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Plo Koon palmed open the door of the Room of Remembrance dedicated to the recent battle on Geonosis. Rooms of Remembrance were not common in the Jedi Temple, since they were created only to immortalize catastrophes when over a hundred Jedi were lost.
Two hundred and twelve Jedi had died on Geonosis.
The Room of Remembrance had been dedicated seven days after the battle, which had marked the start of what Plo suspected would be a long, hard, and bloody war. The shock of finding that the clone army existed, let alone that they had been created to fight this war long before they would be needed, had worn off quickly as the Jedi were scrambled, assigned to battalions, and sent off to fight. Plo would be leaving with his own newly-created battalion, the 104th, in two days' time.
Two hundred twelve Jedi had died on Geonosis, and many more were going to fall, but for now, Plo focused on the living. Two of the Jedi on Geonosis had escaped death by a hairsbreadth.
One of them was sitting on the floor in front of the wall where the names of the dead Jedi were projected. His injured left leg stuck awkwardly out in front of him and his left arm was in a sling. His ginger hair was tufted and untidy from the bacta he'd been pulled from only a few hours before.
"Obi-Wan?" Plo asked in surprise; there was no way Vokara Che had already released him from the Halls of Healing.
"Two hundred and twelve," Obi-Wan whispered. "Dead because of me."
"No," Plo murmured. "It wasn't--"
"Yes," Obi-Wan insisted. "I decided to pursue Senator Amidala's attacker. I went to Kamino. I went to Geonosis and was so abysmally stupid as to get caught, fail to escape, and drag Senator Amidala and Anakin into the whole mess."
Plo knelt behind Obi-Wan and put a hand on each of his shoulders. "It wasn't your fault, little one."
Obi-Wan let Plo guide him backwards until he reclined against Plo. The older Jedi touched Obi-Wan's forehead and frowned. Obi-Wan was definitely running a fever.
"And I didn't even come to the dedication," Obi-Wan continued. Guilt and shame rolled off him in the Force.
"You were unconscious," Plo pointed out. "I think that gives you a good excuse."
"And Anakin," Obi-Wan murmured. "He listened to me when I told him we could take Dooku, and it cost him an arm. My Padawan is maimed for life, and it's my fault."
"Better not let Master Yoda hear you talking like that," Plo warned. He knew this was fever and pain and shock talking, that Obi-Wan didn't usually spill his feelings and that a lucid Obi-Wan would know better than to put all the blame solely on himself, but Master Yoda was unpredictable and might lecture Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan sighed.
"Sleep," Plo said, using the Force to make Obi-Wan do so, and then he carried him back to the Halls.
#
Six hours later, the sedation wore off and Vokara Che had an absolute horror on her hands.
"I want to see Anakin," Obi-Wan said.
"No," Vokara Che replied.
"Is he out of the bacta tank?"
"Yes."
"Then I want to see him."
"No."
Obi-Wan tried to cross his arms, rremembered one of them was in a sling, and opted for glaring instead. "I'm his Master--"
"I'm your healer, and I say you're not moving from that bed until I say so."
"--and I have the right to see him." Obi-Wan went on as if he'd never been interrupted.
"No."
"Yes."
Vokara Che said nothing, watching Obi-Wan with her sharp eyes.
"Please?" Obi-Wan added.
"No."
"Fine."
Vokara Che went to attend to her other patients. Ten minutes later she received a report that the healer stationed outside Obi-Wan's room--not a junior healer, but a full-fledged one, because he was too tenacious for a junior to deal with alone--had apprehended him while he was trying to sneak out.
Vokara Che rolled her eyes and went to see her most obnoxious patient.
Obi-Wan was sitting quietly in bed, pretending to read, but as soon as Vokara Che closed the door behind her, he tossed the datapad aside. "I want to see my Padawan."
"You can't," Vokara Che said flatly.
Obi-Wan's petulant expression became one of horror. "What?"
"Oh, no, Obi-Wan, he's not dead," Vokara Che said quickly, suddenly realizing the awful implication Obi-Wan had gleaned from her words. "He's in a gas chamber, getting ready for his surgery."
Obi-Wan's face showed his crushing grief for only an instant. "So you can't save his arm?"
"I told you there was very little hope of that," Vokara Che said. She continued more gently. "When he comes out of surgery and is stable, I will let you see him, but only if there are no escape attempts."
Vokara Che kept her promise. Obi-Wan was settled in a chair at Anakin's side; told sternly that he would have fifteen minutes, no more, because he was still injured and needed to rest; and left alone.
Vokara Che closed the door and hesitated in the hall.
"I'm sorry," she heard Obi-Wan say, even though Anakin wasn't conscious. "I'm so sorry, Padawan."
Vokara Che went quietly away and left him to his pain.
#
Mace Windu yawned and picked up another flimsi. It was far too late to be doing flimsiwork, but somebody had to do it. This one was easy: approving the newly-minted General Kenobi and his choice of designation for his personal battalion. Mace had actually been present when Obi-Wan and his Padawan had filled out the flimsiwork. They had just been released from the Halls, and Skywalker was still starting every time he saw his shiny new prosthetic arm out of the corner of his eye.
"We choose our own battalion numbers?" Skywalker asked. "Cool."
Obi-Wan picked up the pen and turned to Skywalker. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"What should it be?"
"I dunno." Skywalker smirked. "Aren't you the general? Pick your own number."
Obi-Wan, who still looked tired and in pain, who was already stressed and harried, only said, "There are two battalions. You pick one, and I'll pick the other."
Skywalker shrugged. "I don't know."
"Number between one and nine."
"Uh, five."
Obi-Wan wrote that down. "Another."
Skywalker chose zero and one, in that order.
"Five-oh-first," Obi-Wan said.
"What's yours?" Skywalker looked over Obi-Wan's shoulder to see what he'd written.
"Get off," Obi-Wan muttered, bouncing his shoulder so that Skywalker's teeth clacked.
"Ouch!" Skywalker rubbed his jaw, pouting.
Obi-Wan folded the flimsi and put it in the slot.
Now Mace looked at the numbers written in Obi-Wan's precise handwriting and sighed.
212.
Plo had told Mace about finding Obi-Wan in the Room of Remembrance, about how he had blamed himself for Geonosis and the war and been upset about missing the dedication. Of course, both of them knew Obi-Wan would never believe the war was his fault when he was thinking straight.
It seemed he had found his own way to honor the sacrifices made on Geonosis.
Mace scribbled his signature at the bottom of the paper.
Approved.
#
CC-2224 of the 212th Attack Battalion, more popularly known as Commander Cody, was not a particularly sentimental man. He cared about his brothers, of course, and tried to keep as many of them alive as possible, but he didn't ignore the realities of war: men were going to die. Clones, natborn officers, civilians, even the Jedi, were not immortal. Things happened.
What Cody did not understand was why his Jedi, High General Obi-Wan Kenobi of the Third Systems Army, insisted on ignoring that fact. Kenobi tried so hard to save everyone he could with such utter disregard for his own life that if Cody didn't know better he'd think his General had a death wish.
But at least for now, the man was safe on the Negotiator.
Cody knocked softly on Kenobi's office door before he opened it. Kenobi wasn't there, but it wasn't unusual. Cody didn't know what exactly the General did post-campaign, but it took him longer than it took Cody to shower.
Cody looked around the little office while he waited. There wasn't anything he hadn't seen a million times already, but Kenobi's choice of decor was like nothing Cody had ever seen growing up on Kamino, and he was still fascinated by the little succulents and scented candles. Kenobi's flimsi book was sitting open on the desk, which was strange; the book was usually shut and high on a shelf away from curious eyes. Despite himself, Cody found himself reading the upside-down pages.
Each page appeared to be divided into three columns. One was labeled Jedi, another clones, and the third natborns. Kenobi had filled each column with neat lists of handwritten names and designations. Cody scanned the lists and realized Kenobi was logging everyone who had died in the war.
"Commander," Kenobi said from behind him. "Sorry, I'm running a little be--" He broke off when he saw the open book.
"It was open when I came in, sir," Cody said.
"I left it earlier," Kenobi said. "It's all right, Commander." He sat down in the chair behind the desk. "I keep track of those we've lost."
"Can I ask why, sir?"
Kenobi picked up a stylus and toyed with it, trying and failing not to look like he was avoiding Cody's eyes. "Because all of these deaths are my fault. I started and escalated the situation that started it--the first battle of Geonosis, you know."
Cody didn't know what to say to that. The responsibility for the war couldn't sit on one man's shoulders: it was distributed among the corrupt Senate and the Separatists, but he didn't know how to communicate that fact to Kenobi.
"Never mind," Kenobi said. He sat up straighter. "We have work to do."
Cody didn't connect the dots until much later, when he was going through datawork the next morning. Kenobi would give his life in exchange for a clone's, and Cody had always wondered why.
Now he knew.
Kenobi was trying to lessen the burden of guilt he carried over the war by saving as many people as he could, following a confusing twist of logic that every life he saved redeemed him from one that had been lost.
Di'kut Jetii.
#
Darth Sidious, otherwise known as Chancellor Palpatine, rose from his seat behind the Executive Desk when the Jedi entered: Windu, Yoda, and Kenobi. They all bowed politely and sat down. Sidious focused on Kenobi as he settled into his own chair.
Through a careful bit of planning, Kenobi had been the Jedi to find the clones and the Jedi to be lured to Geonosis by Fett. He had also been the Jedi captured and sentenced to execution in a successful bid to escalate the brewing political situation into a full-scale war.
"We need to discuss our strategy for the next quarter," Palpatine said calmly.
"Of course." Windu gestured to Kenobi. "We brought Master Kenobi because he has been successful with most of his campaigns, proving that he is capable of strategizing successfully."
Kenobi didn't react to the praise, but Palpatine needed to. "Well, that's marvelous!"
"Thank you, Chancellor," Kenobi murmured.
Sidious briefly fantasized cutting out the Negotiator's silver tongue and cramming it down his throat. "What wisdom do you bring, Master Kenobi?"
Kenobi started to talk, and Palpatine listened while Sidious tuned him out.
Skywalker, Tano, and Kenobi had recently returned from Zygerria, and Kenobi was still showing the marks of his week in captivity: minor cuts, bruises, and a telltale wince of pain every time he forgot himself and gesticulated.
But more than that, he looked tired and sick and worn down. The war was beating him into the dust, both physically and emotionally. Foolish Jedi that he was, Kenobi refused to acknowledge that and kept slogging through.
But he had not been chosen randomly for Geonosis.
Sidious had watched Kenobi struggle with his master's death. Kenobi had a tendency to blame himself for everything he could. Making him the instigator of Geonosis ensured he would be saddled with a load of guilt and shame that would only get heavier the longer the war went on. The longer the war went on, the more his emotions would chip away at his stability; the damage was so subtle Sidious had to squint to see it. He didn't think Kenobi even suspected what was happening.
The more unstable he became, the less of an anchor for Skywalker's innate darkness he could be. When Skywalker's trust in his anchor had failed, the boy would be searching for another, and Sidious could present himself as an alternative.
The mission Kenobi was soon to depart on, which involved letting Skywalker believe he was dead, would help erode that trust even more.
And when that trust failed, Sidious would pounce.
#
Obi-Wan and Anakin were winning. Obi-Wan twirled his lightsaber, deflecting bolts back at the terrorists. His Padawan did the same beside him, long braid swinging as he moved.
"Good job, Padawan!" Obi-Wan called as Anakin used the Force to collapse a tree onto the densest part of the enemy's group.
"Don't call me that!"
"Anakin?"
The forested landscape disappeared, replaced with lava rivers and high banks of ash.
"My name is Darth Vader!"
Obi-Wan turned in circles, trying to find where the voice was coming from. A flash of movement was all the warning he had before Anakin jumped at him. Obi-Wan swung his lightsaber. The limbless body of his dearest friend crashed to the ground and caught fire. Obi-Wan stumbled backward as the stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils.
He tripped over a child's body, and he was in the Council chamber, looked around at the scattered bodies of his siblings, the young Initiates who had begged Anakin for direction and been struck down by Vader.
"You did this," a singsong voice behind him accused.
"You did this," another young voice added, and then all the corpses were on their feet, lurching toward him, raising their voices in a ghastly chant.
"Your fault, your fault, your fault."
Obi-Wan scrambled away and hit the wall of the chamber. The little bodies kept coming, reaching for him, but there was nowhere to go. Obi-Wan cowered, raising his hands in a pitiful defense against his attackers. Little hands grabbed at him, pulling him down, down, down.
"Please," Obi-Wan sobbed. "Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry--"
His pleas did no good, and he was forced to his knees. Anakin, horribly burned and mangled and yellow-eyed, raised a red lightsaber. The younglings were still chanting: your fault, your fault, your fault.
Anakin swung the lightsaber down towards him and--
Obi-Wan woke up. He jerked upright, panting and gasping and crying, and then he struggled out of his bed and into the refresher, where he vomited, flushed the toilet, and sat on the floor, still trying to get his breathing under control. He could still feel hands on his arms, smell Anakin burning--
He threw up again.
Sagging against the refresher wall, Obi-Wan wiped tears off his face. It was all his fault. Luke and Leia would never know their parents, hundred of thousands of billions of beings would never know life without an Empire beating them down, and it was his fault.
There was nothing left in his stomach, but he gagged and heaved anyway.
Master Yoda had said he would find peace on Tatooine, watching over Anakin's son. Obi-Wan knew Master Yoda had lied to him, because there was no peace here.
All that was here was Obi-Wan Kenobi and his guilt.