obi-Wan would rather talk, rather negotiate his way to a peaceful, diplomatic solution, than resort to violence, but when there is fighting to be done, few can match him one-on-one and his skills as a strategist and a battle commander are prodigal. And Anakin is not only a consummate warrior, he is a true master of audacity: his intensity, boldness, and sheer jaw-dropping luck are the perfect complement to Obi-Wan's calmly deliberate, balanced steadiness. Together, they are a Jedi war hammer that has crushed Separatist infestations upon scores of worlds. Together, they are the ultimate weapon. Whether Obi-Wan's legendary cleverness might beat Anakin's raw power, straight up, no rules, is the subject of schoolyard fistfights, crèche-pool wriggle-matches, and pod-chamber stinkwars all across and even beyond the limits of the Galactic Republic. But these struggles over who is the more powerful, who would win in a fight between the two, always end, somehow, with the combatants on both sides admitting that it doesn't really matter.

Anakin and Obi-Wan would never fight each other, not really. Not seriously.

They couldn't.

They're a team. They're the team. Everyone knows they belong together.

And both of them are absolutely certain that they always will be.

***

As the storm of blasterfire ricocheting through the hangar bay suddenly ceases, clusters of battle droids withdraw behind ships and slip out of hatchways.

Obi-Wan's familiar grimace shows past his blade as he allows it to shrink away. "I hate it when they do that."

Anakin's lightsaber is already back on his belt. "When they do what?"

"Disengage and fall back for no reason."

Anakin simply looks at him for a moment. "There's always a reason, Master."

Obi-Wan merely cocks an eyebrow and tilts his head into a half nod, his expression wry. "That's why I hate it."

Anakin just looks around at the litter of smoking droid parts they've scattered all across the hangar bay, shrugging noncommittally - recognizing the validity of Obi-Wan's complaint but having nothing further to add, since he knows no more about the reasons for their sudden retreat than Obi-Wan - before snugging his black glove to ensure it hasn't slipped during the fight. Then, getting down to business, he briskly asks, "Artoo, where's the Chancellor?"

The little droid's datajack rotates in the wall socket he's plugged into. Its holoprojector eye swivels and the blue scanning laser builds a ghostly image near Anakin's boot: Palpatine is shackled into a large swivel chair. Even in this tiny translucent blur, he looks exhausted and in pain - if undeniably alive. Anakin's heart thumps once, painfully, against his ribs, and he sighs, silently. He isn't too late, then. Not this time.

Anakin drops to one knee to get a better look at the image, squinting at it. Palpatine looks as if he's aged at least ten years since Anakin has last seen him, perhaps even more. His face is not only drawn, it is creased with lines graven so deep that they look gouged into his skin. And the look in his eyes . . . is that fear? Muscle bulges along the young Jedi's jaw as he restrains himself from clenching his hands into fists. In all the time that he has known Palpatine, Anakin has never once known the man to show fear. Grave concern, yes, and even serious doubts about the choices facing the Republic, but actual fear? To have somehow apparently swiftly reduced the man who effortlessly remained collected, calm, and strongly confident throughout the crises of Naboo, Geonosis, Jabiim, and all of the many battles in which Republic forces failed to fully protect the citizens of the Republic or to defeat the Separatists . . . Anakin's mind balks at the possibility of what Grievous might have done to put such obvious fear on the Chancellor's badly worn face. It is far too easy to imagine just what Grievous might have done. And far too terrible to contemplate. If Grievous has hurt the Chancellor - if he has so much as touched him -

The hand of jointed durasteel inside his black glove clenches so hard that electronic feedback makes his shoulder ache. The anger and despair arising from his far too vivid, far too realistic imaginings make his blood boil, clouding his mind and confusing his heart and senses with the low roll of thunder in his ears, the sour metallic taste of blood and soot in his mouth, and the stench and confusion of scorching and roiling billows of smoke in his nose and across his vision - the noise and destruction of Aargonar. Of Jabiim. Of Geonosis. Of the Tusken camp. Anakin grits his teeth, facial muscles tensing and bunching, until his jaw aches. The dangerous lure of that anger, the strength and drive that it could give him - and the inevitable toil it will take, the damage it will wreck on his control as well as his opinion of himself and the way that Obi-Wan regards him, if he were to lose control because of that rage - if only he would give in to it and stop trying to rein it back or push it away, is a distraction that he cannot afford. But it is hard, very hard, to turn away from it, with the worn image of an obviously aged and frightened Palpatine being held up before him.

Obi-Wan speaks quietly from over Anakin's tensed shoulder, and the mere sound of his voice - a potent reminder that Obi-Wan literally has his back - helps to steady Anakin, at least a little bit. "Do you have a location?"

The image of Palpatine ripples and twists into a schematic map of the cruiser. Far up at the top of the conning spire, R2 shows a pulsar of brighter blue.

"In the General's Quarters." Obi-Wan scowls as if to say Of course. "Any sign of Grievous himself?"

The pulsar shifts to the cruiser's bridge.

"Hmm. And guards?"

The holoimage ripples again, transforming into an image of the cruiser's General's Quarters once more. Palpatine appears to be alone: the chair sits in the center of an arc of empty floor, facing a huge curved viewing wall.

Anakin frowns, muttering, "That doesn't make /sense/."

"Of course it does. It's a trap."

Anakin barely hears him. He is staring down at his black-gloved fist. He opens his fist, closes it, opens it again. The ache from his shoulder flows down to the middle of his biceps muscle -

And doesn't stop.

His elbow sizzles, then his forearm. His wrist has somehow been packed full of red-hot gravel while he wasn't looking, and his hand -

His hand is on /fire/.

Only it isn't his hand. Or his wrist, or his forearm, or his elbow. It's just an unliving creation of jointed durasteel and electrodrivers.

"Anakin?"

Anakin's lips unconsciously draw back from his teeth into a snarl. "It hurts."

"What, your replacement arm? When did you have it equipped with pain sensors?"

"I /didn't/. That's the /point/."

"Then the pain is in your mind, Anakin - "

"No." Anakin's heart freezes over. His voice is as cold as deep space. "I can feel him."

"Him?" Anakin doesn't even bother to look up at Obi-Wan's question. He can hear the mildly puzzled blink in Obi-Wan's voice, knows that a slight crease will be furrowing the center of Obi-Wan's brow in conjunction with the questioning blink.

"Dooku." Anakin merely says, flatly and coldly. "He's /here/. Here on this ship."

"Ah." Obi-Wan nods once, understandingly, a gesture Anakin catches out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sure he is."

"You /knew/?" Anakin demands, his head snapping around towards Obi-Wan, shocked and a little hurt that his Master hasn't said anything to him about Dooku being here, on this ship, before now. (A fact that confirms his suspicion that Tythe was nothing more than a distraction meant to keep him and Obi-Wan occupied and away from Coruscant long enough for Grievous to raid the Senate and kidnap the Supreme Chancellor.)

But, "I guessed," Obi-Wan quietly corrects him. "Do you think Grievous couldn't have found Palpatine's beacon? It can hardly be an accident that, through all the ECM, the Chancellor's homing signal has remained in the clear. This is a trap. A Jedi trap." Obi-Wan lays a warm hand gently upon Anakin's shoulder, though his face is as grim as Anakin has ever seen it. "Possibly a trap set for us. Personally."

Anakin's jaw tightens until his teeth grind together. Dooku is a very sore subject with him, and not just because of the arm he half took from Anakin. Dooku is one of the few beings in existence who can make Anakin fear, not just for himself or the galaxy, but for Obi-Wan, personally.

His Master is different from other Jedi. The true extent of that difference is something that Anakin is fairly certain only he truly suspects or comprehends. He is also fairly sure that this difference has to do with how powerful Obi-Wan actually is, under all of his many shields, though the difference became much more pronounced, much more easily perceptible, after Qui-Gon Jinn fell. Literally, right after Qui-Gon had been struck down. Anakin had felt that increase, as it was happening, following hard upon the heels of the sudden crushing wave of agony that had blasted out through the Force, crashing down into and over him almost the instant his feet had touched the ground of Naboo, in the main hanger of the palace in Theed. While Master Qui-Gon's Force signature, that towering flame of the Living Force, suddenly collapsed down to a guttering spark, Obi-Wan Kenobi had kindled with the power and heat of a rage so pure that he had blazed blindingly white - completely losing the faint tinge of blue that before had always colored his awareness of Obi-Wan - to Anakin's instinctively Force-powered awareness of the Jedi as he fought against the Sith. Even as he ran, Master Qui-Gon's agony tearing into him and Obi-Wan's own grief and pain lashing mercilessly at his heels, driving him desperately forward, Anakin had been able to feel the pure depths of the absolute darkness abruptly welling up within Obi-Wan and instinctively understood that if that darkness were ever unleashed, ever allowed to boil up within Obi-Wan and spill out over him, like that cold light of that white fire, the whole galaxy would tremble at his feet. There truly would be none who could stop him. Ever.

It had taken Anakin a long time to figure out what it was that he had sensed, and, when he had, he still almost had not believed, for Anakin knew that what he had so clearly perceived in his Master - who was, despite an oddly endearing collection of extremely human flaws and foibles, nevertheless so absolutely, utterly good, so completely and unquestioningly devoted to the Light, to the careful preservation and steady increase of that Light, that sometimes Anakin felt as if he were attempting to follow in the footsteps of an avatar of the Force itself - was what the Jedi refer to as the Dark Side of the Force. Only, it didn't seem to work, to exist, in Obi-Wan in the way that the Jedi Order teaches that the Dark Side exists, by thriving upon feelings of anger, envy, jealousy, rage, pain, fear, loss, etc. Instead, it existed and exists within Obi-Wan in some kind of strangely symbiotic balance with that so often unyieldingly white light, rapidly welling up within Obi-Wan whenever that light flares brightest and then just as quickly and completely subsiding, sinking back down to a place so deep within him that it almost could not be detected, even for one who's aware of the fact that it's there. There is, quite simply, no division within Obi-Wan in the Force, not that Anakin can tell.

In Obi-Wan, Dark and Light are in harmony, as are the Living and the Unifying aspects of the Force. In no other Jedi is this true. Only Obi-Wan Kenobi. And no one else, not even Obi-Wan himself, knows it. Anakin is almost sure that Qui-Gon knew, but by the time he'd realized the truth himself - in the aftermath of their mission to Zonoma Sekot, when Obi-Wan had been forced to cut his way aboard Tarkin's ship to save Anakin, appearing to him as an incandescent torch of white light wrapped around a welling fountain of absolute darkness - it was far too late for him to ask. So he is the only one who knows. Whatever rumors may have once circulated within the Jedi Order about Qui-Gon Jinn being a Grey Jedi, to Anakin, it is obvious that not even the High Council suspects or has ever suspected what Obi-Wan Kenobi simply naturally is, or else they would have staged an "intervention" so quickly that quite possibly not even Anakin could have saved his Master from them. The utter abhorrence with which the Order regards the Dark Side of the Force and the ever-present distrust and growing fear with which the majority of the Order regards both Anakin and Obi-Wan are so great that the way Obi-Wan exists within the Force and the Force exists within him, undivided and whole, is a secret that Anakin guards more closely than anything else he has ever protected in his life - save, perhaps, for Obi-Wan's life. Only once has he ever come close to speaking of this secret, of how Obi-Wan binds both the Light and Dark and the Living and the Unifying together into one Force alone. And that was in the aftermath of Geonosis, when Anakin learned of how Count Dooku had tried to tempt Obi-Wan to the Dark Side.

Obi-Wan is a man of deep convictions. Deep conviction and passion that, when truly, fully engaged, alter the course of the galaxy and shake the foundations of reality itself. If he were to fall out of balance, somehow, if the darkness were to manifest without him, covering over the light within him . . . Force help the Order, the Republic, the galaxy, the universe, for there would be no standing against him. After Geonosis, Anakin had been terrified at the thought that Dooku might be able to lure Obi-Wan away from the Order, tempt him into some action that would reverse the standing of the Dark and the Light within Obi-Wan and allow that darkness to flourish in service to evil even as that whiteness flourishes in service to the Light. It was only when he became certain that Obi-Wan would rather die than join Dooku that he had ceased to fear. Anakin may be the Jedi's Chosen One, yet, for all of his strengths and abilities, Obi-Wan is far more, far greater, a Jedi than he is, and Anakin frankly does not believe he would be able to win in an actual fight between the two of them. More, he is certain that if there is balance to be brought to the Force and the galaxy, it will be as much through Obi-Wan's actions as because of anything that he does. Sometimes, when he is feeling particularly cynical, Anakin wonders if this balance that he's supposed to bring about hasn't already been struck, through Obi-Wan himself, since Qui-Gon's fall - and the sudden increase in the difference in Obi-Wan that he had only later realized was a manifestation of the Force in utter balance - is so completely Anakin's fault. But Anakin cannot quite convince himself that the universe, the Force, would be so cruel . . . or that things would ever be that easy.

Anakin understands quite a bit more about both the nature of the Force and the way that the galaxy and the Jedi Order actually work than he lets on. He knows that the Jedi Order is not the bastion of Light and harmony and goodness that it is supposed to be, for all that the Jedi truly do strive endlessly and (in the main) selflessly to spread and to shelter the Light throughout not only the Republic but the known galaxy as well. Yet, Anakin also knows that Obi-Wan really just doesn't understand this, not fully, because he is so pure and good that he simply doesn't see how flawed the Order is or how politically corrupt the High Council has become. It's easy for Anakin to see past all of the hypocrisy and through all of the lies to the truth that is the failing of the Jedi Order. He is intimately familiar with the unbridled arrogance, blind hypocrisy, and sheer neglect of the Jedi High Council for the Jedi Code and the very rules that they are so swift to enforce among others. Obi-Wan is neither familiar nor truly comfortable with even the thought of such obvious failings on the Council's part and the Order's behalf because he does not truly see such things. It is not that he cannot or will not, but just that he quite simply does not. The difference within him is so natural that he does not suspect it or understand how different it makes him from everyone else, and it is so great that it wholly separates him from the other Jedi, not only because of his difference but also because Obi-Wan does not understand that all Jedi do not think and believe and exist within the Force as he does, with absolute, unwavering devotion and obedience to the Light and the Force's will.

Anakin knows that this difference was increased, stabilized, and made permanent when Obi-Wan fought the Sith who had dealt his Master a killing blow. He knows it because he saw firsthand how the battle had made Obi-Wan whole (though Qui-Gon's death had nearly shattered him), allowing him to bind both the Light and the Dark into one Force within him, much as he had already bound the Living and Unifying Force into one Force within him. Although Obi-Wan is perfectly aware of the danger of the Dark Side, the potential threat of it, he does not see that a part of its darkness resides within him, a small part of the greater whole that is the entirety of the Force. There is no sundering of the Force within him. Nor is there any sense of deceit or lies. Somehow, the Force is simply different in Obi-Wan, and so he is different from all of the others of the Jedi Order. And as long as that difference remains, as long as he remains fixed within the Light, for all of his inner harmony of Light and Dark, Anakin knows that Obi-Wan will remain his Master, his Force-partner, the other half of him that makes him whole.

Obi-Wan is blind, but he is strong, far stronger than Anakin could ever be. If such a powerful darkness were within him, he is not certain he could ever resist giving in to it. So he does all that he can do to protect Obi-Wan from recognizing the existence of that darkness and to keep him from falling, keep him from losing that purity of purpose and goodness that will not allow deceit or hypocrisy to take root within his mind and heart, as it has with the High Council and the rest of the Order. It's just another way of keeping Obi-Wan safe, one that also keeps him safe, since as long as Obi-Wan remains blindly balanced, Anakin can remain grounded in Obi-Wan's faith and balanced against his devotion, his passion and impatient power counterweights against Obi-Wan's steadiness and surety of purpose. Certainly, if it ever were to come down to it, Anakin would follow Obi-Wan anywhere, even into darkness. But Anakin was born to help people. He cannot help but want to save others, want to make things better and put things to rights, so that others will not suffer. He is very good at what he does, even when he has to kill lots and lots and lots of people in order to bring about the change, the good, that he seeks. But Anakin is not, for all of his quick temper and admittedly bad tendency towards possessiveness and unmovable grudges, suited for a life of darkness. In fact, Anakin is quite sure that he would eventually become quite mad, if he were forced to live a life in service of the Dark. So it's better this way for both of them. Neither one of them would be anything near whole without the other, and this way Anakin doesn't have to worry about truly losing Obi-Wan, either to the Council or to the darkness.

It's probably also better for the Republic - and the galaxy - this way, for Obi-Wan to remain as he is, unknowing and unsuspecting of his differences, his true nature and power, as long as that ignorance continues to allow him to remain a Jedi whose life and work is dedicated to and embraced within the Light of the Force. Perhaps it is cowardly of him, but Anakin would rather not ever have to be forced to choose between actively setting himself against Obi-Wan and simply continuing his own life of striving to remain within the embrace of the Light of the Force. Although he would never willingly admit it, either to Obi-Wan or anyone else, quite honestly, Anakin has grave doubts as to his ability to survive, if he ever were to truly attempt to go against Obi-Wan's will. After all, not even Anakin, for all of his overwhelming raw power and potential talent, glows incandescent with the Force or contains and is able to use a Force that is balanced and whole in a way that neither acknowledges nor allows the Dark to exist without the Light or the Unifying to exist without the Living Force. Anakin is powerful and he is aware of the fact that he compliments and completes Obi-Wan on so many levels that he is not certain the Jedi Master would be able to function properly without Anakin's continued presence in his life. However, he is also quite sure that Obi-Wan would function much more easily and completely than Anakin ever would, were he to lose Obi-Wan. And Dooku is one of the few people who might ever be able either to take Obi-Wan away from him outright or to make Obi-Wan lose himself to darkness.

As this unhappy fact runs through his mind, Anakin flatly states, "You're thinking of how Dooku tried to recruit you on Geonosis. Before he sent you down for execution," the words almost an accusation.

"It is not impossible that we will face that choice again."

"It's not a choice." Anakin rises abruptly, his eyes dark and hard. His durasteel hand clenches and stays that way, only a centimeter away from his lightsaber hilt. "Let him ask. My answer is right here on my belt."

"Be mindful, Anakin. The Chancellor's safety is our only priority."

"Yes - yes, of course." The ice in Anakin's chest thaws under Obi-Wan's calm, steady regard until his jaw unclenches and his tensed muscles unlock again. "All right, so it's a trap," he finally grudgingly admits, sighing. "What's our next move then?"

Obi-Wan allows himself a sharply biting slice of a smile of his own as he heads for the nearest exit from the hangar bay. "Same as always, my young friend: we spring it."

"I can work with this plan." Anakin nods, grinning fiercely, and turns to his astromech. "You stay here, Artoo - " The little droid interrupts him with a wheedling whirr. "No arguments. Stay. I mean it." R2-D2's whistling reply has a distinctly sulky tone. "Listen, Artoo, someone has to maintain computer contact; do you see a datajack anywhere on /me/?" The droid seems to acquiesce then, but not before wheeping what sounds as if it could have very well been a suggestion as to where Anakin might look for one.

Waiting by the open hatchway, Obi-Wan smiles slightly, affectionately, and shakes his head. "Honestly, the way you talk to that thing."

Anakin shrugs and starts toward him. "Careful, Master, you'll hurt his feelings - " Halfway across the hanger, he stops suddenly in his tracks, a curious look on his face as if he were trying to frown and to smile at the same time.

"Anakin?"

He doesn't answer. He can't answer. He's far too busy looking at an image inside his head. No, not an image. A reality. A memory of something that hasn't happened yet. A reality so right, so true, that he can practically touch it.

He sees Count Dooku on his knees. He sees lightsabers crossed at the Count's throat.

Clouds lift from his heart: clouds of Jabiim, of Aargonar, of Kamino, of Geonosis, of even the Tusken camp on Tatooine. For the first time in far too many years, Anakin feels young, as young as he really is. Young, and free, and full of light.

"Master . . . " His voice seems to be coming from someone else. Someone who is full of untainted joy, someone who hasn't seen what he's seen, hasn't done what he's done. "Master, right here - right now - you and I . . . "

"Yes?"

Anakin blinks and a blindingly radiant smile breaks across his face, dispersing the dark clouds that have been lowering across his eyes. "I think we're about to win the war."

***

In response to detailed orders given prior to deployment, the V-wings of Squad Four have fought their way through the battle around Coruscant to join the ARC-170s of Squad Seven as they swarm the remaining vulture droids that screen the immense Trade Federation flagship, Invisible Hand. While their Jedi commanders have been tending to their end of the rescue mission, the clone pilots have been busily destroying droid after droid and ship after ship with a machine-like precision all of their own. When the very last of the vulture fighters have finally been converted to expanding globes of superheated gas and metal particulates, the clone fighters immediately peel off, leaving Invisible Hand exposed to the full fire of one of the most courageous fleets of the immense Open Circle Armada, Home Fleet Strike Group Five: three Carrack-/class light cruisers - /Perseverance/, /Indomitable/, and /Integrity - in support of the Dreadnaught/-class heavy cruiser /Mas Ramdar. Strike Group Five deploys in a triangle around Mas Ramdar/, doggedly maintaining a higher orbit to pin /Invisible Hand deep within Coruscant's gravity well. Taking advantage of the pinned ship's lack of maneuverability, turbolasers blast repeatedly against the faltering shields of Invisible Hand/, but the Trade Federation flagship is, unfortunately, giving as good as she gets: /Mas Ramdar has soon sustained so much damage that it is little more than a target to absorb the Hand's return fire, and Indomitable is quickly reduced to only a shell, most of its crew evacuated or dead, being run remotely by its commander and bridge crew. Nevertheless, Indomitable manages to swing unsteadily through the Hand's vector cone of escape routes to block any attempt the Separatists might make to run up towards a jump to hyperspace. Likewise, Mas Ramdar effectively blocks about half of the barrage of the Hand's return fire, saving both Perseverance and Integrity quite a bit of potential damage.

As its shields finally inevitably fail under the continuous barrage of Home Fleet Strike Group Five, Invisible Hand begins to roll, gathering momentum until it whirls like a bullet from a rifled slugthrower, trailing spiraling jets of crystallizing gas that gush out of its multiple hull ruptures. The rolling quickly picks up speed, breaking the targeting locks of the ship's Republic adversaries. Unable to pound the same point again and again, their turbolasers are no longer powerful enough to breach the heavy armor of the Hand directly; thus, their tracking points turn into rings that circle the ship, gradually chewing into the hull in tightening garrotes of fire.

On the bridge of /Invisible Hand/, overheated, terrified Neimoidians are securely strapped into their battle stations in full crash webbing. The air reeks of hot and scorching metal, burning circuitry, and the heavy funk of reptilian stress hormones, while the erratically shifting gravity continually threatens to add an even sharper stench to the mix: the faces of several of the bridge officers have already paled from a healthy gray-green to nauseated pink, though none of the crew have, as yet, given in to their impulses and become sick. They are still too frightened of the sole being on the bridge who is not affected by the continual sickening erratic pitch and yaw of the ship in combination with the fluctuations of failing gravity generators to allow themselves the luxury of being sick to their stomachs.

That one being, who also happens to be the sole being not strapped into a chair, stalks continually from one side of the bridge to the other, floor-length cape draped over shoulders as sharply angular as exposed bone. Because he walks on cruelly taloned creations of magnetized duranium, jointed to grab and crush like the feet of a Vratixan blood eagle, he is able to ignore the jolts of impact and is unaffected by the swirl of unpredictable gravity as he paces the deck with harsh metal-on-metal clanks. His expression cannot be read - his face is, after all, little more than a mask of bleached ceramic armorplast stylized to evoke a humanoid skull - but the pure venom in the voice that hisses out through the mask's electrosonic vocabulator more than makes up for the lack of facial expression.

"Either get the gravity generators calibrated or disable them altogether,"he snarls at a blue-scanned image of a cringing Neimoidian engineer, his forcefulness further aggravating the wheezing cough that has plagued him off and on since his rebirth - a result, he had been told, of his organic form not taking well to his cybernetic implants, one mild enough that he had, until now, largely ignored it - and worsened since his recent brief battle with Jedi Master Mace Windu on Coruscant. "If this continues, you won't live long enough to be killed by the Republic."

"But, but, but sir - it's really up to the repair droids - "

"And because they are droids, it's useless to threaten them. So I am threatening /you/, instead. Understand?" He turns away before the stammering engineer can summon up another pathetic excuse of a reply, dryly issuing another few irritated, irritating coughs. The hand he extends towards the forward viewscreen wears a jointed gauntlet of armorplast fused to its bones of duranium alloy. "Concentrate fire on /Indomitable/," he orders the senior gunnery officer. "All batteries at maximum. Fire for effect. Blast that hulk out of space, and we'll make a hyperspace jump through its wreckage."

"B-but the forward towers are already overloading, sir." The officer's voice trembles obviously on the edge of panic, skittering rapidly towards an hysterical pitch. "They'll be at critical failure in less than a minute - "

"Burn them out."

"But sir/, once they're /gone - "

The rest of the senior gunnery officer's annoyingly shrill and swiftly rising objection is lost in the wetly final crunching sound his face makes under the impact of an unyielding, unforgiving armorplast fist. That same fist opens, seizes the collar of the officer's uniform, and then unceremoniously yanks his corpse out of the chair, ripping the crash webbing free along with it as he flings the offal out of the way of the various control stations and his own pacing path across the bridge. An expressionless skull-face then turns implacably towards the junior gunnery officer. "Congratulations on your promotion. Take your post."

"Y-y-yes, sir." The newly promoted senior gunnery officer's hands shake so badly that he can barely unbuckle his crash web, and his face has gone deathly pink.

"Do you understand your orders?"

"Y-y-y-"

"Do you have any objections?"

"N-n-n-"

"Very well, then," General Grievous says with flat, impenetrable calm. "Carry on."

This hard, cold, terrifying bastardized hybrid creature is, of course, General Grievous, the Supreme Commander of the Droid Armies of the Separatists: durasteel; ceramic armorplast-plated duranium; electro-drivers, gel-wiring, and crystal circuitry; and long lengths of rigid metallic bones that mainly cover over the complex alloys and polymers that have been stretched and wound to approximate the elastic-weave of musculature that gives him mobility and the delicately complex branching of nerves that connects his living brain to the largely artificial body now housing it. Contained within these items is the remnants of a living being, a reptilian Kaleesh. But those remnants are extremely few. He doesn't breathe. He doesn't eat. He cannot laugh, and he does not cry. A lifetime ago he was an organic sentient being. A lifetime ago he had friends, a family, an occupation; a lifetime ago he had things to love, and things to fear. He remembers his life, sometimes, in dreams - his mortal life, on Kalee, during the war with the savage, insectile planetary neighbors known as the Huk, and in the aftermath of the devastating Huk War - except of course that he is, in fact, not truly dreaming at all, for dreams are a product of sleep, and he no longer truly sleeps. He endures, instead, brief periods of stasis in a pod-like chamber that had been created specifically for him by the insectoid Geonosian designers and builders of his cyborg body. While inside that chamber, he is sometimes able to recall what it had once felt like to live, to breathe and to eat and to laugh and to cry and to be able to sleep and have dreams. Now, he no longer has or knows any of those things. Instead, he has purpose. One that has been deliberately created, coded, and hardwired directly into him.

He has been built for intimidation. The disturbing resemblance to a human skeleton melded with limbs styled after the legendary Krath war droids is entirely intentional. It is a face and form born of the endlessly fecund ground of childhood's infinite nightmares.

He has been built for domination. The ceramic armorplast plates protecting his limbs and torso and face can stop a direct hit from a starfighter's laser cannon. Those indestructible arms are easily ten times stronger than most beings, including humanoids, and move with the terrific blurring speed of electronic reflexes.

He has been built for eradication. Those roughly human-sized hands have approximately human-sized fingers for exactly one reason: to hold a lightsaber. Four lightsabers currently hang inside his cloak, despite the fact that he has never constructed a lightsaber in his life, even before his reincarnation as a cyborg. He has also never purchased a lightsaber, nor has he ever recovered one that was lost. Each and all, he has taken from the dead hands of Jedi he has killed.

Personally.

He has many, many such trophies; the four he currently carries with him are merely his particular favorites. One belonged to the interminable K'Kruhk, whom he had bested at Hypori; another to the Viraanntesse Jedi Jmmaar, who had fallen to him at Vandos; the other two had been created by Puroth and Nystammall, whom Grievous had slaughtered together on the flamegrass plains of Tovarskl so that each would know the other's death, as well as his own; these are murders he recalls with so much pleasure that touching these souvenirs with his hands of armorplast and durasteel brings him something resembling joy.

But only resembling.

He remembers joy, and pleasure. He remembers anger, and frustration. He remembers grief, and sorrow. But he doesn't actually feel any of them. Not anymore.

After all, he's not designed for that, not any longer.

Once, it might have frightened and offended him, to realize he has become limited by the programming instilled in him by others. Once. Not now. No, General Grievous is well aware of the fact that he is no longer what or even who he used to be, quite aware of both the extent and the diversity of his differences, since the operation, and the ways in which those variations surpass what was promised to him, when he agreed to the procedure - far more aware than those who lied to and betrayed him would ever believe - but the simple fact of the matter is that he doesn't care. Not because he is no longer able to care, but rather because he honestly believes that San Hill and the Geonosians did him a favor, when they stripped him of the distraction of those many extraneous and draining emotions. He is a General, a warrior, a weapon. What need has he to feel such things as dissatisfaction or distress, happiness or ecstasy, when he can cause his enemy the most harm instead by hating and by thinking of ways to cause that enemy pain and fear and death? His purpose is the same as it always has been, even before the Separatists came into his life. The Jedi and their Republic are his enemy - the enemy that destroyed his people, the Kaleesh, by breaking them of their pride, their independence, beggaring them until they had no choice but to surrender their planet to the usurious likes of San Hill - and his entire being is devoted to the humiliation and eradication of that enemy. His capacity for data - for absorbing and retaining, assimilating and understanding, and then finding ways to turn information about, so that it will work to his advantage, in the unending struggle against his enemy - is far greater than it has ever been, unfettered as his mental freedom and range now is by the energy draining distractions of those other emotions.

The Geonosians may have thought to betray him, but they have, instead, given Grievous a great gift - a gift that he intends to use to topple and utterly destroy the Jedi Order and lay their beloved Republic to waste. Why waste the effort in hating those who have helped him, however unwittingly their aid has been given? Such a response would neither be rational nor work to his advantage. After all, General Grievous needs the Separatists, needs the resources represented by their droid armies and their many starships, if he is going to accomplish his goal. The fact that he can use the treachery of the Separatist leaders against them, to help win that objective, is enough for him. That Grievous' true allegiance is to the Sith Lord - the absolute antithesis of the Jedi, a man whose dreams of empire and whose eventual inevitable betrayal of the same treacherous Separatist leaders are both equally obvious, to the General's coldly efficient mind - is simply an added bonus, one that far outweighs the loss of his sleeping dreams.

So General Grievous stalks away from the thoroughly terrorized gunnery officer, across the bridge, towards where the ship's captain is buckled into his crash web. "What's the situation, Captain?" he demands, halting his pacing in the spot that best allows him to loom threateningly over the nervous and nauseated captain, not bothering to turn aside as he coughs again.

"Two Jedi have landed in the main hangar bay, sir," the captain manages to respond with an almost crisp salute.

Yellow-gold eyes narrowing in a sign of what Grievous now feels that approximates pleasure, the General merely nods once, satisfactorily. "Just as Count Dooku predicted," he notes, wheezing slightly and gloating privately at the thought that soon he will have the opportunity to add two more highly prized lightsabers to his growing collection.

***