Star Wars_ The Dark Lord Trilogy - James Luceno [201]
“Not in detail. Giddean Danu springs to mind. I’m sure we can trust Fang Zar, too.”
“Agreed. What about Iridik’k-stallu? Her hearts are in the right place. Or Chi Eekway.”
Bail shook his head. “Maybe later. It’ll take a few hours at least to figure out exactly where they stand. We need to start with Senators we know we can trust.”
“All right. Then Terr Taneel would be my next choice. And, I think, Amidala of Naboo.”
“Padmé?” Bail frowned. “I’m not sure.”
“You know her better than I do, Bail, but to my mind she is exactly the type of Senator we need. She is intelligent, principled, extremely articulate, and she has the heart of a warrior.”
“She is also a longtime associate of Palpatine,” he reminded her. “He was her ambassador during her term as Queen of Naboo. How sure can you be that she will stand with us, and not with him?”
Senator Mon Mothma replied serenely, “There’s only one way to find out.”
By the time the doors to the Jedi Council Chamber finally swung open, Anakin was already angry.
If asked, he would have denied it, and would have thought he was telling the truth … but they had left him out here for so long, with nothing to do but stare through the soot-smudged curve of the High Council Tower’s window ring at the scarred skyline of Galactic City—damaged in a battle he had won, by the way, personally. Almost single-handedly—and with nothing to think about except why it was taking them so long to reach such a simple decision …
Angry? Not at all. He was sure he wasn’t angry. He kept telling himself he wasn’t angry, and he made himself believe it.
Anakin walked into the Council Chamber, head lowered in a show of humility and respect. But down inside him, down around the nuclear shielding that banked his heart, he was hiding.
It wasn’t anger he was hiding. His anger was only camouflage.
Behind his anger hid the dragon.
He remembered too well the first time he had entered this Chamber, the first time he had stood within a ring of Jedi Masters gathered to sit in judgment upon his fate. He remembered how Yoda’s green stare had seen into his heart, had seen the cold worm of dread eating away at him, no matter how hard he’d tried to deny it: the awful fear he’d felt that he might never see his mother again.
He couldn’t let them see what that worm had grown into.
He moved slowly into the center of the circle of brown-toned carpet, and turned toward the Senior Members.
Yoda was unreadable as always, his rumpled features composed in a mask of serene contemplation.
Mace Windu could have been carved from stone.
Ghost-images of Ki-Adi-Mundi and Plo Koon hovered a centimeter above their Council seats, maintained by the seats’ internal holoprojectors. Agen Kolar sat alone, between the empty chairs belonging to Shaak Ti and Stass Allie.
Obi-Wan sat in the chair that once had belonged to Oppo Rancisis, looking pensive. Even worried.
“Anakin Skywalker.” Master Windu’s tone was so severe that the dragon inside Anakin coiled instinctively. “The Council has decided to comply with Chancellor Palpatine’s directive, and with the instructions of the Senate that give him the unprecedented authority to command this Council. You are hereby granted a seat at the High Council of the Jedi, as the Chancellor’s personal representative.”
Anakin stood very still for a long moment, until he could be absolutely sure he had heard what he thought he’d heard.
Palpatine had been right. He seemed to be right about a lot of things, these days. In fact—now that Anakin came to think of it—he couldn’t remember a single instance when the Supreme Chancellor had been wrong.
Finally, as it began to sink in upon him, as he gradually allowed himself to understand that the Council had finally decided to grant him his heart’s desire, that they finally had recognized his accomplishments, his dedication, his power, he took a slow, deep breath.
“Thank you, Masters. You have my pledge that I will uphold the highest principles of the Jedi Order.”
“Allow this appointment lightly, the Council does not.” Yoda