Star Wars_ The Dark Lord Trilogy - James Luceno [10]
His faith in Anakin had grown so strong that he had become Anakin’s staunchest defender to those on the Council who had grown apprehensive about the young man’s prowess, and uncomfortable with his confidential, almost familial relationship with Supreme Chancellor Palpatine. If Obi-Wan was, as Anakin sometimes said, the father he never had, then Palpatine was his wise uncle, adviser, mentor in the ways of life outside the Temple.
Obi-Wan understood that Anakin envied him for having been appointed to the Council. But how could he not, having been all but anointed “the Chosen One,” continually bolstered by Palpatine’s praise, driven to prove to his former Master that he could be the perfect Jedi Knight.
On countless occasions Anakin’s bold actions had allowed them to prevail against seemingly impossible odds. But just as often it had been Obi-Wan’s circumspection that had pulled them back from the brink. Whether foresight was something innate in Obi-Wan or the result of his continuing fascination with the unifying Force—the long view—Obi-Wan couldn’t say. What he could say was that he had learned to trust Anakin’s instincts.
On occasion.
He wouldn’t have been able to go on playing the bait, otherwise.
“The next stop is ours, General,” Cody said from behind him.
Obi-Wan turned, watched Cody slam a new blasterpack into his DC-15, heard the familiar whine of the weapon’s repower mechanism.
Reflexively, he placed his thumb on the lightsaber’s activator button.
“How do you want to handle this, sir?”
“You’re the master of warcraft, Commander. I’ll follow your lead.”
Cody nodded, perhaps grinning beneath his helmet. “Well, sir, our mandate is a simple one: Kill as many of the enemy as possible.”
Obi-Wan recalled a conversation he had had on Ord Cestus with a clone trooper named Nate, regarding analogies between the Jedi and the clones: the former ushered by midi-chlorians to serve the Force; the latter, grown and programmed to serve the Republic.
But the analogies ended there, because the troopers never paused to consider possible repercussions of their actions. Tasked, they executed their orders to the best of their abilities, whereas lately, even the most forceful Jedi knew moments of doubt. Qui-Gon had always criticized the Council for being too authoritative, and for cultivating inflexible methods of teaching. He saw the Temple as a place where candidates were programmed to become Jedi, instead of a place were beings were allowed to grow into Jedihood. Qui-Gon was no stranger to what the Jedi referred to as “aggressive negotiations,” which typically involved lightsabers more than diplomacy. But Obi-Wan wondered what he would have had to say about the war. He recalled, as if yesterday, Dooku’s taunt on Geonosis that Qui-Gon would have joined Dooku in championing the Separatist cause.
As soon as the turbolift came to rest, two commandos tossed concussion grenades into the corridor beyond. Right and left, battle droids were blown against the walls and ceiling. Obi-Wan knew, because the corridor quickly became a torrent of blaster bolts. He, Cody, and the others threw themselves into the horizontal hail. Repeating blasters roared to life. Staccato bursts made short work of the droids, but reinforcements were already appearing.
Two commandos fell to fire while Obi-Wan’s team was making its way down the corridor in the direction of the citadel’s packing and shipping rooms. Halfway there, they encountered the contingent of super battle droids the Neimoidians had sent to root out the infiltrators.
Comparing the spindly infantry droid to the black-bodied