God Save the Queen Book 2: Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Dark Knights

So often, Obi-Wan felt the galaxy spin past with a rapidity that turned even the familiar strange.

Yesterday, it came in Master Yoda asking for Obi-Wan’s opinion on the eldest creche members, if there were any he had considered taking as a Padawan. The conversation had lodged viscerally in his throat, thick with recollection of his own time as a youngling, before Qui-Gon had chosen him. He’d stood there, amidst the gentle patter of water, as Coruscant slipped out from beneath his feet.

Today, Obi-Wan watched the Queen of Naboo greet the Duke of Serreno.

Apart from the pageantry, he had nothing to distract himself from the strange sense of vertigo. When Count Dooku had invited Obi-Wan to reunite with his old master, this was not what Obi-Wan had pictured. He had hoped for a sedate affair, apart from the increasing scrutiny at the Jedi Temple. Instead, he watched in a lavishly appointed spectator box, as Padme and Dooku affirmed vows of friendship, cooperation, and Peace for the Outer Rim.

The planet cheered.

After, he finally found his master seated with Dooku on a warm adobe balcony looking out over a distant mountain range. Qui-Gon and Anakin were in robes, as expected, but Dooku had exchanged his dark cloak for something that more matched Padme Amidala.

Obi-Wan was far from experienced in current Republic fashion, but the young queen caught him off guard in her deep purples and silver accents. Her hair was up in a billowing weave that contrasted the tight, almost military cut of her own robes. Obi-Wan could only shake his head at the memory of a scruffy fourteen-year-old handmaid who bet her life and freedom on a podrace.

Dooku stood as Obi-wan walked out onto the balcony. “At last, our wayward Knight returns to us.”

Obi-Wan gave a shallow bow. “Greetings, masters. Your majesty.”

“None of that now.” Dooku clasped Obi-Wan around the shoulders, guiding him to a soft chair next to a cooling spray of fronds. “We are all friends here. The ship of state will alight tomorrow.”

“Obi-Wan!” Padme glided over to him, clasping his hands. “It’s good to see you again.”

He was distracted, momentarily, by the flash of silver bangles around her wrists. A thrum through the force that ghosted through him before social niceties required he anchor himself in the moment.

“You as well, your Majesty,” Obi-Wan replied. “You have done quite well for your people, since last we met.”

The look she gave him was most cross. “Obi, what did the Count just say?”

He laughed. “Forgive me. You are simply hard to reconcile with how I remember you.”

She picked at the shoulder of her robe, where silver thread mimicked a chevron. “I wouldn’t show up in armor.”

It was not what Obi-Wan had meant, but he doubted that Padme would appreciate being told his clearest memory of her was her glaring at his master in rough blue linen.

“And what’s this I hear about your fleet discovering a new species?” Obi-Wan asked. He sat, and Padme sank onto the couch running along the balcony.

“All I discovered was a slave ring abusing a pre-hyperdrive population. I’m still not sure what to do with them.”

“Do with them?” Obi-Wan asked. “It seems well enough to leave them alone. Republic history alone discourages any interference.”

“I wish that I could,” Padme replied with a sigh. “But there’s enough beskar on the planet to attract smugglers, because of Naboo’s beskar reclamation policy.”

“Ah.” Obi-Wan blinked.

“It’s a difficult question,” Qui-Gon said. “One I am sure there will be ample time to address tomorrow.”

Obi-Wan shifted slightly at the gentle rebuke, but Padme just gave him a droll stare. “Can’t a girl ask her friend for advice?”

“I’m pleased that you remember me so fondly,” Obi-Wan said. “But I’m not sure what more advice I have to offer.”

“No, no.” She waved a hand. “It’s fine. The answer is probably a picket station in the system.”

“That would cause quite a stir in the senate.” Obi-Wan waved a hand. “You could be accused of the exact same exploitation you seek to prevent.”

Padme shrugged helplessly.

Dooku rose, walking over to the balcony edge to stare out over the mountains. “It is likely that some number of permanent garrison forces will be required in order to protect the Outer Rim,” he said. “But such discussion would be best saved for tomorrow.”

Padme leaned back, resting an arm along the balcony. “Now it’s my turn to apologize,” she said. “Haven’t had much time to relax, recently.”

“Heavy lies the crown,” Dooku replied. “But there is much to be pleased about. I have heard that young Skywalker was instrumental in dismantling this ring of slavers.”

Anakin shrugged with a grin. “Wasn’t hard; it’s like they’d never seen the inside of a sandcrawler before.”

“Unless I’m mistaken,” Padme added, “little Ani hasn’t either.”

He snorted. “Keep calling me little when I’m already taller than you.”

“Didn’t your master also say that you’ve developed a habit of turning your lightsaber off mid combat?”

Anakin shrugged again. “Practice.”

“Trakata, was it?” Dooku asked. “It has been a while since I’ve thought of that style.”

“I’ve never heard of Trakata,” Padme said. “Though, I’m sure there are many things the galaxy hasn’t heard of, regarding the Jedi Order.”

“I’m not sure if I would count Trakata among that number.” Dooku turned, smiling lightly at Anakin. He briefly described the core principle behind Trakata, the bladeless nature of the lightsaber which could be extended or retracted at will.

“Seems difficult to execute.” Padme sucked her lower lip. “You better not get your hands cut off, Anakin. I’d hate to explain it to your mother.”

Anakin huffed, shifting in a way that did nothing to disguise his embarrassment. “I’ll make it work.”

“You’re still at it?” Obi-Wan asked. “Impressive perseverance.”

“Gotta do something to keep you on your toes,” Anakin replied. “I made them, after all.”

“And I do thank you for it.” Obi wan lifted a leg, flexing the prosthetic inside his boot. “The recent update you sent to me at the temple has been most helpful.”

“Glad to hear it!” Anakin grinned. “Do the motors compensate for balance properly? Or do I have to tune ‘em manually?”

“Please don’t,” Obi-Wan replied. “You’d cripple me.”

He allowed himself a moment of pleasure at the answering laughter. While it had been six years since his injury, it had been far less time since he could comfortably make light of it, a time that roughly coincided with when Yoda began speaking with him about padawans, in fact.

He decided he would mediate on that realization later, and put it aside. “I’m surprised that your majesty has such an opinion on Trakata.”

She laughed. “Well, between my training with my handmaidens and my training as a Mando’a, I’m probably more well versed in blades than the majority of the Republic. If you’ve tried to stab someone a time or two, the pitfalls become a bit more apparent.”

“Indeed.” Dooku nodded. “In a clash of blades, your opponent’s focus is your body, not your blade. Even when defending, the astute duelist ever seeks the counterstroke.”

“Yeah.” Anakin rubbed his arm. “I figured that part out first hand.”

“Still,” Dooku said. “I would not be averse to sharing a few tricks on the style.”

“Really?” Anakin asked.

“Master Dooku is the foremost duelist you will ever cross blades with,” Qui-Gon said.

“Master Yoda,” was Dooku’s response.

“He does often aid the younglings,” Obi-Wan added. “Though things have been busier as of late.”

There was another thrum in the force, but this time Obi-Wan felt it coming from Dooku. Not a trace of the lingering disquiet showed on his face. “Come, then, young padawan. Allow me to show you the sparring rings.”

Anakin grinned. “Wizard.”

“I’ll leave you boys to it.” Padme rose, folding her hands in front of her. “I have a missive to Duchess Satine to draft, anyway.”

This time, when the Force rippled, Obi-Wan knew it was because of him. “Why the sudden interest in Mandalor?” he asked.

“I don’t like being at odds with her.” Padme sighed. “Also…I would like to make a pilgrimage.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head. “It seems rather like your policy is what she’s at odds with.”

“I know. But—” She stopped, shaking her head. “We’ll leave the statesmanship for tomorrow. Thank you again, Count Dooku. You’ve been a marvelous host.”

“Your majesty, I look forward to speaking with you at length tomorrow.” Dooku took her hand, bowing over it for a moment.

One of Padme’s guards, a tall man in Mandalorian plate, stepped out from the corridor as the queen brushed past. She made sure to ruffle Anakin’s hair as she did so, though Obi-Wan did notice that she had to reach up to do so.

“Now then.” Dooku had no guards of his own. Within the palace of Serenno, there was perhaps no group as well defended as the four of them regardless. The sparring rooms were only a short distance away, but when they arrived, he paused, activating a setting on the door that sent a plasmapulse over the walls.

“Good. We should be able to speak freely now,” Dooku said.

Obi-Wan blinked. “I was unaware we were unable to do so previously.”

“I trust my staff and my security measures,” Dooku replied. “But there are some things that require the utmost consideration. Qui-Gon, do you trust your Padawan? He is quite close to Queen Amidala.”

Anakin spun. “What’s wrong with Padme?”

Qui-Gon folded his arms in his robe. “If this matter concerns her majesty, it would be best if he stayed.”

“Very well.” Dooku folded his arms behind his back, for a moment at a loss for words. “My friends. I am glad that you are here today, for I am in great need of your help.”

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon shared a look, as Dooku began to pace.

“We are all aware of the corruption of the Senate,” Dooku continued. “It is what Queen Amidala and I hope to combat, but I am afraid that there is an even greater darkness threatening the Republic, that of a Sith Lord.”

“A Sith?” Obi-Wan took a step forward, the metal of his prosthetics grinding against the floor. “The one we fought on Naboo, he has resurfaced?”

“No, Obi-Wan, no.” Dooku shook his head. “Were it that our opponent was only a half-mad berserker from the time of the Old Republic. I speak to you of a true Sith Lord, seeking to manipulate the Republic towards his own ends. I fear that we may be too late to stop him, for even I have played unwittingly into his plans.”

“How did you learn of this Sith?” Qui-Gon asked. “I have been searching for the Sith we fought for the last five years, but have found no sign.”

A sinking feeling began to form in Obi-Wan’s stomach. “And why did you not want to speak about this when Padme could hear?”

A shadow passed over Dooku’s face. “The answer to both questions is one and the same,” he said. “Our enemy is not one that slinks in the shadows. No, he moves openly, shrouded by the Dark Side of the force. I fear that her majesty may be compromised as well.”

The sinking feeling tightened into knots. “Where did you discover this information, Master Dooku.”

“From two unlikely sources. The Viceroy of the Trade Federation…and Naboo’s own senator, Sheev Palpatine.” Dooku paused. “Nute Gunray is a galactic pariah after his failures at Naboo. He approached me, seeking influence, and revealed that he had been ordered to attack Naboo by a darker master. His name he did not know, but intimated that they were an influential figure in the Republic.

“Senator Palpatine, meanwhile, is known to collect artifacts from the Old Republic, many of them of Sith origin. Thus I investigated the source of these relics, and discovered the truth.” He lifted his Holocomm, revealing the stoic face of a Munn, half-obscured by a metal jaw. “Gunray’s master, and the purveyor of authentic Sith ritual foci is none other than the Magister of the Banking Clans and benefactor of Naboo’s reconstruction: Hego Demask.”

Obi-Wan had seen that man. On Naboo. He sucked in a breath as the Galaxy spun away from him, ripping Serenno out from beneath his feet.

“But Damask is known by another name as well.” Dooku’s voice came as a somber whisper. “Darth Plagueis.”