Star Wars: Bloodstalker

By Brandon W. Nichols

The following story contains several elements which may be disturbing for certain readers. Discretion is advised. If this story were to be presented as a feature film, it would likely have a rating of R. Please be aware of this before proceeding further.

This is a piece of fanfiction from the Star Wars universe. It has been written to pair with most (not all) Star Wars canon, and can also be paired with my Star Wars Requel Trilogy, which can also be found at this blog.

 

                The Jedi Archives are generally considered a place for quiet contemplation.  An afternoon browsing through the extensive collections was often a cathartic experience.  Voices rarely rose above a whisper.  Distractions were few and the conditions within were as comfortable as possible.  But none of those comforts applied today. 

                He felt irked that this task had to take place in an area where he went for relaxation.  Still, orders were orders.  Jedi Kento Marek walked into the archives and approached the front desk. 

                “Master Nu,” he said, greeting the elderly woman at the entrance.

                “Knight Marek,” she said, looking up from some holocrons that she was sorting.

                “I was summoned,” he said.

                “Yes, if you will proceed to Reading Room Three, we need to redocument one of your archive records,” Nu said.

                “Certainly.  Thank you,” Kento said.

                He walked through the stacks and found the room that had been assigned.  He had expected to be greeted by a couple of Nu’s young acolytes.  Instead, he found Jedi Master Adi Gallia and his former master, Plo Koon.  He checked the door, not certain if he had gone to the correct room.

                “Kento, come in, please,” Gallia said.  Her voice was light, but commanding.

                “Master Gallia, Master Koon,” Kento said, giving a slight nod to both of them as he entered.

                “Good to see you again, my old padawan,” Plo Koon said.

                “Yes, Master,” Kento said, reverting to old habits of address. 

                “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Kento,” Adi Gallia said, motioning him towards a chair at the end of the table.

                “I was told there was a problem with a file,” he said, more of a question than a statement.

                “Yes, the killing of Padawan Buran,” Gallia said.  “The file was accidentally corrupted.  The Council asked us to retake your testimony for the archives.”

                “I’ve never heard of an archive file being corrupted before,” Kento said.

                “The archives are maintained by sentient beings.  Mistakes are inevitable,” Koon said.

                “I wonder if Master Nu would agree,” Kento said.

                “At any rate, if you’ll sit and speak about the events, all will be corrected,” Gallia said.

                Kento sat in the empty chair.  A burgundy R2 unit wheeled over from the corner and aimed a lens at him.  A light came on.

                “Just start at the beginning,” Gallia said.

                Kento paused for a moment to let the memory come back.

                “It was about a year ago.  I was escorting a group of younglings back from the academy on Ilum.  As I’m sure he’s already told you, along the way, I received a message from Master Koon, asking me to take a shuttle to the planet Tertan-Ral…”

                                                                                –

                The smell was the first thing that hit you.  Even with the smoke from the dying fires that smoldered on the horizon, the smell of seared flesh was overwhelming.  Local security had offered him a breathing mask, but he declined.  It was important to take in everything he could about this crime scene.  He would call on all his senses, and, of course, the Force.

                Kento Marek walked through a burned-out field.  What passed for the local constable accompanied him.  Only days ago, this had been thriving farmland.  A common crop grown by the settlers of this newly inhabited planet.  The fledgling farms of Tertan-Ral only took up a fraction of the smallest continent of this untamed world.  This colony had barely developed its own infrastructure, but already, it had seen its first murder.

                Kento paused at the edge of the clearing and tried to take it all in.  In his time as a Jedi, he’d seen some disturbing things, but this surpassed the rest in its ability to arouse dread and fear.

                The body was laid out, facing up, in a patch of grassland between two fields.  The killer had clearly arranged the scene and then lit the surrounding crops on fire, likely either to draw attention to the body, or to cover his tracks as he made his escape. 

                The victim’s limbs were staked down.  Her robes had been stripped away.  There was no sign of any personal effects.  Not clothing or a lightsaber or so much as a hair tie.  She was a human, no more than nineteen years old.  Just a padawan here on assignment.  Her first mission on her own, taking the Trials to become a full-fledged Jedi Knight.  Somehow, things had gone so horribly wrong. 

                Sherriff Que’tan paced awkwardly around the perimeter.  She was a middle-aged Bothan woman who had been enforcing the law in this colony since its inception.  At the moment, she seemed very ill at ease.  Frontier constables had to deal with frontier crimes.  Most of those revolved around crops or cattle.  It was beyond her experience to handle a grisly murder.  Kento didn’t blame her a bit for requesting assistance from the Republic. 

                “Had she made any enemies, Sheriff?” Kento asked, not looking up from the body.

                 “Oh, not at all.  Abi was a big help to the community.  Ever since she got here, she’s been clearing out Sheeyan traps and helping folks along the outskirts.  She diverted the creek by Harvest Point when we set the millwheel in.  Even helped me out with a band of rustlers who were causing trouble.”

                “You think it could be them?” Kento asked.

                “Doubtful.  The leader was Jerek Goll and he’s been in my jail for the last month.  Along with the rest of his crew,” the sheriff said.

                “Any outliers in that crew?  One that got away?” Kento asked.

                “Not that I know of.  And if there was one this crazy, I feel like I’d know him.”

                Crazy wasn’t the word Kento would have used.  This scene wasn’t made by a crazed individual.  It wasn’t random and it wasn’t messy.  If anything, it was quite the opposite. 

                The body itself was ghostly.  The skin’s color was faded.  The lips were blue, as though she had frozen to death, though the weather here was pleasantly warm.  In the arms and legs, Kento could see the muscles in strain, pulled taut.  Deep gashes had been made along the forearms, likely to open her arteries.  What was strange was the lack of blood.  Her arms were clean, aside from the wounds.  So was the ground around her. 

                Across her forehead there was a symbol.  It was seared into her skin.  The killer had carved it into her face with a lightsaber.  He’d seen saber wounds before and the thought of it made him shiver.  If it was done post-mortem, it would have been ghastly.  If she had been alive for the torture, then it would have been agony. 

                Kento redirected his gaze from the body and took in more details of the scene.

                “Do these stakes catch your interest, Sheriff?  The ones that are holding the body down,” he asked.

                “The wood is local.  You can find those at any farm or campsite on the planet,” the Bothan woman replied.

                “I assume the same for the ropes?” he said.

                “Correct,” she confirmed.

                Kento pondered aloud, “Even a wounded padawan should have been able to break free from these bonds.  There’s nothing special about the knots or the material.”

                “Which tells us that she was killed elsewhere and placed here,” Que’tan said.

                “As does the lack of blood.  No blood trail anywhere?” he asked.

                She shook her head, “We found nothing.  With the fire in the fields, it’s hard to be sure, but we found no footprints, no signs of dragging the body.”

                “He wouldn’t have dragged her.  Look at this work.  Whatever his motivation, this was something he was proud of.  Something that mattered.  He wouldn’t have dragged her through the dirt.  She’s been placed here.  Placed for us to find.”  He sighed and wiped sweat from his brow.  A disgusting thought came to him, “This is his art.”

                Sheriff Que’tan pondered that for a moment. “Brought here on a speeder, you think?” the sheriff asked.

                “Possibly, but let’s not jump to conclusions,” Kento said. 

                “It would narrow the field a bit.  There are only a handful of speeders in the colony.”

                “Let’s not assume she was killed by someone from the colony, either,” Kento said.

                He needed a moment to think.  So much of this was beyond him.  He stood and scanned the horizon.  To the north, he saw low rocky hills.  To the east was the settlement, only a few structures, none more than ten meters high.  He could just see the rooftops at this distance.  This place barely had roads, but now it had a murder. 

                Kento could sense the Sheriff’s tension without needing to look at her.  He thought it would be a kindness to refocus her mind.

                “Sheriff Que’tan, tell me about Tertan-Ral,” he said, looking for a topic that wouldn’t fluster the peace officer.

                “We’re a young colony.  Only been here for about 10 years.  It was started as a counter-claim site.  Czerka wanted to use it for industrial farming, but the founders made a case that the planet’s pristine nature was worth preserving.  But they had to keep a camp here to maintain the claim.”

                “What’s the population?” Kento asked.

                “A few thousand.  Six or seven, at last count.  But the families are spread far and wide.  There’s an abundance of land, as you might have noticed, so the colony expanded around the local river system.  Upstream and down.  Where there is water, we grow.  Our infrastructure isn’t very advanced, but we aren’t starving,” Que’tan said.

                He noted that she sounded much less ill-at-ease now.

                “Speaking of infrastructure,” Kento said, “The spaceport leaves something to be desired.”

                Sheriff Que’tan nodded, “All we have is a clearing for freighter traffic.  A lot of the time, the freighters don’t even bother.  They just find a spot to put down near the farm that has their cargo.  It’s very informal.”

                “You get many offplanet visitors?” Kento asked.

                “No, not really.  A Republic inspector visits once a year or so, usually around harvest time.  We see the occasional traders come through looking to make a deal.  And there was a cult collective that passed through a few years ago.”

                “A cult?” Kento asked, his ears perking up.

                “Some kind of nature commune.  They passed through here, trying to recruit people who would worship the dirt of something.  I dunno.  Never paid that much attention.  They had a big meeting over at Chep Kithern’s ranch and then flew away a few days later.  I doubt it’s related.”

                “Still, something to keep in mind,” Kento said.

                “If you say so,” she replied.

                “Anyone recently?”  Kento asked.

                “Hard to say.  We had a harvest of watrucore last month.  About a dozen ships landed around the orchards.  I assume they all left after they loaded up.  If someone wanted to sneak down here though, it wouldn’t be hard to hide an incoming ship.  Just fly in at night and put her down somewhere out of sight.”

                Kento nodded. “Who actually found the body?”

                “Jeh Wygot.  This is his land.  He found the body and notified us as soon as he could,” she answered.

                “According to him,” Kento said.

                “According to him,” the Bothan echoed.  Then she added, “Considering these are mostly his crops that were burnt, I don’t consider him a suspect.”

                Kento made a wide circle, scanning the clearing around the body for evidence.  Nothing seemed to have been left behind on the perimeter of the crime scene, either intentionally or not.  He traced a spiraling path out, looking for any other evidence.  Finding nothing of interest, he returned to the corpse of the young padawan and leaned over it.  He took a deep breath and got a trace of ozone.

                “Force lightning,” he said, to no one in particular.

                “I’m sorry?” his companion responded.

                “I’m seeing signs of electrocution.” 

                “She’s been drained of blood.  The cuts on her arms are what killed her,” the sheriff said.

                “Maybe,” Kento said, emphasizing the word.  “But clearly there’s more to it.  The killer could have drained her body after she was dead.”

                “What the hell kind of creature does that?” the sheriff asked.

                He waved her over, “Look at the skin.  Do you see these burn marks here?” he pointed at the victim’s chest, over her heart.  There was white scarring that extended out in random patterns, as though she had a lightning bolt embedded in her skin.

                The sheriff nodded, “I see them, but I don’t understand. 

                “She was hit with Force lightning.  That might be what set the fields on fire as well,” Kento said.

                “Force…lightning?” she asked.

                “Dark side users are able to use the Force to generate electricity.  They can use it as a weapon.  Or, as I suspect here, as a means of torture.”

                The sheriff looked stunned, “You mean you’ve seen this kind of thing before?” she asked.

                “No, ma’am.  It’s an old Sith method.”

                “Then how do you…?”

                “I’m a history teacher,” Kento said. 

                “The Jedi sent me a history teacher?” the sheriff asked.

                Kento frowned at her, “It’s a big galaxy, Sheriff.   I was on my way back to Coruscant.  I got redirected here because I was closest.  If you’d like to request someone else, feel free.  I imagine your concerned citizens would rather get help now than later.”

                The Bothan held up her hands in mock surrender, “I meant no offense, Master Jedi.  I’m just surprised.”

                “I know how you feel,” he said, examining the victim’s wounds.

                “Never doubt the power of a history teacher.”

                Kento turned around.  The voice was not that of Que’tan.  He spun and saw a human male standing on the trail at the edge of the field.  The man was large, both in height and weight.  He wore thick boots and a dark bomber jacket that were for a far colder climate than this planet offered.  A pair of dark goggles hung from his neck, ready for use.  The attire told Marek this man was no local.  Kento’s eyes went to the glinting plate on his shoulder.  A patch that held a long oval.  Confirmation came when he spotted the lightsaber dangling from his hip.  This man was no farmer. 

                Kento held up a hand to pause the man’s approach.

                “Stop.  Please don’t move.  I can’t have you contaminating this scene,” Kento said.

                “I wouldn’t dream of it,” the man said, putting his hands out and stopping.

                “How did you get past my deputies?” Que’tan said.  She looked at the newcomer warily.  Kento saw her hand move towards the blaster she kept on her hip. 

                “There were deputies?” the man asked, looking over his shoulder up the dirt path.  “I’m sorry to startle you.  I came to offer my assistance.”

                “We’re quite all right here,” said the Bothan sheriff.  “The Jedi have no need for outside help,” she said, curtly.

                “I think I have information that might pertain to this case,” the man said.

                Kento studied him again.  

                “And who are you, sir?”

                “My name is Orion Xadau of the Jal Shey,” the man said.  He added, almost apologetically, “I’m a Jal Shey Ranger.”  He tapped the oval on his shoulder plate by way of an identification.

                “What is the Jal Shey’s interest in this matter?” Kento said.

                “Same as the Jedi’s.  A threat to our people,” Xadau said.

                “There are no Jal Shey here, besides yourself.  This is Jedi business, sir.  I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Kento said.

                The man jutted his chin at the body, “This one might be Jedi business, but the last three weren’t.”

                Kento turned to address the man, “What are you talking about?”

                “Half a year ago, one of our Neophytes never came back from an assignment.  We sent two Rangers out after him.  They all turned up dead.  Not an ounce of blood in their bodies.  Does that sound familiar?”

                “You have my sympathy, but I’m not sure…”

                “Have you checked the back of her neck?” Xadau interrupted.

                “I’m sorry?” Kento said.

                “On the back of her neck there will be a puncture mark.  Some kind of dart that the killer is using to drug the victims,” Xadau said.

                Kento looked to Que’tan.  She shrugged, “We haven’t moved her since we found her.”

                “Could I trouble you to check?” Xadau said.

                Kento motioned for Que’tan to go to the body.  He stood between this outsider and the victim.  Nothing about this felt right to him.

                Xadau spoke as the sheriff moved, “A small puncture hole at the top of the spine.  White striations in the skin indicating electrical damage.  Deep wounds.  All my victims had them.  And not a drop of blood in the bodies,” Xadau said.

                Que’tan gave the men a wide berth as she went to check the victim’s neck.  As delicately as she could, she turned the head slightly and then leaned over, her fur touching the ground.  In life, Abi Buran had long black hair.  The sheriff brushed it aside.  Kento saw her examine the back of the neck, look up at him and nod grimly.

                Kento lifted his right arm and called upon the Force.  Instantly, his saber was in his hand.  A blue blade shot out from the hilt.  The blade cut through the air and extended just under the chin of this Orion Xadau.  The man froze. 

                “Now, that’s really the kind of information only the killer would know,” Kento said.  Xadau reflexively backpedaled for a couple of steps, but Kento stayed with him, the blade under his chin.

                “Hey, hey, hey!  I just told you, this isn’t the first victim,” Xadau said, through gritted teeth, keeping his chin up to avoid the blade across his neck.

                “So you say,” Kento said.

                “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Xadau said.

                “Please don’t move,” Kento said, as politely as he could.  “You claim to be a Jal Shey.  That’s a Force sect.  We’ve seen evidence that this was done by a Force user.  You carry a lightsaber; she has wounds from a lightsaber.  You’re not a local and we’re pretty sure the killer isn’t either.  You’ve got information that the killer would know, and you just got here.”

                Sheriff Que’tan chimed in, drawing a blaster and aiming for the man’s chest, “Not to mention, plenty of killers like to insert themselves into the investigations, which you’ve just done.  Now, how did you even know about this?”

                The azure blade hovered neatly below Xadau’s neck.

                “If I could just show you the datapad I brought with me,” Xadau said.  His hands started to move.  Kento lifted the blade ever so slightly and the man froze once again.

                “The sheriff will handle that,” Kento said. 

                The Bothan woman approached Xadau slowly.  She kept her blaster aimed at his chest.  It was immaterial.  If this man twitched, Kento was resolved to take his head.  There was an unsettling energy here and he’d been taught to trust his instincts.

                Xadau sighed, “It’s in the pocket on my right leg.”

                “Make sure you relieve him of that lightsaber as well,” Kento said.  “And check if he’s carrying anything else.”

                “There’s a blaster on my right hip and I’ve got a tool kit in the pocket of this jacket.  Feel free,” Xadau said, spreading his arms wide.

                Que’tan gingerly lifted the bulky blaster pistol from its holster and tossed it onto the dusty path.  It landed with a heavy thud, scattering some loose dirt.  She took the saber hilt and tucked it into a loop on her own belt.  Xadau didn’t flinch when she pulled the datapad from his pocket.  She stood back a few feet to check its contents.

                “Sheriff?” Kento asked, not taking his eyes from Xadau’s neck.

                “It’s other murders.  Looks a lot like what we have here.  Staked down, stripped, pale.  That weird symbol on the forehead.”

                “Do you see any indication they were taken by police and not just his personal candids?” Kento asked.

                “Really?” Xadau said, turning to look at the Jedi incredulously.

                “They look like crime scene holos to me,” Que’tan said.

                “Uniforms?” Kento asked.

                “Not seeing any…” Que’tan said.

                “Give it to the Jedi,” Orion said, with a note of exasperation.

                “What?” Que’tan asked.

                “Give it to the Jedi.  Psychometry is standard for Jedi investigators.  Hand it over, he’ll sense where it’s been and realize that I’m telling the truth,” Xadau said.

                Kento didn’t move from his guarded pose, still ready to subdue this man.

                “Master Jedi?” Que’tan asked.

                “That won’t be necessary.  We’ll…”

                “Oh, come on!  If I was lying, I’d…” Xadau said, interrupting.

                “Stay.  Calm.” Kento said, interrupting him right back.

                Xadau bristled. 

                “What do you want to do here, Master Jedi?” Que’tan said.

                “Put the binders on him.  We’ll take him back to your office and check his credentials.  If his story checks out, then that’s fine.  If not, we’ve got a suspect.”

                “So much for professional courtesy,” Xadau said as his wrists were put into the electrobinders.

                “If you’re telling the truth, this will be sorted out before sunset.  If not…” Kento let the thought hang.

                Orion Xadau rolled his eyes as the Bothan sheriff led him away. 

                                                                                –

                Adi Gallia interrupted his account to gain more perspective.

                “So, your initial instinct was not to trust Orion Xadau?” she asked.

                “He was a variable that didn’t fit.  I didn’t like what I sensed from him,” Kento said.

                “Which was?” Gallia prompted.

                “A swagger.  A self-confidence that seemed to smack of arrogance.  In itself, that means nothing, but at the time, I felt like it might be the sly confidence of a man who knew he was getting away with something,” Kento said.

                “Getting away with murder?” Gallia asked.

                “It seemed possible… at the time,” Kento said.

                Gallia nodded for him to continue.  

                                                                                –        

                An hour later, Kento rode in an open-air speeder with Sheriff Que’tan.  The suspicious interloper sat in a sealed compartment in the back.  He could neither see nor hear their conversation. 

                Que’tan tilted her head to indicate their suspect, “I think he’s clean.”

                Kento shrugged, “Maybe so.  But I’d just as soon be cautious.  And I’d rather not look like an idiot if we let him go and we’re wrong.”

                Que’tan’s fur rippled in the breeze as she drove back to the central part of the settlement.  “Why wouldn’t you take the datapad?”

                “What?” Kento asked.

                “When he said you’d be able to sense he was telling the truth.  I don’t understand what that was all about,” Que’tan said.

                “He was talking about psychometry.  It’s a skill that certain Jedi have.  You touch an object, and you can sense where that object has been.  What’s been done to it, or done with it.”

                “Like if I hand you a murder weapon, you could see the crime?” Que’tan asked. 

                “Something like that,” Kento said.

                She withdrew Xadau’s lightsaber from her belt and held it up to the Jedi.  Kento waved it away, not touching the weapon. 

                “I don’t have the skill,” Kento said.

                “I thought he said all Jedi investigators…”

                “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Kento said.  “Most Jedi who investigate crimes have some level of psychometry.  But it’s a rare skill.  And I told you, I’m a history teacher.”

                She shrugged and threw a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the cell on the back of the speeder.

                “Do you really think he’s a suspect?” she asked.

                “If he is, he won’t be hurting anyone back there,” Kento said.

                “I’m running a check as soon as we get back,” she said.  “If he comes up clean, you really need to read him in.  If he’s telling the truth, he’s got data we need.”

                “If,” Kento said.

                                                                                –

                The Tertan-Ral colonial headquarters was a clump of boxy structures cobbled together from local stones and clay.  The facilities were rustic, but by no means crude.  Old fashioned, but workable.  A Gonk droid in the corner connected to the central computer terminal.  A dusty protocol droid sat behind the reception desk, motionless and deactivated.

                They opened the rear doors for both the holding cell and the sheriff’s speeder to put the prisoner inside.  He gave them no trouble, apart from a massive eye roll.  Once that was done, the sheriff set about to check his credentials. 

                As Que’tan pulled up the files on Orion Xadau in the Republic database, Kento scrolled through the photos on the datapad.  He saw a grisly scene, much like the one he’d been confronted with this morning.  Unlike Abi Buran, this body was found in a on a sandy beach, not amidst farms and crops.  

                A Selkath boy, no more than a teenager, stripped and tied down on a beach.  His belly slit down the center.  He’d been drained.  The body a husk, devoid of blood and life. 

                Abi Buran had received a collection of searing cuts on her forehead.  The same cuts were made into the young Selkath’s snout.  A lightsaber had carved the angled symbol into his scaly flesh.  Even in still holos, the scene gave Kento sense of disquiet. 

                Kento withdrew the notepad that he had used at the crime scene and began to add in his observations about the images.  Before he could go on to the next set, Que’tan pushed back from her desk and spoke.

                “The files confirm he is who he says he is.  Jal Shey have him as a Ranger, whatever that means.  He was called in to assist with three murders on Telos IV.  I spoke with a lieutenant from Telos homicide.  They only called him in afterwards.  Said he’s been very cooperative.  He’s not our guy.”

                Kento shrugged, “Worth a shot.”

                “I’ll go let him out,” Que’tan said.

                Kento put up a hand to stop her, “That’s okay.  It should be me.”

                Kento took his time walking down the cramped corridor to the twin holding cells.  Orion was in the farthest one.  He was laying on a thin cot, staring up at the bare rock of the ceiling.  He didn’t look up as the cell door was unlocked.

                “They confirmed my credentials?” Orion said.

                “One can’t be too careful,” Kento said.

                “Well, I think one can, but I respect the work,” Orion said.

                “Would you care to join us?” Kento asked, swinging the door wide open.

                “Yeah,” Orion said, swinging his legs off the bed and rising.

                They entered the office and Orion used the Force to snatch his datapad from the table where it sat.  He plugged it into a console and an image came up on the main screen.

                “So far as I know, this was the first victim.  His name was Manteo.  He was a Jal Shey on a research assignment, doing work on Telos with a diplomatic mission.  He goes out to get dinner one night, doesn’t come back.  The next morning, they found him on the beach.  No blood, no signs of a struggle.  Puncture wound on the back of the neck and sliced down the gut.”

                “Did you know him?” Kento asked.

                “I pulled him and his cousin Darvus out of a gladiator academy on Zhar four years ago.  Darvus checks in with me every few days to see if I’ve caught the bastard who gutted Manteo yet.”

                “I’m sorry for your loss,” Kento said.

                Orion hit a button on the pad and the image changed to a close-up of the puncture wound.  “My theory is that Manteo was taken by surprise.  Hit with a dart of some sort and drugged.  He never saw it coming.  Whatever was in the dart put him out but didn’t kill him.  He was taken to some other location, tortured, gutted, drained, and then his body was put on display.”

                “All in one night?” Kento said.

                “Fifteen hours between the time he was last seen alive and the time he was found,” Orion said.

                “Any idea what he might have been drugged with?” Que’tan asked.

                “Without blood to analyze…” Orion said.

                “Right, of course,” Que’tan said, then continued, “You think that might be intentional?  The killer is using something traceable and doesn’t want it to lead back, so they drain the blood?”

                Orion grimaced, “I don’t think that’s it.  If that was the case, why not just use a different concoction?  And why target Force users?”

                “Sith ritual,” Kento said.  The other two turned to face him.

               “Speak on it, history teacher,” Orion said.

               Kento turned to Que’tan to explain.  “Ancient Sith warriors used blood as part of certain rituals.  Lightsaber construction, war paint, initiation rites.  Sometimes they’d even drink the blood of enemies as a way to steal the power of those they killed.”

               Que’tan put a hand to her chest, “How horrid.  Does that even work?  Drinking the blood?”

               “Of course not,” Kento said. 

               “But there are Sith cultists who believe it does,” Orion said. 

               “There were.  The Sith are gone,” Kento said.

               “Are you sure?  Because I’m looking at some pretty compelling evidence that they’re not,” Orion said.  He pulled up an image of the brand carved into the young Selkath’s forehead.

               “Does anyone know what that means?” Que’tan asked. 

               Orion looked to Kento, “History teacher?”

               Kento looked grim, “My ancient Sith is a little rusty.  But I believe it’s a symbol that indicates danger.”

                                                                                –

               As they delved into the details, Sheriff Que’tan stepped away to take an incoming call.  Orion and Kento went over the holographic recordings carefully, comparing the three previous scenes to the death of Abi Buran. 

               “Your victims: a Selkath, a Nautolan, and a Mon Cal,” Kento said.  “Could he be targeting aquatic species?”

               “I was thinking that, until your human girl turned up,” Orion said.

               “Right,” Kento said.

               “But these are just the ones we know about,” Orion said.

                “You think there’s more?” Kento asked.

                “It’s a very big galaxy,” Orion said.

                “I know of no other missing Jedi,” Kento said.

                “Zeison Sha, the Guardians of the Whills, the Baran Do, the Miraluka.  How many sects are out there?  How many people with abilities that were never identified?  Until this morning, I thought this was just about the Jal Shey.  Clearly, it’s more than that.”

                “We need to find out if there are more,” Kento said.

                Que’tan came back into the room, “Sorry to interrupt.”  She held up her comlink, “I just spoke with Doc Ondug.”

                “Your coroner?” Kento asked.

                “Cities have coroners.  We have a town doctor,” Que’tan said, smiling grimly.

                “What did he say?” Orion asked.

                “Not much.  He says Buran died from blood loss but was also in shock from torture by electricity.  No defensive wounds.  She didn’t fight back.”

                “Taken from behind.  Probably never saw her killer,” Orion said.

                “Not until the torture began,” Kento said.

                A beat passed in silence as they each considered the final moments of Abi Buran.  Que’tan broke the stillness.

                “He’s a local doctor.  And he’s more used to Ithorian anatomy.  You might want to have her body examined by a professional,” Que’tan said.

                Orion perked up, looking at Kento, “Would that be acceptable, Master Jedi?”

                Kento looked rankled in his chair, “To honor the dead, we prefer to burn the body.”

                “I think honoring her memory would demand that we do everything to stop her killer,” Orion said.

                “I agree,” Kento said.

                Orion rose from his seat, “The Jal Shey have a ship only about ten parsecs away.  It has all the proper facilities.  Once we have done the tests, you could take her back to Coruscant, or whatever else your religion requires.”

                Kento’s mouth wrinkled as he considered the offer. 

                Sheriff Que’tan chimed in, “There’s not much more I can do for her here, Master Marek.”

                Kento nodded.

                                                                                –

               The short, stubby Republic shuttle lifted off from the surface of Tertan-Ral.  Kento swung the nose around, making one more pass over the settlement.  A stormfront loomed large and grey over the town.  He set a course for low orbit and let the ship’s navicomputer take over.

               As he cleared the cloud cover, the shuttle was bathed in sunlight.  He pulled up a communications channel back to Coruscant. 

               Ready to leave a message, he was surprised to see the projected image of Plo Koon appear on the communications screen.

               “Master Koon, this is Kento Marek, reporting in.”

               “What have you learned?”

               “We have a complication.  The physical evidence bears similarities to a number of other killings that have taken place recently.”

               “Other murders?” Koon asked.

               “Yes, there appears to be a linkage.  All the victims were Force users.  Usually, juveniles or young adults.  We were contacted by a member of the Jal Shey who has been investigating the loss of three of his compatriots.  He’s convinced that the death of Abi Buran is merely the latest in a string of murders.  He’s asked me to join his investigation.”

               “That would be prudent.  What is your next step?” Koon asked.

               “We are going to a Jal Shey vessel to compare evidence,” Kento said.

               “Very well.  Take caution in your dealings with the Jal Shey.  They practice a very different approach to the Force,” Koon said.

               “Yes, Master Koon.  I will update you on our progress moving forward,” Kento said. 

               The connection ended and Kento took a moment to ponder the advice of Plo Koon.  Personally, Kento had no knowledge of the Jal Shey, apart from being vaguely aware of their existence as a Force sect that had been operating for several millennia. 

               The shuttle reached low orbit.  Far ahead, he could see the white outline of Xadau’s ship.  The long thin wings ended with large round engines.  The ship rocked back and forth a bit and he saw a hailing signal come up on his central console.

               “Republic shuttle, this is the Thunder Child.  How do you read me?” Xadau said over the radio.

               “Loud and clear, Thunder Child,” Kento said.

               “I have the coordinates for the jump to hyperspace.  Will you allow your navicomputer to be slaved to mine?”

               Kento bit his lip, “I’d prefer to maintain control myself,” he said.

               “Perfectly understandable.  How would you feel about docking our vessels?  I have a topside hatch that can accommodate you.  There’s no need for you to travel in such cramped quarters.  And it will give us some time to discuss the case.”

               Kento shrugged.  The offer was tempting, and he was eager to learn more about both this man and the situation that had brought them together. 

               “I’ll take you up on that.  Making my approach now.  Prepare for docking.”

               Ahead, the thin white ship slowed, and he could see more detail as he got closer.  The computer identified it as a KB-TR Doomtreader.  A ship often used by both smugglers and constables due to its cargo capacity, speed, and defenses.  He noted a pair of laser cannons as he came around the vessel.  The white livery was broken up by a symbol on the wings.  A winding blue path that looped back on itself.  As he brought the shuttle down on top of the Doomtreader, Kento wondered about the meaning of the logo.

               The pressure seals engaged, and he made his way down a ladder into the other vessel.

                                                                                –

                “What were your impressions of the Jal Shey?” Gallia asked.

                “Well, as I’ve said, I was offput by how Xadau first approached me, but that was a matter of circumstance.  Not entirely within his control,” Kento said.

                “But the rest of the order?”

                “They’re a fascinating sect.  They seem to place no stock in our traditions, even our values.  They believe in the pursuit of knowledge as an absolute.  The best of them would gladly walk, unshielded, on a primordial world of lava and death if they thought could learn something worth knowing.”

                “That’s an interesting way to live,” Gallia said.

                                                                                –

               A voice came over the ship’s intercom, “Welcome aboard, Master Jedi.  Take a seat.  I’m going to put her in ‘H’ and I’ll be right down.”

               Kento sat in a chair that was bolted to the floor.  It was one of several around a rectangular table that was the centerpiece what he now realized was the ship’s galley.  He looked fore and aft, down a corridor that ran the length of the ship.  He saw no other crew members, no droids, no movement of any kind.  He heard the pitch of the ship’s engines change and felt the slight lurch that accompanied a jump to lightspeed.  A moment later, he was joined by this Orion Xadau as he came down the hallway, presumably from the ship’s cockpit.

               “Glad you could join me,” Orion said as he entered.  “It can be a little tedious travelling alone.”

               Kento nodded, “Thank you for the invitation.”

               “Can I offer you something to eat or drink?”

               “Thank you, but no,” Kento said.

               Orion shrugged and went about making a sandwich.  Kento paused to watch for a moment before the silence became less than comfortable.

               “So, I’m afraid you have me at something of a disadvantage.  I know very little of the Jal Shey.”

               “We’re a well-kept secret,” Orion said, with his back turned.  Kento could sense a hint of irony in his tone.  The ranger turned and sat down at the table with a plate and a cup.  Kento got a waft of aroma from both.  Neither was enticing.

               “Perhaps you’d care to educate me.  Your customs, your beliefs,” Kento said.

               “Oh, we have no beliefs,” Orion said.

               “No beliefs?” Kento replied, with a raised eyebrow.

               Orion shook his head, “We study the Force for what it is.  We seek knowledge wherever we can find it.  We pass that knowledge along as best we can, and we use what we learn to help those in need.  We have no beliefs higher than those.” 

               “Interesting,” Kento said.  “So, you abide by no call to the Light or Dark Side?”

               Orion steepled his fingers, “Light and darkness are different sides of an imaginary line.  One cannot exist without the other.  We do believe in balance.  And our call to render aid and assistance means we are not open to those with selfish tendencies.  Those who use the Force for their own ends won’t find a place in our order.”

               “Interesting.  How did you come to the Jal Shey?” Kento asked.

               Orion sipped his drink and put it down, “I was born on Nubia.  My parents had long wanted a child, but were unsuccessful.  My birth was a great joy for them.”

               “Were they approached by Jedi about their youngling?”

               Orion nodded, “And they were adamant that nothing would separate them from their firstborn son.  By the laws of Nubia, parents are not required to surrender offspring to the Jedi.  It chills me to think that such is not the case elsewhere.  I must say, the idea that you take younglings at such an early age is somewhat horrifying.”

               “If the Jedi had to rely on the altruism of new parents, the order would wither,” Kento said.

               “Your words, not mine,” Orion said.

               “Please,” Kento said, gesturing for the Jal Shey to continue.

               “My upbringing was typical for any child of Nubia.  I had friends, pets.  I played grav-ball and swam in the sea.  But as I matured, my power with the Force began to grow.  When I was done with my mid-academy term, I was approached by a Jal Shey Ranger.”

               “Rangers are recruiters?” Kento asked.

               “One of our many functions,” Orion nodded.  “I was offered a place at the academy on D’rinba IV and my parents gave their assent.  That was the start of my life in the Jal Shey.”

               “Do you miss them?  Your parents?  You must have fond memories of them,” Kento said.

                “I try to return at least once a year.  I’m a bit overdue, but we keep in contact.  It’s a distant relationship, but it is a relationship nonetheless.”

               Kento raised an eyebrow, “You keep family connections?”

               Orion nodded, “Family isn’t anathema to our order.  Attachment isn’t a thing to be feared.”

               “Attachments can lead to jealousies.  Such things are the vanguards of anger and hatred.  They lead to the Dark Side,” Kento said.

               “Yes, but they don’t have to,” Orion countered.  “We trust our people to maintain their own hearts and to be unafraid to explore their emotions.  Anger and jealousy are as much a part of life as air and water.  They need not be feared, merely understood.”

               “And if your vaunted understanding leads you down a path to the Dark Side?” Kento asked.

               “A path goes both ways.  And with enough knowledge, any problem can be overcome,” Orion said.

                                                                                –

                “They don’t seem to have any fear of connection, passion, even temptation.  The strictures we put in place to protect our emotions are seen as childish games of pretend.”

                Gallia raised an eyebrow at him.

                “They have a method to their madness, Master,” Kento said, defensively.  “I don’t condone their lifestyle, but they reserve a high place for altruism.  The desire to learn is only challenged by the desire to render assistance.”

                “And this keeps their baser instincts in check?” Gallia asked.

                “So it would seem.  They put no stock in material or power.  To a Jal Shey, the only status is in the things you’ve learned or the ones you’ve helped.”

                “That sounds familiar,” Gallia said.

                “I thought so too.  I think if we had more interaction with them, we’d find more common ground.”

                “And their relationship to the Force?” Gallia asked.

                “It’s odd.  They have no knowledge of what we call The Living Force.  Or rather, they think of it as something different altogether.  By their creed, the Force itself has no will, no desire or goal.  They think of it as just another fact of nature.  Along with gravity and magnetism.  They take no spiritual value in it whatsoever.”

                “Astonishing,” Gallia said.

                “They have no icons for their worship, but they do seem to revere the midi-chlorian itself,” Kento said.

                “How so?”

                “It’s the symbol of their order.  The blue oval that is on all their vessels and badges.  It’s the outline of a single midi-chlorian.”

                “But not an object of worship?” Gallia said.

                “No.  They’re the opposite of what we see in sects like the Guardians of the Whills.  The Guardians on Jedha spend weeks in meditation, seeking to find some greater understanding.  The Jal Shey think understanding is only to be found in knowledge.  They worship nothing, study everything.  It’s a never-ending cycle of learning, exploration, and altruism.”

                                                                                –

               Kento looked across the table at his host with a wary eye.

               “Forgive me, but it sounds a bit dangerous.  The pursuit of knowledge can easily become a quest for power.  Coupling that with a laissez-faire attitude to emotional attachments seems like a recipe for disaster.  Throughout history, we’ve seen students of the light fall into darkness and then wreak havoc on the entire galaxy.  Revan, Malak, Qel-Droma…”

               “And the solution is to cut ourselves off from love and passion?  How’s that going so far?” Orion asked.

               “We’ve maintained peace and justice for thousands of years,” Kento said.

               “I think when the Republic talks about peace, what they really mean is quiet.  It’s easy to mistake one for the other.”

               “No system is perfect,” Kento said.

               “I quite agree.  I would simply estimate that your list of those tempted by the Dark Side is incomplete.  Aren’t you just waiting for the next one?  Those names you gave were all Jedi.  None were Jal Shey.”

               “Not to be insulting, but, isn’t it possible that Jal Shey are simply not strong enough in the Force to render that kind of chaos?  Is it possible that your people are not infamous because they simply lack the strength to be?” Kento said.

               “And here I was trying to avoid the word ‘hubris’,” Orion said.

               “You said yourself you look for those with a small talent for the Force.  I should think that’s likely because the Jedi tend to sweep up those with more talent at an earlier age.  Your order takes in those who did not measure up.”

               “Or who were left behind,” Orion said.

                                                                                –

                “You sound like you came to admire them,” Gallia said.

                “Well, they do practice what they preach.  Their libraries are vast, and their diplomats are skilled.  Individually they devote themselves to the perfection of whatever they practice.  They do everything they can to promote justice in places where the Republic holds no sway.  I think their approach to the Force is misguided and possibly naïve, but it’s certainly not disingenuous.”

                “I have heard stories of the skill of their diplomatic corps,” Gallia said.

                “And you were not misinformed.  My visit to the Compendium was certainly eye-opening,” Kento said.

               “Tell us about that,” Plo Koon said, chiming in from the far end of the table.

                                                                                –

                The ship’s computer came over the loudspeaker.  “Attention, hyperspace trajectory nearing completion.  Arrival in two minutes.”

                By unspoken agreement, the two men got up from their chairs and headed for the bridge.  Orion downed the last of his drink and put the cup back on the table.  He took the pilot’s chair on the left.  Kento settled into the right-hand seat.

                “Strap in.  This baby can give a bit of a kick when she comes in and out of hyperspace.”

                Kento nodded and pulled the leather safety harness over his shoulders.  Orion did the same.  As the white swirls of hyperspace shifted to cold black, he felt the straps dig into his shoulders.  He was glad of the Ranger’s advice.

                Out of the ship’s large cockpit windows, he beheld a spectacle he’d not expected.  The ship before him was a massive grey egg, smooth as a krayt-dragon pearl.  Rows of running lights illuminated her exterior.  A few stripes of blue, black and orange ran around the circumference.  From this distance, Kento could not tell if they were decorative or functional.  As his vision focused, he could see that the outer hull was not truly seamless, but rather held a few doorways and blisters.  He could see instruments of various sorts, but nothing that he recognized as weaponry.  At the thicker end of the egg, sweeping fins projected an aerodynamic feel.  He craned his neck to see that these were engines of some sort, though they were inactive. 

               The Jal Shey Ranger opened a communications channel and spoke.

                “Compendium, this is the Thunder Child, do you read me, over?”

                A gravelly voice came over the communications circuit, “Thunder Child, welcome home.  Our scans indicate you have a passenger on board.  Please identify.”

                Orion gestured to Kento to speak for himself. 

                “This is Kento Marek of the Jedi Order.  Ranger Xadau was kind enough to offer to assist in my investigation.”

                A moment passed, Kento could imagine some small conference taking place aboard the star cruiser regarding his status. 

                “Welcome, Master Jedi.  We would be honored to have you aboard.  Thunder Child, you are cleared to enter bay three.”

                Orion throttled up and approached the large vessel.  As they neared, Kento realized that he’d somehow underestimated the size of the cruiser.  He marveled at the scale.  Orion noticed his gaze.

                “She’s very old.  A gift from a long-dead nobleman of Chandrilla.  It began as a space station that he’d constructed to provide quarantine facilities during an outbreak.  Our scholars and healers were able to turn the tide of the epidemic and stop it from spreading.  As a thanks for our efforts, he gifted us with the vessel.”

                “It’s beautiful,” Kento said.

                “We’re quite proud of it,” Orion agreed.  “I’ve spent most of my time with the order operating from this ship.  It’s a home for all of our people.”

                “I thought you said that your academy was on D’rinba IV?” Kento asked.

                “We’re nomadic by nature.  Our base on D’rinba will one day be abandoned, but this ship is the home of our archive.  The Compendium houses the collective knowledge of the Jal Shey.  What we have learned and what we have discovered.  Our libraries are the beating heart of what we do.”

                “I’m honored,” Kento said, as the Thunder Child moved through the large bay doors.

                The ship lurched slightly as Orion set it down on its landing struts.  The outgassing of various valves sent a light mist into the air in front of the egress ramp.  Both men unbuckled their safety harnesses and Orion led the way out of the ship.

                At the base of the ramp, they were met by two security droids.  They carried quarterstaffs and spoke in a tinny baritone, “Halt.”

                Orion blushed slightly at the questioning look from Kento. 

                “Ranger Orion Xadau, returning from a patrol flight.  This is Kento Marek of the Jedi Order.  An authorized guest.”

                “By whose authority?” the right-hand droid asked.

                “Mine,” Orion said.

                “Authorization code?” the droid asked.

                “Oh-eight-one-five-nine-zero,” Orion said, looking a bit annoyed.  He reached for the patch on the shoulder of his jacket.  With a light pull, it came free.  He handed it over to one of the droids.  Kento saw that there was an info card of some sort on the back of the patch.

                The eyes of both droids simultaneously flickered for a beat as they processed the information.  After a beat, they returned to normal.

                “You are cleared for entry.  Welcome home Ranger Xadau.  Please surrender your weapons,” the droid said.

                Orion sighed and pulled the chunky blaster off his hip and handed it over to the droid.  He pulled the lightsaber hilt off his belt with the Force and surrendered it as well.  The droid deposited both weapons within a case on its back. 

                “Good thing we’re not in a hurry,” Orion said, idly.

                The other droid looked at Kento and he realized it was waiting for him to do the same.

                “I would prefer not to surrender my lightsaber,” Kento said, as much to Orion as the droid.

                “Oh… right, it’s a thing with y’all, isn’t it?” Orion asked.

                “That would be a way of putting it,” Kento said.

                Orion turned to the security droids, “My guest’s religion prohibits him from parting with his weapon.”

                Kento thought that was a bit of a simplification, but he didn’t want to argue.  In the back of his mind, he began to ponder the odds he may have to fight his way out of here.

                The eyes of both droids again began to flicker.  Clearly there was some central control that they had to consult. 

                “Please wait here,” the right-hand droid said. 

                Orion gave a heavy sigh and nodded, “This really shouldn’t be a problem.”

                “Please wait here,” the droid repeated.

                “Are we all right?” Kento asked.

                “Yeah, they’re gonna send someone down.  Someone with a little more creative thinking skills than Rusty and Clank over here,” Orion said, gesturing to the two droids.

                “I don’t want to cause a problem,” Kento said.  Orion waved away his concern. 

               Across the bay, Kento saw a door open and a helmeted Feeorin female enter, flanked by four guards of various other species.  The Feeorin was tall and muscular.  The helmet she wore was open-faced and came down over her ears.  It had a crest that ran from the bridge of her nose down the center of her head.  The plume gave her a semi-regal look.  She carried a lightsaber on her hip.  Kento noted that it was a double-bladed design.  Across her chest, she wore a plate of metallic armor.  The plate was embedded in a yellow-gold tunic which was topped by a blue cloak that flowed outward from her shoulders. 

               It took no intuitive powers for Kento to deduce that this was a person of great significance.  As confirmation, Orion snapped to attention and tapped a closed fist on his chest.  The Feeorin woman returned the gesture.

               “Ranger Xadau,” she said, “What’s the situation?”

               “Chief Ranger Vux, allow me to present Jedi Knight Kento Marek.  He’s joining my investigation.  I’d appreciate it if you’d allow him to retain his lightsaber while he is aboard, as a courtesy.”

               Vux looked over Kento with a skeptical eye.  “This vessel is primarily a school and a library, Master Jedi.  There are no dangers aboard,” Vux said.

               Kento put on his most contrite look, “I have no doubt, Chief Ranger.  But this weapon is my sole possession and it’s not one I part company with easily.”

               Vux pondered for a beat and nodded, “I will ask that you keep it inactive during your time aboard.”

               “Of course,” Kento said.

               Vux turned to Orion, “Ranger Xadau, as this Jedi is your guest, I’m holding you responsible for his actions aboard the Compendium.”

               “Understood, Chief Ranger,” Orion said.

               Vux sighed as she turned back to the security droids, “Return Ranger Xadau’s saber please.  I’m authorizing him to carry it while he escorts our guest.”

               “Authorization code?” the droid asked.

               “Chief Ranger Vux, code nine-seven-five-five-three-six.”

               The droids parted for Orion and Kento to step off the ramp. 

               “Sorry about that,” Orion said, taking his lightsaber back from the droid who had collected it.

               “I understand,” Kento replied.

               Vux cleared her throat, “Your signal indicated you have brought another victim aboard for analysis.”

               “That’s correct,” Orion said.  He pointed up to the shuttle on top of his own vessel, “The docked shuttle on the topside has the body.  I’d like the victim transported to one of the research labs,” Orion said.

               “Very well,” Vux said.  She snapped her fingers and the guards who had flanked her now moved up the ramp.  Kento and Orion stepped aside to clear the way.  After a few moments, the floating platform with the body of Abi Buran emerged.  They had set the cover for opacity, which seemed a kindness both to Buran and the scores of Jal Shey who were, no doubt, between here and the research laboratory.

               The four guards now stood vigil over the body, each at a corner.  They paused at the bottom of the ship’s ramp.

               “Attention!  Honor guard on the move!” Vux said.  Her voice boomed like thunder throughout the hangar bay.  All work around the various ships stopped.  Technicians downed their tools and stood rigid.  Even the droids ceased motor functions.  Kento appreciated the show of respect.

               The guards escorted the platform through the bay and into a corridor.  Orion and Kento followed close behind, with Vux bringing up the rear.  The transition from the dingy hangar deck into the clean, brightly lit corridor brought Kento some comfort. 

               Down three corridors and up a turbolift to another level, the various Jal Shey followed the example of those from the hangar bay and refused to move or speak while the procession passed them.  Kento gave a few polite nods and tried to mentally catalog the species that he saw.  There was great variety. 

               At the entrance to one of the laboratories, they were met by a Bith scientist.  Kento could not guess the Bith’s age or gender, but they quietly took possession of Abi Buran’s body and pushed it inside the laboratory room.

               Vux and her guards waited outside.  Orion gestured for Kento to follow him in.  He spoke in hushed tones to the Bith, whose back was turned, already studying the corpse as the platform was locked onto the exam table.

               “We need a forensic workup.  Note any signs of trauma.  Any abnormalities pre or post-mortem.  I’ll have the case file transmitted to you shortly.  Please compare to the others that were attached,” Orion said.

               An automated voice emitted from the lab’s main computer.  It spoke in the Bith language, which Kento could not understand a word of.   The Bith listened carefully and then replied in the same language.  A moment later, the automated voice came again.  This time it spoke Basic.

               “Understood.  I will do an analysis and compare this to the other bodies you’ve identified.  Please allow one day for the work to be done.”

               Orion bowed slightly and put a hand on Kento’s upper arm, gesturing for them to leave. 

               “Thank you,” Kento said as they exited.

               The automated computer voice translated his Basic into Bith.  The door shut before a reply could be given.

               Orion and Kento returned to Vux and her guards in the hallway.

               “Thank you for the respect you have given to my fellow Jedi,” Kento said.

               “As we would for anyone, Master Jedi,” Vux said.

               “Of course,” Kento said.

               “I’m sure Orion will be fine escorting you around the Compendium.  Please feel free to use our facilities as you see fit.  If you have time, I’m sure some of our Scholars and instructors would be grateful to speak with you.”

               Kento gave a small smile and a nod, “That would be quite fine.”

               “I’ll leave you two to your work.  If you have need of my guards or myself, don’t hesitate to call,” Vux said.

               With that, she spun on her heel and marched away, her guards resuming their flanking positions at her back.

               “You should feel honored,” Orion said, watching Vux walk away, “There are less than a dozen Chief Rangers in the entire galaxy.  And only her within twenty light years.”

               “Is she your boss?” Kento asked, “Chief Ranger… she’s a commander of some sort?”

               “Not exactly.  Rangers are under the command of the Scholars.  We take our assignments from them.  Chief Rangers are those of us who have completed the four great tasks.”

               Kento was kind enough to play along, “Which are?”

               “You have to craft a weapon imbued with the Force.  You have to defeat an enemy without killing them.  You have to return from the exploration of an unknown place.  And you have to save a life through your service as a Ranger.”

               “Those are great tasks,” Kento said.

               “They are reflective of our values.  Preserving life, cultivating knowledge, using what we know to serve others,” Orion said.

               “You imbue weapons with the Force?” Kento asked.

               “We imbue many things with the Force.  Our weapons, our armor, even little things like gloves and tools.  As you noted, many of us aren’t as strong with the Force as a typical Jedi.  We’ll take all the help we can get.”

               “Interesting,” Kento said.  “And how does one do that?  Imbue something with the Force?”

               “It’s very draining.  It takes much concentration and patience.  Even our best crafters only do it rarely.  It’s a rite of passage to become a Ranger though.”

               “I see,” Kento said. “So, you’ve done this yourself?”

               Orion held up his saber, offering it to Kento, “My handiwork.”

               Kento looked askance at the weapon.  Orion’s face was overcome with a wry smile. 

               “There’s no harm in it, I assure you,” Orion said.

                                                                                –

               Plo Koon interrupted him at this point, “I remember you spoke gravely about your experience with Jal Shey weaponry.”

               “Not all their weapons, just the lightsaber that Xadau carried,” Kento said.

               “Why did it trouble you so?” Adi Gallia asked.

                                                                                –

               Kento took the saber by its handle.  He hadn’t really looked closely at the hilt until now.  He twisted the saber back and forth, noting the black finish and the knurled grip.  The emitter had four chromium claws which gave it a menacing look, as though they were gripping the blade for greater power.  A few thin red wires ran like veins down the black and silver cylinder.  Though he barely could focus on the design or construction as an overwhelming feeling moved through him. 

               Power.

               This was, indeed, a weapon imbued with the Force.

               Just from his first grip, he felt the power coursing through the hilt.  It rippled back and forth, even with the blade inactive.  There was a simple activation button that Kento dared not press.  It chilled his blood just to heft the instrument in his hand.  A feeling screamed into the core of his being, and this saber was undoubtedly the source.

               Cold.  Death.

                This was a weapon imbued with the Dark Side.

                                                                                –

                Without making a scene, Kento quietly returned the weapon to its owner.  He lamented the lateness of the hour and Orion offered to show him to the guest quarters.  Kento was in need of solitude and silence.

               They had given him a private room.  Nothing too ostentatious, just a quiet space with soft lighting and a bed.  He had a desk with a computer, but he used neither.  After an extended rest under warm running water, Kento sat on the floor and tried to find his center.  It had been a long and trying day.

               After he’d touched Xadau’s weapon, the Dark Side seemed to linger within his subconscious.  The result of that presence was a flood of nightmarish thoughts.

               The images of Abi Buran refused to leave his mind.  That poor girl, victimized in ways that exhibited such unnecessary cruelty.  And without the chance to defend herself in the slightest.  Tortured for no reason that he could understand, apart from simple homicidal mania.  He was helpless to stop the feelings of anger that roiled under his calm exterior.  Whoever had done this needed to be brought to justice.  And he felt that justice may demand a death in return. 

               He began to meditate, hoping to restore himself. 

               The desire for retribution was unworthy of a Jedi.  He knew that intellectually, though it did nothing to change his feelings.  He had spent a lifetime keeping a firm grasp on the Light Side, but the events of the day had manifested an internal wrath.  In searching for the source of his difficulty, he found only one source that could be the cause.

               Orion’s aura had been discomforting since their first encounter.  His instinct had told him to be wary from the beginning, hence the drawn saber at the crime scene, but facts had required him to drop his suspicions. 

               Kento had met Jedi before who stretched the edges of morality.  No one who breathed was totally free of darkness.  But this was different.  The desire for knowledge ran in parallel to the desire for power.  Could he trust a man who did not see the danger of the Dark Side? 

               If Xadau had, indeed, imbued that weapon himself, then what did it say about him as a wielder of the Force?

               Before he could sort out the maelstrom of thoughts that swirled in his cerebrum, a gentle tone sounded through the room.  He’d fallen asleep in the midst of his meditation and stayed in that pose throughout the night.  The soft electric hum that pulled him back into consciousness had apparently sounded throughout the ship like some version of a reveille.  The Compendium was waking up.  A new day, such as it was, had begun aboard ship.  The automatic lighting in the room shifted from soothing nocturnal to stimulating morning. 

               Rinsing his face with warm water, he donned his robe and clipped his lightsaber back in its comfortable place on his belt.  He felt prepared to face the day. 

               Opening the door to his guest quarters, he was confronted by an antiseptic hallway, well lit, but clinical.  Juveniles of various species shuffled past, some gossiping, some with their faces buried in a book.

               His curiosity piqued, he decided to follow the assortment of students as they all seemed to be heading in the same direction.  At the junction with the next corridor, he spotted Orion, approaching from a side hallway.

                “I was hoping to come get you before you woke up,” Orion said, his voice raised a bit to be heard over the din of students that filed past them.

                “Quite alright,” Kento said. 

                “I already checked with the lab.  They tell me they’ll have a report for us this afternoon.  Can I interest you in some breakfast?” Orion asked.

                Kento shrugged and nodded, “Actually, yes.”

                                                                                –

                In the commissary, a droid dispensed a scrambled egg onto his plate.  The egg seemed appetizing enough, though it was a pale blue color.  Kento declined whatever meat was being served but did accept a fruit-filled pastry of some sort from a rather persistent server droid. 

                Orion, with the bulk of a man who was no stranger to a dining table, sat across from him with a plate loaded down with various foods.  Kento took a sip from a mug of caf and was impressed.  So much about the Jal Shey struck him as peculiar, but he was not immune to the charms of certain creature comforts.

                Biting into a forkful of egg, Orion opened the conversation.

                “If our forensics people can figure out what your padawan was hit with, it should give us something solid to chase down.”

                “I take it you’ve had a lack of leads?” Kento asked.

               Orion nodded, “These aren’t typical murders.  The motives clearly have something to do with the Force, but it’s hard to be more specific.  Whoever this guy is, he doesn’t leave much evidence to work with.”

               “The ropes and stakes,” Kento offered, “Maybe Que’tan’s droids will have some luck pulling samples from them.”

               “The ones from Telos were clean.  Same with the bodies,” Orion said.

               “Gloves? Wiped down after he was finished?” Kento guessed, “Or maybe he just used the Force for everything.  Someone powerful enough to create lightning wouldn’t have to touch you to kill you.”

               “But there’s more to it than murder.  Torture is personal, at least outside of war.  It’s an act of hatred.  It seems to me it’s not the kind of thing you’d want to wear gloves for.  You’d want to get your hands on the object of your hate.  You’d want to feel them suffering.  Visceral, up close.”

               Kento internally shivered at the Jal Shey’s analysis.  Not the words of a Jedi.

               “We’re assuming too much at this point,” Kento said.

               “You’re probably right.  I’ll wait for the report from the lab.”

               Kento nodded and a moment passed in silence.

               “What do you want to talk about?” Orion asked.

               Kento suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.  The man was off-putting enough, but now he added chatty to Orion’s growing list of bothersome adjectives.  He longed to be back in the cold snows of Ilum surrounded by eager padawans and those who knew better than to dabble in the Dark Side of the Force.

               Around them, eyes began to turn towards their chairs.  Young students took notice of him as he took his breakfast.  The Jedi robes must be quite eye catching to those unaccustomed.  He hadn’t given the matter much thought, though Orion had told him he might be a point of interest here.

               Orion caught his look, “The neophytes know you’re a Jedi.  Some of them have only seen lightsabers in holos.”

               Kento frowned, took the saber from his belt and set it on the table, as though it were another utensil.  He regarded it for a moment.  From other tables, he could hear low gasps of surprise.

               “Don’t all the Jal Shey carry lightsabers?”

               “No, in fact, a lot of our Scholars consider any type of weapon to be obscene.”

               “But they still let you build sabers and teach combat?” Kento asked.

               “Well, I’m a Ranger.  My role is to protect the Scholars and the Neophytes.  We keep the academy safe.”

               “What else do Rangers do?”

               “Disaster relief.  Public works projects.  We try to be altruistic.  A few years back, I helped design some storm shields for this mining facility out in the Subterrel system.”

               “You’re an engineer and an investigator?”

               Orion shrugged, “I’m whatever I can be.  There aren’t a lot of us.  Only a couple hundred Rangers to protect a couple thousand sentients here and at the academies.  We can’t afford to be as specialized as you guys.  We have to do as much as we can.  It’s a big galaxy.”

               Kento nodded, “I know how that feels.”

               Orion cocked an eyebrow in his direction, “How’d you pull this duty?  What’s a history teacher doing investigating a murder?”

               Kento grimaced, “I was in the area, on my way back to Coruscant when I was ordered to go to Tertan-Ral.  The Council had heard about the markings on her forehead.  They thought my studies in history might give me some insight.”

“Right.  So, you can read Sith script?” Orion asked.

               Kento nodded, “I didn’t know it was a padawan that had been killed until I got there.”

               “Was she one of yours?” Orion asked.

               Kento nodded, “Not my padawan, but one of my students.  I’ve had so many.  I vaguely remember her.  Bright, eager, dedicated.  Most of my students are like that.  Still, to lose one…” he let the thought trail off.

               Orion looked shocked, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

               “There is no death.  There is the Force,” Kento said, repeating the last line of the Jedi Code.  “Still, such a horrible way to die.  Especially for one so young.”

               “Does the Council know that you taught her?  I would imagine they’d want someone who didn’t…”

               “I don’t think they put that together.  I’m not going to tell them.  And I’d appreciate if we didn’t speak of it again.”

               “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to handle this?  If it’s personal to you… I mean… Jedi are known for being dispassionate, are they not?”

               “Don’t I strike you as dispassionate?” Kento asked.

               “Actually, you do,” Orion said.

               “Good,” Kento said, sipping his caf.  “Peace and justice.  Abi Buran is sorely in need of both.”

                                                                                –

               After they finished breakfast, Orion offered to show Kento more of the ship.  Kento was grateful for the distraction from the grisly work that lay ahead of them.

               Entering the library, Kento felt very much at home.  The Jedi Archives back on Coruscant had been a haven for him during his time as a padawan.  He’d spent many happy hours poring through tomes and holocrons.  The Jal Shey had a similar affinity for libraries.  He estimated that the two collections were comparable in size, though he did not broach the subject. 

               In another section of the ship, Orion showed him research facilities for all manner of scientific study.  Kento felt a bit embarrassed that he could not identify much of what he saw.  There were laboratories with laser containment fields, swirling vortices of particles, even what appeared to be a small raincloud that patrolled over a vast room of plants, dispensing water in semi-random intervals. 

               In several labs, Orion was greeted as a friend and often a scientist would wave at the pair of them through a transparisteel window looking out onto the corridor.  Occasionally a juvenile student would pass by them and give a polite bow to Kento.  He did his best to respect the gesture.

               One room along the tour had quite a crowd gathered near the door.  Orion seemed as curious as Kento about what was going on inside.  They made their way around the massed grouping of various species and Kento was confronted with a scene that tensed his entire body.  He almost reached for his saber.  Almost. 

                Kento lowered his voice, “Is that a Nightbrother?”

                “Yes, he is.  We are very lucky to have him here.  They’re very hostile to outsiders,” Orion said.

                “Is he a prisoner?” Kento asked.

                Orion looked shocked at the suggestion.  “Not at all.  We sent a delegation to Dathomir, hoping to learn more about their ways.”

                “Their ways are tainted by the Dark Side,” Kento said.

                “And?” Orion asked.

                “Is their dark magick really worthy of your study?”

               “So judgmental,” Orion said, clucking his tongue with disappointment. 

               “They’re an enemy of the light,” Kento said, trying not to be overheard by the gathered crowd.

               “How can you solve a mystery if you refuse to learn about half of it?” Orion asked.

                “There is a difference between…”

                “We chase knowledge wherever we can find it,” Orion said, dismissing Kento’s objections.

                They watched as the Nightbrother stood in the center of a training circle.  The young Zabrak took a fighting stance.  A young Rodian stepped into the circle and bowed.  The Zabrak followed suit.  Kento recognized the Teras Kasi pose that the Rodian took. 

                The pair began to spar, igniting conversations and a few friendly wagers among the assembled onlookers.  Droids recorded the fight from several angles.  The Rodian defended herself from several blows, but eventually the Zabrak got the upper hand and placed her in a hold that she could not escape from.  The Nightbrother released her quickly and respectfully.  A final bow concluded the fight, along with a round of applause from the spectators.

                A moment later two young men emerged from the crowd.  They stood shoulder to shoulder and bowed to the Zabrak.  The Nightbrother smiled as he prepared for another match.  He seemed eager to face two Jal Shey at once.

               “They’re great survivors,” Orion said, leading Kento away from the demonstration.

                                                                                –

               Orion seemed apologetic as he led Kento down a hallway lined with classrooms.  Through transparisteel partitions, younglings looked out at the pair of them as they walked.

               “Word got out about you, last night, I’m afraid,” Orion said.  “When she found out, she made me promise to bring you by so the younglings could meet you.”

               “Who’s ‘she’?” Kento asked.

               Orion knocked on a doorjamb and Kento looked within.  He saw a striking human woman, standing at the center of a half-circle of seated students.  Cascading brown hair framed her light features. 

               Each youngling turned from her instruction.  Kento saw twenty pairs of eyes light up as Orion stepped inside.  A muted ripple of excitement echoed through the younglings. 

               “I’m sorry I’m late,” Orion said.

               “That’s okay, we were just talking about the time of the High Republic,” said the instructor.  She moved to greet them, walking through a projection of the old Starlight Beacon space station.  She put out both hands and Orion responded in kind.  They shared an embrace which said nothing, but hinted everything.  Orion turned and motioned to Kento.

               “Jedi Knight Kento Marek, allow me to introduce instructor Jayla Mote and her charges,” Orion said.

               “Instructor,” Kento said, giving a polite bow.

               “Orion told me you taught history.  He thought you might enjoy seeing how we do it here,” Jayla said, gesturing to her students.

               Kento smiled a bit.  He looked over at Orion who gave a polite shrug. 

               Kento paused, surveying the classroom, noting its similarities to his place of instruction on Ilum.

               “He was correct,” Kento said.  He gave a wry look to his tour guide.  Orion seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

               “Would you care to take a few questions from the class?” Jayla said.

               “I would,” Kento said.

               “Who’s got a question for our visitor?”

               Twenty hands shot into the air. 

                                                                                –

               Progressing through the innards of the Compendium, Orion and Kento again encountered Chief Ranger Vux, this time she was without her honor guard.

               Orion snapped to attention and gave that fist thump of a salute as they met in an intersection of corridors.  Kento paused his stride and watched Vux return the salute.

               “Master Marek, would you be interested in seeing a Ranger induction?” Vux asked.

               “I’m not sure if we have the time…” Kento said, looking over at Orion.

               “It would be so good of you to spare it.  We’d be honored for you to observe,” Vux said.

               They may not embrace the light, but they were damnably polite people.

               “Lead on, Chief Ranger,” Kento said, doing his best to keep emotion off his face.

                                                                                –

               Under a vast dome of stars, several Jal Shey gathered. 

               The room was at the front of the Compendium.  The nose of the ship was apparently a transparisteel shell that was used for ceremonial purposes.  A ring of raised seating around the edge gave the place the feel of a sporting arena.  In the center of the room, a circle of Jal Shey stood reverently. 

               As they took their seats, Kento could see a pupil standing at the far end of the chamber. 

               “Oh, I love to watch these,” Orion said.

               The young pupil, a Namara, entered the circle of Rangers.  She carried a lightsaber hilt in her hands.  Across the circle, Vux approached her, and they bowed to each other.

               “Moment of truth,” Orion said to Kento, nodding towards the action.

               The Namara activated her lightsaber.  An orange glow filled the center of the chamber.  The illuminated blade showed a broad smile come over the young woman’s face.

               Applause filled the room.  Orion explained.

               “Her weapon activated.  Not all are so lucky.  She was able to imbue it with the Force.”

               Kento nodded, mostly understanding what was happening.  Vux lit a silver blade and doffed her helmet.

               Kento asked, “Are they going to…”

               But before he could finish, the Chief Ranger attacked the young pupil.  The Namara girl defended herself with her new lightsaber.  The clash of silver and orange blades was both familiar and unique from Kento’s own perspective.  He’d seen saber duels between teachers and students.  Sparring sessions among Jedi could be quite intense.  But before him now was a masterful exhibition of saber skill.  Vux offered no quarter to the neophyte and the young woman presented a competent defense. 

               For a few minutes the fight went on, encircled by the Rangers both on the floor and in the elevated seating.  There were no cheers, no calls, this was not a sport, but a ceremony.

               In a flash of movement and light, Vux managed to twirl the orange blade out of the young pupil’s grip.  The saber spun in midair over the combatants before Vux snatched it into her hand.  The Namara girl lowered herself to one knee.

               Clearly this had been a test of bladework that the young woman had failed.  There was a silent moment and Kento honestly worried he was about to witness a dark ritual come to a violent completion. 

               Vux spoke in a voice that commanded the room.

               “Be without fear in the face of your enemies.  Be brave and upright in the light of the Force.  Speak the truth, always, even if it leads to your death.  Safeguard the helpless and do no wrong.”

               As one, the assembled Rangers spoke:

               “Together we learn.  Together we guard.”

               Vux hefted the young woman’s saber, and it floated through the air, hovering in the space between them.

               “Rise, Ranger, and begin your work among the stars.”

               The Namara girl stood and took back her lightsaber.  The chamber erupted in applause.

                                                                                –

                “They are a people steeped in contradictions.  Force users, without the conviction of belief.  Intellectuals who fail to understand the Living Force.  Diplomats without a planet to safeguard.  Warriors without a cause beyond knowledge itself.” 

               “Can one take the Force simply as a natural phenomenon?  Can one simply deny the brilliance of the light or the dangers of the dark and walk back and forth on a path between the two?” 

               “I thought about that as I learned more of their culture.”

                                                                                –

               Orion led him into a new section of the ship.  Small cleaning droids skittered away as they walked down the corridor.  No younglings strolled by.  The walls were bare and industrial.  The one window looked out onto a firing range where a trio of Rangers seemed to be taking target practice.

               At the end of the hall was a flat grey doorway.  The Aurebesh above the threshold identified it as “Ranger Command.” 

               Once inside, Orion was greeted by a few colleagues and dutifully introduced Kento to several forgettable Jal Shey Rangers.  The eager Rangers peppered Kento with questions about Coruscant and the life of a Jedi.  Kento tried to be polite as Orion abandoned him to the group’s inquiries.  Orion used the opportunity to take a seat at an empty desk and check a datapad.

               Kento might have expected to be as much a subject of fascination for Jal Shey adults as he had been for the younglings.  As the novelty of a Jedi amongst them wore off, Kento joined his co-investigator at his desk. 

               Orion held up the datapad he’d been using and turned it around to show Kento the readout.

               “The labs got something,” Orion said, handing it over to Kento. “Some blood was left in her capillaries.  They found traces of spice.”

               Kento looked through the numbers displayed.  Much of it was incomprehensible to him.

               “We figured she had been drugged,” Kento said.

               “Now we have confirmation.  Unless we’re assuming she was using it recreationally,” Orion said.

               “Not likely,” Kento said.

               “If we can trace the source of the spice, we may be able to find this Sithspawn bastard,” Orion said.

               “There’s a lot of spice out there.  Kessel, Nar Shaddaa, Ryloth…” Kento said.

               “Forensics says this batch likely came from Nar Shaddaa.  There are signatures that only the Hutt clans use,” Orion said.

               Kento looked through the text at the bottom of the data and saw that information in the notes.

               “I’m afraid I don’t know much about the Hutt spice trade,” Kento said.

               “I do,” Orion said.

               Kento looked up at him, his face a question mark.

               “I went undercover with a gang of spice dealers in the Baxel sector a few years ago,” Orion said.

               “Undercover?” Kento asked.

               “I was trying to stop a trafficking ring that was shipping slaves through Hutt space,” Orion said.  “A lot of the pilots were spice addicts.  They get chatty when they’re partaking.”

               “Was your cover blown?” Kento asked.

               “Hard to say.  I slipped away during a raid at a warehouse on Outland Station.  I asked the station cops to report me as killed, but it’s not like they had a body to recover,” Orion said.

               Kento shrugged, “Well, this is your field of expertise.  What’s our next move?”

               “Let’s go to Outland.  We’ll see if anyone remembers me,” Orion said.

               “And if no one does?” Kento asked.

               “There’s a lot of action on Outland.  Even if my cover was blown, maybe a dealer there remembers a strange customer.  Our guy would probably be distinctive.”

               “Worth a shot,” Kento said.

                                                                                –

               Ten hours later, the Thunder Child settled onto a pad in docking bay seventeen of Outland station. 

               Orion had loaned Kento some clothes.  A Jedi on Outland Station would be far too conspicuous and draw the wrong kind of attention.  Kento had declined to carry a blaster.  He had also refused to leave his saber back on the ship but did agree not to reveal it unless absolutely necessary. 

               In a jacket that was two sizes too big and trousers that were far from stylish, Kento walked down the ramp and immediately frowned.  The station’s interior was home to dozens of merchants, selling everything from machine parts to grilled meats.  The stench of fighting beasts wafted up from the gladiatorial arena in the next district. 

               “Where’s our first stop?” Kento asked, “Spice dealers?  Station police?”

               “Never go straight to a dealer.  They spook easily,” Orion said.

               “Where to then?” Kento said.

               “There’s a weapons trader I know pretty well.  He’s a good guy.  Helped sneak me out during that warehouse raid.”

               “He knows you’re Jal Shey?” Kento asked.

               “Yeah.  He’ll also know if my cover’s been blown,” Orion said.

               “Good place to start,” Kento said.

                Kento looked around, barely suppressing a sneer.  It was clear that he couldn’t stand to be in a seedy station that was home to cutthroats, pirates, and bounty hunters.  Orion had to stifle a laugh.   The pair rounded a corner and Orion brushed a hand over the blaster on his hip.  He wasn’t planning to use it, but it felt good to know it was there.

               Even on Merchant Row, it was impossible to escape the smell of fuel oil wafting over from the docking bays.  It seemed like every meter of Outland Station had a layer of grime covered in fumes.  It was dank and colorless and fetid.  It was as though the station was designed to be as uninviting as possible, all the better to move along hapless travelers. 

                But if you were looking for black-market weapons, you really needed to talk to Dex.

                 Dexter Jettster ran one of the only stores on Outland that had a functioning air conditioner.  Affable and fair-minded, he was known as an honest broker for blasters, vibroblades and heavy weapons.  If you had a bit of business to take care of in the Baxel Sector, Dexter was the Besalisk to see.

                “Dex!” said Orion, walking into the storefront.  Kento followed a few paces back, looking over his shoulder.

                “Orion!  You son of a Hutt.  How are ya?” said the four-armed arms dealer.  His yellow eyes lit up at the sight of an old friend.

                “Can’t complain.  You still keeping busy?”

                “Got enough work for all four arms.”

                Orion glanced around the shop, noting the stock of weapons on the racks, “I’d say you do at that.  You’re open a little early today, aren’t you?”

                Dex waved one of his four hands in a quasi-exasperated gesture, “Ehh, my brother-in-law is in town and driving me crazy.  Figured I’d open a little early to get out of the house.”

                “In-laws will do that to you,” Orion said, not really having any idea about that sort of thing.

                “Who’s your friend?” Dex said, nodding his crest towards Kento, standing just inside the entrance.

                “Oh, that’s Marek.  He’s working a case with me.  We think we’re after the same guy.”

                Jettster eyed the Jedi with suspicion, “Is he a bounty hunter?”

                Orion shook his head, “Nah, you know I don’t run with those guys.”

                “One of your Jal Shey people?” Dex took a guess.

                Orion decided to go with it, “Yeah.  He’s new to this sector.  The Scholars wanted me to show him around.

                Dex nodded, apparently buying the ruse.  He glanced around furtively, a useless gesture as they were alone in the store.

                “You trying to get back into the spice trade?” Dex asked.

                Orion looked around just as furtively, “Possibly.  There’s a guy using spice to hurt some people.  I’d like to have a conversation with him.”

                “I don’t know anything about that,” Dex said.

                “Of course you don’t,” Orion said, patting Dex on the side of his arm, “But if you hear of any strange characters, you know who to call.”

                “Sure,” Dex said.  He put two of his hands on the counter.  “Are you looking for kyber?”

                Kento stopped glancing around and focused on the conversation.

                Orion gave a sly grin, “I’m always looking for kyber,” he said with a wink.

                “Heh, I may have something better for you.  I’m glad you stopped in.  This has been burning a hole in my display case,” Dex said, turning to remove a black box from the safe behind the counter.

                Orion and Kento gathered around the countertop, shielding the case from the eyes of any passersby.  Dex flipped a couple of locks open and spun the case around to show his customers.

                Inside was a lightsaber, chromium hilt, with a wrap of white tape spiraling down the handle.  Orion looked to Dex for permission to pick it up.  Dex silently nodded his assent.

               The Jal Shey lit the blade and Dex’s shop took on an eerie green glow.  The blade was strong, and the emitter was steady.  Orion twisted the saber back and forth and the hum of the power module crackled through the air.  He swished the blade a bit and appraised it as he had so many others.

                With a nod to his companion, he retracted the emerald blade and held the hilt up to take a closer look.  The handle had a bit of heft.  The balance was favored to the base, which you often saw with lightsabers created by padawans and other learners.  There was a power adjust and a small emitter guard.  It was a well-crafted weapon, especially considering it was probably someone’s first attempt.  There were markings on the pommel that he couldn’t readily identify.  They appeared to be text of some sort, but it wasn’t Aurebesh.  This seemed older, mystical somehow. 

                He turned the handle and pointed the pommel at Kento, showing him the engravings on the bottom of the weapon.  Kento leaned in and squinted, trying to make out the lettering.

                “It looks like Whillscript.  This isn’t Jedi.  It belongs to one of the Guardians,” Kento said.

                Orion nodded, “Not our people then?” he said, hoping Kento would pick up on the deception and play along.

                The Jedi was keen and attentive.  “Definitely not.  Those markings are distinctive.  No one uses them outside of Jedha.”

                “I thought the Guardians preferred the lightbow,” Orion said.

                “Not all of them,” replied Kento.

               Dead Force-users popping up randomly in the Outer Rim and here he was in a black-market shop, holding a perfectly functional lightsaber.  Orion’s instincts told him this was no coincidence, but the game had to be played.

               “That’s a fine weapon, Dex,” he said.  “Rare to see one loose.  Whoever lost that must be pretty broken up about it.”

                Dex’s mouth gave a little cluck as he replied, “I figure you’re always needing Kyber for sabers.  This would save you a bit of construction time.”

                Orion nodded, “That’s true.  I’m definitely interested.  Can I ask where you got it from?”

                Dex leaned back and shrugged, “You know I can’t tell you that.  It’s not how things are done.”

                The Jal Shey raised his hands defensively, “I hear you, Dex.  Just figured I’d ask.  Someone out there found this one, maybe they’ve found more.”  Orion was careful to use the word ‘found’ as it did not imply a crime.  There was no reason to tip his hand at this point.

                Dex dismissed the idea with a headshake, “I told the guy if he had any more that I’d take ‘em.  Told him I knew of a few interested parties,” Dex said with a nod to Orion.

                Orion grinned, “Yeah, sure.  Keep ‘em coming.  I’ve got students who need them.”

                Kento brushed past Orion and waved his hand across Dex’s face, “Who sold you the lightsaber?”

                Dexter’s eyes were locked.  He spoke as in a trance, “A bounty hunter named Montross.”

                Kento started to wave his hand again and Orion pushed him towards the store exit, putting distance between the Jedi and the shopkeeper. 

                “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Orion asked. 

                “We need to know where he got the lightsaber,” Kento said.

                “So, what, you just wave your hand and invade his mind?” Orion said.

                “It’s a common power for Force users.  I’m surprised…”

                “I know how it works, you idiot!  I’m saying you can’t just go around doing that whenever you want!”

                “It was effective.  We know who to talk to now,” Kento said.

                Orion continued the pushing.  He had a forearm across Kento’s chest and kept shoving until the two men were past the store entrance and standing in the middle of Merchant Row.  He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the stunned Besalisk in the store behind them.

                “His business is repeat customers!  He can’t stay open if he’s got a reputation as a snitch!  By what right do you mess with his mind?  Are you headspun?  You know what happens to people who betray bounty hunters?  They get killed!  What is wrong with you?!”

                Kento was every bit as calm as Orion was angry.  “We have a murder to solve.  Several, actually, if you’ll remember.  Every moment that passes, we get that much closer to another victim.”

                “You’re about to make him the next victim!  There’s about eight ways we could have gotten that information.  You had to go with the one that puts lives at risk!” Orion said.

                Kento looked around; a few pedestrians seemed to be taking an interest in this loud confrontation.  He nodded to indicate their observers.  Orion gave him a small shove to let him go.  He looked disgusted with the Jedi.

                “I thought you guys weren’t supposed to be about the quick and easy path,” Orion said.

                “I’m just trying to stop the next killing,” Kento said.  Though his tone was deferential, it was clear that he felt no remorse.

                Orion sighed, exasperated with this monk and his obliviousness to the realities of the Outer Rim.  “I’m gonna go back in there, buy that lightsaber off Dex, and try to smooth this whole thing over.  You go back to the ship and don’t talk to anyone.  You so much as say hello to one of the barkers over at the arena and next bloodless corpse that shows up is gonna be yours.”

                Kento tilted his head, clearly inclined to say something, but choosing a different approach, “Very well.  I’ll wait for you on the ship.”

                Orion watched him leave and felt a ripple of anger spread from his clenched fists, surging through his muscles until the moment passed.  He suddenly felt very glad that the Jedi had missed him, and the Jal Shey had not.  This was no way to run an underworld investigation.  Now he had to go make it right.  He turned to step back into Dexter’s shop. 

                                                                                –

               Orion might have been angered by his method, but the results could not be denied.  They had a name: Montross.  While Orion went about his business with the shopkeeper, Kento returned to the Thunder Child and ran a search.

                According to Republic files, Montross was a bounty hunter, officially registered with the guild.  Records indicated that he was once affiliated with the Mandalorians, but there had been some incident which led to him being severed from the creed. 

                Kento stared into the pale, hardened face that looked back from the flat screen.  He seemed an odd choice for a ritualistic killer.  For bounty hunters, pragmatism is a professional requirement.  Bounty hunters didn’t carry out elaborate ceremonies when they claimed a prize.  That time was better spent getting paid. 

               There were some exceptions.  Certain species took death very seriously, even when it was financed.  Trandoshan hunters tended to keep trophies and there were always the occasional maniacs who enjoyed the bloodshed for its own sake.  Still, if this Montross was draining blood and electrifying bodies for some elaborate Sith ritual, Kento would consider it very peculiar. 

               As he pondered what to do with this new information, he saw Orion approaching the ship.  The hydraulic whirr of the entry ramp lowering announced the return of the captain of the Thunder Child.  Kento met Orion in the ship’s galley. 

               The Jal Shey Ranger slung off a bantha-leather shoulder bag and placed it on the table.  Silently, he began to unload its contents.  Three lightsabers, each distinctive with varied levels of wear and tear.  As Orion put each one down in a neatly organized display, Kento could sense that the tension between them had not abated.

               “I wanted to apologize for how I behaved with the shopkeeper,” Kento said.

               “His name is Dex,” Orion said, not looking up.  “Dexter Jettster.  He’s a friend of mine and he’s been running that shop for more than a decade.  You think that kind of longevity is easy around here?”

               “I do not,” Kento said.

               “Out here, reputation is everything.  And Montross’s reputation isn’t forgiving,” Orion said.

               “Again, I was just trying to…”

               “Maybe stick with ‘I wanted to apologize,’” Kento said.

               “I’m sorry,” Kento said.

               “Let’s move on.  When all this is over, maybe we check on Dex and make sure this doesn’t come back to haunt him?” Orion said.

               “Agreed,” Kento said.

               A beat passed.  Orion picked up the first saber and examined the handle.

               “Do you recognize it?” Kento asked.

               “No.  It doesn’t look like it’s Jal Shey construction.  Our Rangers prefer to build out of plastoid.  That’s more readily available to us.”

               “I don’t know of any unaccounted for Jedi beyond Abi Buran,” Kento said, looking at the weapon, “And this isn’t hers.”

               Orion bit his lip, “Zeison Sha?”

               “Who?”

               Orion shook his head, “Zeison Sha isn’t a person, it’s another order, like the Jal Shey.  They teach the Force but they’re also more secretive.  Big on self-reliance.”

               Kento shrugged, “I’ve never heard of them.”

               “They would consider that a victory,” Orion said.

               “Do you know any of their group?” Kento asked.

               “No, just a few passing encounters.  No one I could track down again.  Besides, I’m not sure this is one of theirs.  I’m guessing.”

               “Okay, what about this one?” Kento asked, picking up the next in line.  It was the one he had noted in the shop, with the Whillscript.

               “You said that was from the Guardians.  Do you know the language?” Orion said.

               Kento stared at the hilt and translated, “First the Force, then the saber.”

               “Not overly helpful,” Orion said.

               Kento shrugged, “And this?” Kento said, pointing to the last. 

               It had a smooth handle.  Very simplistic.  Almost like a child’s toy.  The plain cylinder ended with a bulky ring at the top near the emitter.  The pommel widened out a bit at the base but ended in a flat plate. 

               Kento picked it up and turned it over, looking for anything that he could use to identify the owner.  There was nothing at all that made it distinctive.  No markings, no ornamentation.  Orion smiled slightly as he looked over the saber. 

               “Weird, isn’t it?” Orion said.

               “Yeah.  I’ve never seen a saber that was so plain,” Kento said.

               “Neither has the owner,” Orion said.

               “What are you talking about?” Kento asked.

               Orion smirked, “It’s from the Miraluka.  They don’t bother with anything decorative.”

               “I don’t understand,” Kento said.

               “The Miraluka are blind.  They don’t have eyes.  They see everything through the Force.  They don’t have any need for anything fancy.  They’re the only ones in the galaxy who would build something like this,” Orion said.

               “Fascinating,” Kento said, still examining the bare lightsaber.

               “The Miraluka are rare, but there are still a few out there.  I met one in my youth,” Orion said.

               “What was your impression of them?” Kento asked, not looking up from the saber hilt.

               “Unnerving.  You could feel them looking right through you.  Like they were reading your inner spirit.  Felt like an invasion of privacy,” Orion said.

               “Strong in the Force?” Kento asked.

               “Very,” Orion said.  He rubbed his face and sighed.

               “You don’t sound happy,” Kento said.

               “None of these are Jal Shey.  We don’t build sabers like this.  And we haven’t found Abi Buran’s lightsaber either.  Whoever killed her, they didn’t sell her weapon to Dex.”

               “So not Montross?” Kento asked.

               “I just don’t see it,” Orion said. 

               “What do you think?”

               “Montross is an ex-Mando bounty hunter.  Our victims were drained of blood and the corpses carved with Sith symbols.  That’s not a Mando thing and it’s not a bounty hunter thing.  It doesn’t add up.”

               “I agree,” Kento said, sitting back, putting the lightsaber down on the table. 

               A beat passed between them in silence.  Kento was the first to speak.

               “Well, he is a hunter,” Kento said.

               “What do you mean?” Orion said.

               “If I wanted to find Force users and I didn’t want to be caught, I might hire a bounty hunter to track them down for me,” Kento said.

               Orion pinched his lower lip between two fingers and shrugged, “Could be.  Maybe have the hunter hit them with a dart to drug them.”

               “That’d make the kill much easier,” Kento said.

               “And if you’re Montross, and you’ve already disabled the target, why not take the lightsaber and sell it for profit?” Orion said.  “And maybe he’s been off hunting and hasn’t had time to sell off any of the sabers from my victims.”

               Kento pointed an empty hand in the air, “Makes more sense than a Mandalorian with a taste for blood.”

               “So, we’re looking for a client?” Orion said rhetorically.  Then he frowned, adding, “Montross would never give up a client.”

               “There are ways around that,” Kento said, waving a hand past his own face.

               Orion’s mouth wrinkled, “Maybe… if we can find him.”

               “How do we find him?” Kento said.

               “Take out a bounty?” Orion asked.

               “On who?” Kento said.

               “You could take one out on me,” Orion said.

               “He’s just helped to kill three Jal Shey and now there’s a bounty on another Jal Shey?” Kento asked.  “No way he’d take that assignment.”

               “Same for taking out a bounty on you then, I suppose,” Orion said.

               “You suppose right,” Kento said.  “How about your original plan?  Tracing the spice.”

               Orion tilted his head, “I checked with Outland PD before I came back.  They still have my undercover name listed as killed.”

               “And your underworld contacts?”

               “According to the locals, they’re working out of Nar Shaddaa,” Orion said.

               “Should we go say hello?” Kento asked.

               “We?  No.  Me?  Yeah,” Orion said.

               “You can’t walk in there with no backup,” Kento said.

               “I’m already coming back from the dead.  It’ll be hard enough to explain as it is,” Orion said.

               Kento thought for a moment, “How about this?”

               And then Kento explained the plan.

                                                                                –

                Orion set the course for Nar Shaddaa and the Thunder Child made the jump to hyperspace.  When he came back to the galley, he found the table had been set up with a demesne.  Kento came up from the aft section just as he arrived.

                “What’s all this then?” Orion asked.

                “Forgive me.  I was looking for a scanner to use on the sabers and I found you had a board.  It’s been ages since I had a good game.  I was hoping to engage you.”

                Orion smiled, “What makes you think I’m worth the effort?”

                “The quality of these pieces,” Kento said, gesturing to the table, “A man doesn’t have a Shah-tezh set of this high a quality unless he’s well-versed in the game.”

                “Let’s find out,” Orion said.  He sat down on one side of the square board.  Kento took the opposite chair. 

                Orion took note of the position of the pieces, “You play the Outcast arrangement?”

                “I do.  I like the ancient version best.  Is that acceptable?”

                “Oh, absolutely.  I prefer the old ways myself,” Orion said.  He moved his Beast out as an opening.  Kento responded with pushing his Disciple forward.

                “A shame we don’t have a clock,” Orion said.

                “That would be quite a test.  I haven’t had a timed game since my youth,” Kento said.

                “The older Rangers encourage neophytes to play.  They say it teaches critical thinking, combat tactics, survival strategies,” Orion said.

                “On Ilum, it’s something of a pastime.  Mostly for the instructors.  The younglings have their own entertainments.”

                “Sounds like a peaceful place,” Orion said.

                “At night.  During the day it’s a swarm of chaos.  Students everywhere.  Overachievers out to be noticed.  I try to get them to sit still for a history class and they’re just waiting to go to lightsaber training,” Kento said, with a mild laugh.

                “Well, as a saber instructor, allow me to apologize,” Orion said, returning the mirth.

                “Are you a student of history?” Kento said, moving his Beast into play.  “This game isn’t all that common now.”

                “I have an appreciation for the old ways, yes,” Orion said, taking Kento’s Dowager with his Vizier.

                “I didn’t know if that was born of natural interest, or if it came from Jayla,” Kento said.  He took back the Vizier with his Counselor, completing the exchange. 

                “Haven’t you got enough to worry about?” Orion said, sliding his Beast to a better location.

                Kento smirked, “Even Jedi have imaginations.”  He slid his Disciple up to attack.

                “I’m sure you can find a better use for yours,” Orion said, responding to Kento’s countermove.

                “What area piques your interest the most?” Kento asked.

                “In history?” Orion said, then continued after Kento’s nod, “Well, the Raktatan Empire was fascinating to me.  Just the sweep of it.  The barbarity.”

                “Fascinating to be sure,” Kento said.

                “I feel rather embarrassed to admit, one of my favorite subjects was the development of the lightsaber,” Orion said.

                “Why the embarrassment?” Kento asked.

                “It feels rather pedestrian compared to more vaunted studies.  Not as intellectual as the time of the High Republic, or the Trials of the Mandalorians.”

                Kento nodded and wrinkled his mouth, “Plenty of insight to be gained in the study of the saber.”

                “It’s fascinating from an engineering perspective,” Orion said.

                “That’s right, you’re a designer of some sort, yes?” Kento said.

                “When called upon.  Rangers need at least three areas where we can be useful,” Orion said.

                “Such a unique organization of skills,” Kento said.

                “Speaking of which,” Orion said.  He then proceeded to move his Counselor across the board to attack Kento’s Imperator.

                “Oh, lovely move,” Kento said, retreating from the danger.

                “How did you get good?” Orion asked.

                “One of my colleagues at the academy.  Kelleran Beq.  Brilliant Jedi.  We came up through the ranks together.  Now he teaches across the hall from me.”

                “Sounds like a good friend,” Orion said.

                “Very much so.  How about you?  Who taught you the game?”

                “My mentor, Ranger Tyco.”

                “Was he your Master?” Kento said.

                Orion shook his head and smirked, “No, it’s not so formal as that.  New Rangers accompany veterans for the first couple of years.  It’s supplemental training.  You do what they do.  I live long enough, and they’ll give me a trainee of my own.”

                “Tell me about him,” Kento said.

                “Tyco?  Oh sure.  Very protective of me.  He was a big Ishi Tib.  Tall, like he would have to duck under the hatch combings back on the Compendium.  Scared me half to death first time I met him.  I was still young back then.”

                “Weren’t we all?” Kento said, filling the space.

                Orion paused to move a piece.  Kento let him speak as he thought about his next move.

                “Great mentor though.  Taught me a lot.  I remember this one time; we were working a case on Suntilla, helping locals round up some bandits.  We got word that our suspect was spotted at a cantina and a fight had broken out.  I ran out to our speeder and Tyco, he kind of shoved me over into the passenger seat.  He liked to drive.  The place was about two klicks out.  Halfway there, he pulls over at a supply station, parks the speeder and he looks over at me and says, ‘I’m going inside for a drink, do you want anything?”

                Kento looked up from the board in surprise.  Orion laughed.

                “That was the same look I had!  I said to him, ‘What about the suspect?’ you know, ‘We gotta get over there quick.’  And he looks at me and says, ‘It’s a bar fight.  You never show up in the middle of a bar fight.  You show up at the end when everyone is too tired to fight anymore.’  And then he went on inside.  A few minutes later, he comes back, hands me a bottle.  We go over to the cantina.  Sure enough, there’s our suspect, laid out on the floor, unconscious.  We put the binders on him and by the time he wakes up, he’s already in a cell,” Orion said.

                Kento laughed, “Solid work.”

                “I sure thought so,” Orion said.

                “What ever happened to him?” Kento asked, “Ranger Tyco, I mean.”

                “I have no idea,” Orion said.

                “You lost touch?” Kento asked.

                “No, I mean that literally.  He went out on a long-range scouting trip.  We do those.  Looking for new hyperspace routes.  Exploration, you know.  One of our tenets.”

                Kento nodded with realization.

                “I’m so sorry,” he said.

                “I don’t know if you should be.  All we know is that he left, and he never came back.  That might not be a tragedy.  Maybe he died, maybe he lived.  Maybe he found peace out there.  Maybe he found love.  I like to think he found some world where the beaches go on forever and he’s so happy there he decided to never leave.”

                “That’s a nice thought,” Kento said.

                “In my experience, we all believe what we want to believe.  If you don’t have any evidence, might as well go with the thing that makes you happiest.”

                                                                                –

                The dim reflected light of Nal Hutta, far overhead, did nothing to add to the ambiance of the Nar Shaddaa slums. 

                They had parked the Thunder Child on a landing platform outside of what was laughingly referred to as an entertainment district.  The seedy looking Neimoidian at the end of the platform charged them fifty credits as a parking fee and promised them that no harm would come to the ship during their visit.  Not that they believed him. 

                Orion walked a step and a half in front of Kento.  He wore the same bomber jacket that he’d had on the day they met, sans the Jal Shey badge at the shoulder.  Kento’s best incognito look was an overcoat with military boots.  His lightsaber was tucked into an interior pocket and again he was resolved not to show it unless it meant the difference between life and death. 

                Orion’s blaster hung prominently on his hip.  He had a holdout strapped to his ankle, underneath a durable pair of pants.  Flying in, they had agreed if they ever had to brandish a weapon, then the plan would quickly collapse and may very well cost them their lives as a result. 

                The seedy cantina was guarded by a pair of Gran standing outside the door.  Kento wondered if they were brothers before realizing it was immaterial.  Their yellow-brown skin looked patchy and grey in the dim blue light of the entrance.  They had an odor he couldn’t identify, but given what he knew of the area, he assumed it was the stench of spice.

                Orion approached the door and the larger of the two Gran put out a hand to stop him.  The Jal Shey Ranger spoke in Huttese, which Kento could barely understand.

                After a short dialog, Orion said the name “Zave Tep.” He repeated it again and the two Gran conferred with each other for a moment.  Then, the larger one turned back to Orion and pointed a digit at Orion’s chest.

                Orion waved his arms back and forth, crossing them in front of his chest, but that gesture just seemed to make the large Gran more insistent.  He continued the pointing.

                With a sigh, Orion unzipped his jacket and tugged on the collar of his white undershirt.  Kento, craning his neck around, saw what all the fuss was about.  On his chest, over his heart, Orion had a set of scars.  They formed the shape of the Aurebesh letter Dorn.  The scars were old, somewhat faded.  They looked to have been made with a vibroblade. 

                The body language of the two Gran changed considerably once they saw the scars.  Their focus turned from Orion to Kento.  Kento’s muscles tensed in response.  Before anything came of it, Orion stepped in between the Jedi and the guards and spoke in fast, clipped Huttese.

                The larger Gran said something to his smaller companion.  The smaller one opened the door and went inside the cantina, leaving the three of them to stare awkwardly at one another.

                Kento asked what was happening.

                In a quiet voice, Orion caught him up, “They’re seeing if Zave wants to see me.  We’re only getting in if he says it’s okay.”

                “What do you think?” Kento said, not taking his eyes off the large Gran guard.

                “If it’s a yes, we’re golden.  If it’s a no, run,” Orion said.

                “How very reassuring,” Kento said.

                “Don’t talk so fancy.  This ain’t the place for it,” Orion said.

                Kento made a mental note to check his accent at the door.

                A moment later, a Duros man came out, poking his head out of the door slowly, then swinging the door wide when he recognized Orion.

                “Fixer!” the Duros shouted, coming into the hall and wrapping Orion in a big hug, “Thought you were dead, man!  Look at you walkin’ around like it’s nothing!”

                Orion laughed and returned the hug, “Zave, brother!  It’s good to see you again.”

                “What happened?  How’d you make it out?”

                “I didn’t.  Blues got me when we split up.  Hit me with a stun round and I went down like a sack full of beskar.”

                “Oh, no,” Zave said.

                “When I woke up, I was in binders and they told me to give up the freighter codes or they’d ship me off to Oovo IV,” Orion said.

                “Spatters!  What did you do?”

                “I told ‘em ‘Darkhearts for life’ and they shipped my big behind off to Oovo IV,” Orion said. 

                “Aww man, you bad.  Why’d they say you were dead?”

                “Wires got crossed somewhere.  The blues thought I was going to turn, so they declared me dead in case I wanted a new life.  I’m betting they never cared to update it.  It’s not like I got people looking for me,” Orion said.

                “I’d have looked for you!” Zave said.

                “Nah, it’s fine.  I did two on Oovo before I found a way out.  Stashed aboard a transport and made it back to civilization,” Orion said.

                “Dumb blues can’t keep us down for that long,” Zave said.

                “Darkhearts for life?” Orion said.

                “Darkhearts for life!” Zave said.

                They shared another laugh.  Zave turned to look Kento up and down.

                “Who’s your shadowkeeper here?”

                “Krattik,” Orion said, introducing Kento.  “He’s the money.”

                Zave looked apologetically back at Orion, “If he’s not a Darkheart, he can’t come in.”

                “I was hoping you’d make an exception.  We’re here for business.  I need to talk to Seris,” Orion said.

                Zave looked back at Orion and bit his lip, “Seris isn’t big on visitors.  Especially not these days.”

                “What’s going on these days?  Somebody run you out of Ryll country?” Orion asked.

                “I can’t get into it in front of an outsider,” Zave said, waving an empty hand at Kento.

                Orion spread his hands apart, “That’s fine.  Not my business.  But we’ve got a good deal here.  I just want to put an offer on her table.  If she doesn’t like it, we’re out of there in five minutes.”

                The Duros sighed.  He put his hands on his hips.  Kento tried not to tense, but he was worried for a moment that Zave was going to draw the blaster on his belt.

                “Okay, I’ll walk you in.  Just don’t make me regret this,” Zave said.

                “I’ve got you, brother,” Orion said, as they walked by the Gran guards who graciously allowed them to pass.

                                                                                –

                Zave’s table was a booth on the far wall.  The screens displayed various sporting events from around the galaxy.  There was a variety of scents in the air.  Some of them industrial.  Many of them illegal.  The various species represented at the tables did not evoke any particular pattern that Kento could detect.  There were Kel Dor, Geonosians, a smattering of Twi’leks.  An old Ithorian at a round table was dealing a sabacc game. 

                Apart from the fact that everyone was armed, this could have been any of a number of bars on any of a number of planets.

                Orion settled into the booth next to Kento.  They sat across from Zave, who already had a drink in front of him.  Orion signaled the droid waitress for two local ales of some sort.  Kento was trying to say and do as little as possible, lest he arouse suspicion.

                Zave watched them sip their drinks and then got down to business, “What’s your offer?”

                “I’d rather take it straight to Seris,” Orion said.

                “Seris pays me to listen to offers.  There’s a process here.  You know that,” Zave said.

                Orion tilted his head and nodded, “Okay, we’ve got a supply of death sticks that we’re looking to exchange.  It’s a simple exchange, death sticks for spice, and we’ll give you a thirty percent markup over current market value.”

                Zave’s mouth wrinkled, “Why so generous?”

                “Our distributor got wrapped up in some Republic nonsense.  A customs inspector who didn’t get paid off in time.  We need to unload this cargo within the next day or two, or it’s going to start drawing attention.  Time is of the essence.”

                “We don’t mess with Republic customs,” Zave said.

                “We’re not asking you to.  We get the stuff out of our hands and once it’s in yours, no one has a second thought about it.  Nothing’s traceable.  At least not yet,” Orion said.

                Zave stroked his chin, “That’s reasonable.  Have you got a ship on ready stand-by?”

                “A stolen KB-TR Doomtreader on a landing pad a ways from here,” Orion said.

                “Stolen?” Zave said.

                “Took it off some idiot lawman when I got out of Oovo IV.  Left the bastard stranded and eating my wake,” Orion said with a grin.

                Zave laughed, “You always were good with ships.”

                “Still am,” Orion said.

                “So, what’s with your strong, silent-type buddy here?  He doesn’t like talking?”

                Kento bristled but kept himself as reserved as he could.

                “It was my mistake that got that customs officer on our scent.  He’s supervising to make sure I clean up my mess.  Not out to be all that helpful, but you gotta look good for your boss.  Seris would tell you that,” Orion said.

                “She sure as Sith would,” Zave said.  He rubbed his hands and looked around the room furtively.  “Thirty percent markup?”

                Orion just nodded.

                “Anything else?” Zave said.

                “You wouldn’t happen to know of a good bounty hunter who’d be interested in killing a customs official, would you?” Orion chuckled.

                Zave laughed, “Could be.  We’ve got a couple gunhands who have come through for us,” Zave said.

                “Let’s talk after we make this deal,” Orion said.

                “Show me what you’ve got,” Zave said.

                From the pocket of his bomber jacket, Orion pulled a death stick.  The vial had bands of yellow and red chemicals within.  He handed it over to Zave who held it up to the light over the booth.

                “I got enough of those to put ten heavy load lifters to work for half a day,” Orion said.  “Go ahead and see for yourself.”

                Zave took the cylinder and jammed it into the side of his neck.  Kento watched the vial drain into his dark blue skin.  He sat back and his eyes fluttered.  Orion watched him carefully, his palms flat on the table.

                “How’s that flight through hyperspace, Zav?”

                The Duros made a noise that Kento completely failed to identify.  Somewhere between a snarl and a shriek, it cut through the air like a siren and was over as fast as it started.

                “Wizard!” Zave said, before chuckling and snapping his fingers rapidly. 

                The waitress droid came up again, this time, her tray had an orange-red powder on a serving dish.

                Orion turned to look at the platter, “What you got for me, Zave?”

                “Oh, you’re gonna love this, Fixer.  New stuff we’ve been hawking.  This is top-grade Sansanna.  Good stuff,” Zave said. 

                Orion looked at the powder like it was a meal.  Zave put a hand on his before he could grab a pinch.

                “No, no, Fixer.  Don’t be rude.  Your bossman should get the first taste.  We want to be respectful to management,” Zave said, eyeing Kento as he looked askance at the spice on the tray.

                “I don’t partake before a deal is done,” Kento said, trying to sound as rigid as he could. 

                Zave’s small mouth formed a smirk, “It speaks!” he said. 

                Kento felt his nerves jangling, “Again, I don’t…”

                “You want my product, but you don’t want to try it?  Could be Hutt fodder in there for all you know.  Never trust a man who won’t use his own stuff,” Zave said.  He pulled a vibroblade out of an inner pocket on his vest.  He dipped the tip of the blade into the spice, then snorted it.  His face contorted slightly, and Orion used the moment to tap his knee against Kento’s.  Zave’s reaction lasted just long enough for the move to go unnoticed.

                “Your turn, big boss,” Zave said, dipping the blade again and offering it to Kento.

                Kento felt his nerves jangling, “A deal is not yet done.  I don’t…”

                From behind him, a pair of hands slammed down onto his shoulders.  Kento was held in place by a strong, meaty Gammorrean who was reaching over from the next booth.  He started to shrug off the green paws and would have turned to fight if Orion hadn’t just as quickly put a hand on his chest.

                “Hold up!  Let’s not get crazy here,” Orion said.

                “I offer you the good stuff and you’re not gonna take a taste?” Zave said, shaking the spice off his blade and pointing it directly at Kento’s throat.

                “He’s an accountant, Zave!  He’s not a player like you and me.  My boss sent him along to make sure I get this done.  He doesn’t know how it works.  Look at his face!” Orion said.

                “I don’t like his face.  Maybe I’ll cut it off and find him a new one!” Zave said, the words ringing out as he twisted the blade back and forth a few centimeters from Kento’s neck.

                “Make this deal, you’ll never have to see his face again,” Orion said.

                “Nah, I think you brought a blue in here,” Zave said.

                “Sithspit!  I know a blue when I see one.”

                “Yeah, so do I,” Zave said, pushing the vibroblade closer to Kento’s neck.

                “He’s legit!” Orion said.

                “No one ever died being too careful.  Wasn’t that your favorite, expression, Fixer?” Zave said.  He pulled the blade back, in preparation for an attack.

                “Stop,” Kento said. 

                Everyone froze.  The big Gammorrean held his grip tight.

                “Rack that up again,” Kento said, nodding down to the spice on the table.

                Zave smirked and dipped his blade into the spice.  An orange chunk came up and he held it under Kento’s nose.

                Kento sniffed deep, inhaling the spice and feeling it invade his brain like a spike hammer.  The world went hazy as chemicals overran his cerebrum.  He could feel long-dormant synapses firing at maximum capacity.  Around him, lights flickered and began to heat up.  His blood screamed through his veins, desperate to release the surge of energy that invaded each cell. 

                The universe became abstract and somehow more real.  Vivid and stark.  Colors burned his eyes.  Sound echoed and warbled, reaching his ears, but not his mind.  He felt his head start to swirl and the steadying hand of Orion on his arm did nothing to stop the motion of the stars as they tried to throw him out of his seat.

                The last thing he heard before his head hit the table was Zave’s laughter.

                                                                                –

                Back in reality, Orion tried to contain his horror as Kento slipped into an unconscious stupor at the table.  Zave found the tableau hysterical and made no effort to hide his glee.

                “I think you might not be so well off with your bossman now,” Zave said.

                “You may be right, halfwit.  You had to go swing your rod like that?” Orion said.

                “Only way to catch the big ones,” Zave said.

                “Son of a Sith,” Orion said.

                “Save your gumslapping,” Zave said.

                “I want to talk to Seris,” Orion said.

                “And you’ll get your chance, but I need something first,” Zave said.

                “I already got you buzzed.  What do you need?” Orion said.

                “I had a four-man job tonight.  One of my crew didn’t show.  I need another outlaw,” Zave said.

                “I don’t do that run and gun poodoo anymore.  You know I’m a stick and thruster man,” Orion said.

                “You’re a rough rider and that don’t change no matter how nice you dress.  You don’t walk in here strapped and then say you can’t throw down,” Zave said.

                “I’m not doing another damn bank job, Zav,” Orion said.

                Under the table, Zave tapped his vibroblade against Orion’s thigh.  Orion didn’t flinch.

                “I didn’t know that they started neutering guys who got sent to Oovo IV.  I’m very sorry for your loss,” Zave said with a mocking tone.

                “You’re talking like a guy who is sick of having all his teeth, Zav,” Orion said.

                “I’m getting you out of a jam.  Whatever happened to customer service?” Zave asked.  He shifted his blade around Orion’s leg.  “Besides, this is what I’m after,” Zave said, tapping the blaster on Orion’s hip.

                “Let’s not be rude,” a voice said.  Orion turned.  At his other hip stood a Zabrak woman.  Her voice was sweet and feminine.  It purred out from her throat like a cascade of nectar over wet rock.  In the low light of the screens her blue skin glistened. 

                Orion craned his neck to address her properly.

                “Seris,” Orion said, with a note of relief.

                “Orion.”

                “Been a long time,” he said.

                “A long silence,” she said, letting the thought cut the air between them.

                “They don’t give you holocalls in Oovo IV,” Orion said.

                “You got a functioning comlink on your stolen Doomtreader?” she asked.

                “Life got kinda busy,” Orion said.

                “It has a way of doing that,” she replied.

                “I’m sorry,” Orion said.

                “And I’m bored.  You have business here?” she asked.

                “A trade.  Simple deal,” Orion said.

                “I heard,” she said, tapping a piece of hardware on her ear.  She had been listening this whole time.  “Not so simple these days though.”

                “What can I do?” Orion asked.

                Seris turned to Zave, “Are you ready to pay a visit to the Red Sleeves?”

                “Y..yeah boss.  We’re ready to go on your nod,” Zave said.

                “I’m nodding,” Seris said.  She looked down at Orion, “Take him along.  If he makes it back, we’ll do some business.  If not, that’s fate’s way of saying it’s not your day.”

                Orion tugged his collar slightly and shook his head back and forth, “Fine.  One job.  After that I’m done with free samples.”

                “Fair,” Seris said.

                Before she could say another word, Kento snapped back to reality with a snort and a cough.  Seris seemed quite amused at the sight of it.  She turned to Zave.

                “You want to take your new friend along?  Show him what the life is like?” Seris said, indicating the newly conscious Kento.

                “Not particularly,” Zave said, regarding Kento with a contemptuous sneer.

                “Wise choice,” Seris said, then turned back to Orion, “Next time you bring someone to my place of business, they’d better be a Twi’lek who can dance.”

                “Noted.  Are we through here?” Orion asked.

                “Done,” Seris said, and walked away.

                Zave rose and looked back and forth between Orion and Kento, “Let’s go.”

                                                                                –

                Zave demanded that they drop Kento off back at the ship.  Orion made no objection.  As Zave parked his speeder at the edge of the landing pad, Orion escorted his spice-addled friend all the way to the entry ramp.

                “You gonna be all right?” he asked Kento, quiet enough to avoid being overheard.

                “Everything is sonic,” Kento said, still abuzz from his first foray into illicit substances.

                “Sure is.  Just go inside, stay away from anything sharp.  Or, you know, switches and buttons.  Maybe just lie down, that should help.”

                “I can’t lie down.  It’s the universe that’s spinning,” Kento said, grabbing Orion by the lapels.

                “Okay, stay out of trouble,” he said, pushing Kento up the ramp and turning back to Zave’s speeder.

                “You get that lame sorted out?” Zave asked.

                “Yeah, he’ll be fine.  Just not used to the good stuff,” Orion said.

                “You drive,” Zave said, sliding into the passenger seat of the speeder.  In the rear were the big Gamorrean and one of the Gran guards from the cantina entrance.

                Orion shrugged and got into the driver’s seat.  As he did, Zave extracted a black bag from under the floorboard and pulled out three police uniforms.  Zave took one for himself and handed the other two to the pair in the back seat.  Orion gave him a questioning look.

                “You never used a disguise on a job before?” Zave asked. 

                “What’s the deal, here?” Orion asked as the other three dressed.

                “Red Sleeves took a score off Twak the Grey a few days ago.  We heard they have it stashed in a place over in Gardulla’s Kitchen.  We’re taking it back,” Zave said.

                “And the uniforms?” Orion asked.

                “Seris doesn’t want to get into a gang war.  She just wants the product,” Zave said.

                “What’s the product?” Orion asked.

                “Do you care?” Zave said.

                “Is it heavy?  Is it something that’s gonna try to kill me?  Is it something that’s gonna explode if it takes a blaster bolt?” Orion asked.

                “Relax.  Just a machine part that we’ve been needing,” Zave said.

                “Ugh, fine.  But I’m not putting on a police uniform,” Orion said.

                “Why not?”

                “For one, it’s a dumb disguise.  Those two are carrying heavy blaster rifles.  Rimpo sector blues don’t have that kind of gear.  Same with my K-2,” Orion said, holding up his blaster pistol.

                “By the time anyone notices, we’ll be long gone,” Zave said.

                “Famous last words,” Orion said.

                                                                                –

                Gardulla’s Kitchen was nestled, well…trapped, really, between an industrial sector and the refugee district.  It was a haven for cutthroats, runners, smugglers, and thieves. The nondescript blocks provided a certain anonymity, and it was easy to blend in when there were dozens of housing units with the same exterior look and the same reeking scent of narcotics, waste, and industrial sludge.

                Orion parked the speeder about half a block down from a cross-street.  Past the cross-street was a neighborhood of decrepit refugee housing units.  The two thugs in uniform stepped out first.  Zave followed and Orion began to walk with them.  Zave waved him off.

                “Go around the back.  It’s unit eighty-three.  Come in from another angle,” Zave said.

                “I’m not shooting anyone, and you shouldn’t either.  Half these people are packing something.  You start blazing, there’s a bunch more of them than you,” Orion said.

                “We’re just here to serve a warrant,” Zave said, with a smirk.  He held up a datapad with a forged document on its surface.

               “Whatever, I’m just the guy who does the thing,” Orion said.

               Zave waved him down a side alley.  He walked around, trying to stay out of sight.  Passing one row of refugee shanties, he looked both ways before stepping back into the light.  Down the block, a cluster of Nikto boys were playing some sort of dice game.  Behind them, a Gand woman was rummaging through a garbage dumpster.

               Coming around a corner, Orion heard Zave’s distinctive baritone shouting, “Rimpo PD, put your hands up!”

               “He’s early,” Orion muttered, running the last few steps around the corner.  As he did, he saw a Klatooinian at the corner ahead of him.  The jacket he wore was brown but had bright red sleeves.  Orion heard angry shouting around the bend.  The Klatooinian took aim with a slim blaster pistol.  Orion rushed him.

               Before the enforcer could get a shot off, Orion had the barrel of his K-2 pointed at the Klatooinian’s head, an arm wrapped around his neck.

               “Let’s not start shooting just yet.  You got folks trying to sleep around here,” Orion said.  The dog-faced thug snarled at him. 

               “Shut up.  You got ambushed.  There’s no shame in it,” Orion said.

               “You’ll pay for this, whoever you are,” the Klatooinian grumbled.

               “We all will,” Orion said, dragging him by the collar into the courtyard between a few of the refugee dwellings.  He walked him up to where Zave was faux-apprehending a couple more thugs, all of them Klatooinian.  It made sense.  That species tended to travel in packs.

               Zave nodded his approval as Orion brought his hostage up to the dwelling entrance.

               “Did you even know he was there?” Orion asked.

                “You got him, so what does it matter?” Zave asked in return.

                “Sloppy,” Orion said, shaking his head.

                Zave and the Gran pushed one of the Klatooinians up to the front door of unit eighty-three and held a large rifle on him, telling him to knock.  The captured thug knocked hard, fast, and loudly until a voice came from inside the unit.

                “Tell him to let us in or it’s your hide,” Zave said.

                The captured Klatooinian at the door shouted for entry.  When the door cracked open slightly, Zave kicked it in and shoved the thug inside.

                “Rimpo PD!  This is a raid.  Nobody move!” Zave said, waving his blaster rifle around a bit more than was necessary.  The surprised guards inside the dwelling raised their hands at various speeds of compliance.

                “In and out, Zav.  Let’s not make a meal of it,” Orion said, following him through the door.  The Gran stayed outside for security.  Their uniformed Gamorrean came inside to hold a gun on the hostages. 

                “Everybody on your knees!” Zave ordered.  He shoved one human woman out of the back room and into the living room.  Orion saw the Gamorrean holding the four red-sleeved hostages in place and decided to search the rest of the dwelling.  Zave was too busy shoving his Klatooinian friend around to notice.

                “I want the code for the safe!” Zave said. 

               Orion stopped listening as he had started searching the bedrooms.  A young Klatooinian pup was hiding under a bed.  The paws that stuck out from under the bedframe easily gave him away.  Orion gave a pitying frown, then dragged the boy out from his hiding place. 

               A quick glance confirmed that this was no thug and no threat.  Just a scared youngling who had bad parents and an unlucky life.  Orion took him by the wrist and helped him off the floor.  He walked the youngling down a corridor to the nearest refresher.

               “Stay here.  Stay quiet.  Stay out of sight,” Orion admonished the boy.  The young pup eagerly nodded his agreement.  Orion locked him inside.

               Returning to the kitchen, Orion saw Zave holding a gun to the head of the human woman.  Orion wanted to reach out and stop him, but that might increase the overall danger.

               The leader of the thugs spoke up, “Zero, eight, two, one, eight, nine!” he shouted, giving up the code for his wall safe.

               “There we go!  See?  You can be reasonable,” Zave said, shoving the human woman against the far wall.  She hit hard, grabbed her shoulder, and then sat on the floor.  Orion winced in sympathy with her pain.

               Zave turned to the wall safe that was hidden behind a cooling chamber.  He wiggled his fingers playfully now that he knew the code.

               “Zav, no!  Don’t open that yourself!” Orion called to him.  He grabbed the gang leader off the floor and pointed his blaster at him.  Orion’s other hand took the Klatooinian by the collar.  “Make him open it.” Orion said, shoving the empty bag that used to carry the police uniforms into the Klatooinian’s hands.

               “Good idea,” Zave said.  He positioned the thug leader in front of the safe and held his rifle on him once again.  Orion turned to monitor the living room.  The Gamorrean had the hostages in binders.  He was keeping things under control.  Orion could hear raised voices outside. 

               “Get that off of there!  E chu ta!” Zave shouted.  Orion turned to look.  Zave continued, “This brainbolt has a thermal detonator wired up to his safe!”

               “Dumb,” Orion said.

               Zave shoved the barrel of his blaster into the thug’s back, “If that goes off, it’ll take the whole house with it, you blope-head! “

                “Thirty seconds, in and out, Zave.  This is taking too long,” Orion said.

                Orion turned to watch the hostages on their knees in the living room.  One of them snarled and shimmied a bit on the floor, baring fangs in Orion’s general direction. 

                “Easy there, long tooth.  Unless you want to taste laser for the rest of your life, you cut that out right now,” Orion said.

                Zave called from the next room, “Happy Life Day, Fixer.  We got the score!”

                The front window shattered suddenly.  A brick was the culprit.  Undoubtedly thrown by an angry gang member who was new on the scene and trying to get information from a Gran in a fake police officer’s uniform. 

                “Don’t fire.  Nobody fire,” Orion said, nodding to the Gamorrean who was not paying him any attention.  The green-skinned porcine enforcer was focused on the Klatooinian in front of him.  They were having a conversation in a language Orion couldn’t speak.  Their voices began to increase in speed and volume.  Orion recognized the signs of trouble brewing.

                “Don’t!” Orion shouted, not in time to stop the Gamorrean from firing his scatter blaster into the chest of the mouthy Klatooinian who had apparently insulted him.  Another shot rang out as the Gamorrean finished him off.  The next shot followed only a moment later and came streaking in through the shattered front window.  More followed.  Their cover was officially blown.

                Orion ducked back into the kitchen just before the doorjamb he was standing in played host to two quick bursts of blaster fire.  He had missed it by no more than a handful of seconds.

                “Go time, Zav,” Orion said, opening the rear door to the dwelling.

                Zave turned away from the safe to face him. 

                “What are you…?”

                Zave never got the chance to finish his question as Orion slugged him hard in the gut.  The Duros doubled over in pain and began to wheeze hard, straining for breath.

                “I tried to be nice,” Orion said.  The front room was now bathed in blaster fire.  Another hostage had been shot.  The Gamorrean took a round in the shoulder, then another in the forehead.  Orion grabbed Zave and hustled him out the back exit.

                The black bag with their hard-won item was left by the wayside.  Orion couldn’t think of a single thing it might contain that he was remotely interested in.  He changed his grip on his weapon, then whipped Zave across the face with the handle of his K-2 blaster.

                A trail of blood trickled across the Duros’s ample forehead.  Orion took him by the collar and dragged him across the clearing.

                He pulled a comlink from one pocket, keeping his K-2 pointed at Zave’s head.  He spoke fast and with an edge of panic.

                “Kento, I need you at the refugee district in Gardulla’s Kitchen in two minutes,” he said.

                “Who the hell is Kento?” Zave said, between wheezes.

                Kento’s reply crackled from the comlink, “I don’t know how to fly this thing.”

                Orion had no patience for that, “This is a great time to learn.  See you in two minutes!”

                Sirens and blaster shots could be heard beyond the row of dwellings.  Orion winced, knowing that innocent refugees were likely to get caught up in this disaster of violence that he’d helped to bring about.

                He dragged Zave down another row of dwellings, ducking in amongst hanging laundry, trying to stay out of sight. 

                Above them, a police probe droid was descending to take a closer look at the situation.  Orion could see its arms floating at odd angles, directing recordings of images and the paths of incoming officers all at once.

                “You see this Sithshow you put on here?” Orion asked.

                “You blew the op!” Zave said.

                “Shut your mouth.  You’re so glitbit you think you’re some kinda warrior.  If I didn’t need what’s in that big, empty head of yours, I’d put a hole in you right now,” Orion said, shoving Zave down an alley.

                When they emerged, Orion pulled the Duros thug into an alcove at the corner of a building.  A moment later, a cluster of uniformed officers ran by.  All armed, all looking for a fight.  Zave had enough wits about him to keep silent as the cops moved towards the disturbance they had created.  He might be mad at Orion, but jail was jail and the only thing he cared about now was a way out of this neighborhood.

                A low rumble came overhead.  They looked up.  To Orion, it was a glorious sight.  The Thunder Child passed slowly overhead.  He saw the ship’s big white wings rock back and forth slightly as it made its way down the block.  The clearing ahead marked the far end of the refugee district.  There was enough space for the ship to set down. 

                Orion shoved Zave out of the notch in the wall and they made their way up the street.  Behind them, a Rimpo District police speeder came around the corner, blue lights blazing bright in the darkness.

                Orion looked back over his shoulder at the approaching speeder.

                “We’re burnt,” he said, running for the clearing ahead.  He keyed his comlink, “Kento, I could use some backup out here.  We’ve got incoming.”

                “I can’t use the guns on this thing,” Kento said. 

                “Grab a blaster and cover us at the ramp!” Orion said, panting from the run and the adrenaline.

                Orion saw the Thunder Child settle on its landing legs.  The entry ramp swung down and made a thud as it hit the ground.

                A shout in Huttese came from somewhere on the right.  Orion saw a young Rodian emerge from a door, aiming a blaster at Zave.  Before he could react, the Rodian got a shot off.  The bolt caught Orion in the shoulder and spun him around.  He fell hard to the pavement.

                                                                                –

                Still dazed from his first taste of spice, Kento Marek saw Orion take a blaster shot and fall to the ground.  In the distance, the Rimpo Police speeder closed in on the scene.  Leaving Orion behind was not an option.

                Neither was using a lightsaber.  If anyone knew that the Jedi or the Jal Shey were looking for Montross, then it would likely lead back to that shopkeeper on Outland Station.  Not to mention any potential leads would dry up faster than a lake on Jakku.

                In the flight out from the Compendium, Kento had familiarized himself with the Thunder Child’s internal features.  One of which was a hidden compartment behind the cockpit where Orion kept a small cache of weapons and spare parts. 

                With the big wings of the Doomtreader taking up a considerable portion of the road, he unhooked his safety harness and grabbed a thin, sleek blaster pistol from the notch in the wall.  It felt odd in his hand.  He’d never held such a weapon before.  He tucked the weapon into his belt.

                Running down the landing ramp, Kento was confronted with a nightmare in searing lines of color. 

                Zave had picked up the chunky K-2 blaster that Orion carried and was firing it at anything that displeased him.  The young Rodian had disappeared down an alley after a close shot.  The police speeder had taken a couple of bolts as it charged down the street.  The driver had swerved at one angry red bolt that hit the windscreen.  The speeder had plowed into an open dumpster and angry police forces were scurrying out into the roadway.

                Despite his credentials, he felt sure that both his and Orion’s actions would not be met with an understanding eye by the local patrolmen.  Instead he ran the twenty meters to where Orion had fallen.  Zave turned around, holding the K-2 blaster and looked ready to aim it at Kento’s onrushing form. 

                Kento clocked him across the jaw with a closed fist.  Zave reeled and dropped the blaster on the ground, then fell himself.

                “So uncivilized,” Orion said, looking up at Kento from the ground.

                “But effective,” Kento said.  “Are you all right?”

                Orion nodded, “I just got the oxygen knocked out of me.  Help me up.  I’ll be okay.”

                Kento leaned down to help scoop up his partner.  Orion got a look at the wound for the first time.

                “Damned Rodian ruined a perfectly good jacket,” Orion said.

                Before he could get another word out, a shot sizzled over Kento’s head.  He could feel the heat of it singe his hair.  The Rodian had returned.  Kento looked up and saw another line of red energy coming straight at him.  He put a hand out and the angry red bolt stopped, less than a meter away from his face.  The crackle of energy echoed off the durasteel walls around them.  In the distance, more sirens and footsteps.

                The blaster bolt hovered in midair.

                The world around him froze as well.  Zave stared in awe at the unmoving shaft of energy.  Orion held still, half on Kento’s shoulder.  His eyes took in the red light with shock.  Even the attacking Rodian boy was dumbfounded by this turn of events. 

               Zave broke the stillness, “What the…?”

               Before he could get another word out, the Rodian lifted his weapon again and fired.  Kento did not have the focus to stop a flotilla of blaster shots.  Instead, in a flash he deposited Orion back on the ground and twirled on his toe and pulled the blaster from his belt. 

               More shots sailed over him as he brought the weapon up and squeezed the trigger.  The Rodian boy dropped to the ground like a stone.

                “Oh, no.  No, no, no,” Kento said, lunging towards the body, far too late to take back what had just happened.

                He had been aiming above the boy’s head.  Hoping to send him running again.  At worst, he would have hoped for a flesh wound, enough to slow the Rodian down.  Instead, the shot had caught him between his large, limpid eyes.  The stunned look and lifeless black pools burned into Kento’s brain.  He stared down in horror at the dead Rodian.

               Behind him, Orion got to his feet. 

               Zave had regained his senses.

                “What did you do?” Zave shouted, walking up to look at the body on the ground.

                Orion spoke for the stunned Jedi, “He just saved your life, Zave.  Now get in the damn ship,” Orion said.  He carefully took the blaster from Kento’s hands and tucked it away.  The Jedi could not stop staring at his victim.  The Rodian boy would never rise again and Kento knew that he was the architect of that fall.

                “I don’t mean that!  How did he stop a frelling blaster bolt?” Zave asked.

                “What are you talking about?” Orion asked, sounding incredulous.

                “That bolt stopped in midair!” Zave yelled.

                “Naw, it didn’t.  You’re talking crazy, spicesniffer.  That stuff’s invaded your mind,” Orion said.

                “The hell it has.  I know what I saw.”  Zave got to his feet, “Are you one of Braca’s boys?”

                “What crazy are you running, Zav?” Orion said, pointing his K-2 back at the Duros and shoving him further up the street.  He pulled Kento by the collar to get him moving. 

                “Did Braca send you here?  Are you on his payroll now?  His boys got that Jedi stuff.  They can do all that weird magic crap.”

                Orion turned to look at him sharply, “What did you say?”  He pointed his K-2 at Zave’s head.

                “Uh, nothing.  I don’t know.  Let’s get out of here,” Zave said.

                “What the hell did you just say about Jedi stuff, Zave?” Orion said.  With a wince, he herded both Kento and Zave up the ramp. 

                “Who the hell is Braca?” Orion said.  Behind them, another Rimpo District police speeder came around the corner, blue lights blazing bright in the darkness.

                “Braca’s nobody,” Zave said.

                “Uh huh, we’re gonna have a little chat about this guy,” Orion said, closing the Thunder Child’s ramp now that they were all aboard.

                Kento looked stunned and downtrodden.  Orion took him by the collar and shook him a bit.  When Kento’s eyes found his, Orion shoved the blaster into his hand and spoke.

                “Put this idiot in the cargo bay downstairs.  Lock him in there.  I’m gonna get us out of here.”

                Outside, through the hull of the ship, a loudspeaker could be heard:

                “Unidentified Doomtreader.  This is the Rimpo District Police.  Power down your engines and prepare to be boarded!”

                Orion looked back at the now-closed entrance to his ship, “Like hell, lawman.  We’re out of here.”

                Kento was still dazed.  He had barely heard Orion speak, much less comprehend the words.  He noted the Jal Shey Ranger heading up to the cockpit.  He knew Zave was looking at him as though he’d just grown another head. 

               Ten seconds later, both of them were knocked off their feet as the ship swiveled and then boosted away, leaving Nar Shaddaa, and the Rimpo police, far below.

                                                                                –

                Orion put Zave in the cargo bay and locked the door.  Kento went in search of someplace quiet, to process what just happened.

                He searched the ship’s galley for some kind of intoxicant.  Anything he could imbibe that would erase the memory of those huge, lifeless eyes.  Those black eyes that seemed to pull on him with a gravity that was too strong to resist.  Eyes that called to him beyond the veil of death.  Eyes that accused him. 

                He found nothing that he could identify as alcoholic.  Nothing that would even remotely affect his mind.  Orion struck him as a meat and starch kind of man and the contents of the cold storage chamber and the pantry seemed to confirm this.

                “Would it have killed you to have a bottle of Ryloth Ale on this entire damned ship, Xadau?” Kento said, shutting the pantry door in disgust.

                He sat with an empty glass, staring down at the random marks on the table, trying to forget the face of that young Rodian he had put down in the street.  The mottled red skin, bumpy enough before he had put a new mark between the eyes.  Did he have to take that shot? 

                Footsteps came echoing in from the corridor.  Orion walked into the galley and Kento looked up from the table.

                “Great work back there.  You got us out of that mess just in time,” Orion said.  He opened a cabinet door and pulled out a medkit.

                Kento couldn’t bring himself to talk about it.  Orion surveyed him and recognized the look.

                “Your first kill?” he asked Kento.

                Kento just nodded.

                “I’m sorry.  I know how it is,” Orion said, slipping off his jacket and shirt.  He peeled the backing off of a bacta patch and slapped it over the angry red wound on his shoulder.  His face contorted for a second and then relaxed.

                Orion groaned in relief, “That’s a lot better.  What’re you drinking there?” he said, nodding to the glass in Kento’s hand.

                Kento held up the empty glass, “You didn’t have anything strong.”

                “Oh.  I’m sorry.  Here, let me take care of that for you,” Orion’s hand extended, and he pulled the empty glass from Kento’s hand with the Force.  Kento watched him pull a stool out from under a countertop and stand on its lower rung.  Orion reached up for one of the pipes that ran under the ceiling panels.  The red pipe had a small valve handle and some kind of outlet.  Kento watched, baffled, as Orion opened the valve and a green liquid poured into the glass he’d been holding.  When it was a third full, Orion set it down on the counter, then snatched another empty glass with the Force and filled it with the same amount from the pipe.

                “What are you doing?” Kento asked, completely confounded.

                “The sublight fuel mix is nasty, but it’s also effective,” Orion said, putting the stool back.

                Kento stared at the glass Orion handed him, “As a beverage?”

                Orion held up a hand, “Don’t drink that straight.  It’ll kill you dead.”

                Kento put the glass down and sat back from it.  Orion went to the cold storage chamber and pulled a bottle of blue milk from the rear.  He opened the top and filled the remainder of both glasses, shaking his to swirl the liquids into a teal sludge that looked anything but appetizing.

                “You’ve got to cut it, otherwise it’ll eat you from the inside,” Orion said, holding up his own glass by way of a toast.

                “Are you serious?” Kento said, staring at the concoction in his hand.

                “Don’t knock it ‘til it knocks you over,” Orion said, taking a sip from his glass.

                The look on the Jal Shey Ranger’s face went from amused, to stunned, to pained and back again.  He set the glass down and let out a youthful, “Wheoup!” shaking his head in reaction to the drink.

                Kento Marek, a Jedi who, until recently, had never tried illicit substances or murder, now felt himself ready for yet another new experience.  He took a sip of the drink and felt the reverberations through his mind, all the way down to his toes.

                He shook his head, not quite ready to let out such a sophomoric yawp as his companion, but impressed nonetheless.

                “That’s shattering,” he said, taking another sip.

                Orion nodded and they drank in silence for a moment.

                “You said you knew how this is,” Kento said.

                Orion nodded.

                “Can I ask?” Kento said.

                “Twice.  Had to put down a raider who had hijacked this transport I was in.  It was a liner out of Kuat with a bunch of engineers.  Guy thought he’d rob some folks and take a transport pod out to get his payday.  But he saw this woman he took a shine to and tried to take her as a hostage.  I didn’t like her chances if he got away, so…”

                Kento nodded, “No shame in that.”

                “No shame in you putting down that Rodian with the blaster, either,” Orion said.

                “He was just a kid,” Kento said.

                “A kid with a blaster and a good aim,” Orion said.  “You want proof of that, take a look at my shoulder.”

                “I could have…” Kento said.

                “You could have what?  Held back more shots with your mind?  Tossed him off the pavement?  Let him kill me or that idiot downstairs before the cops showed up?”

                “There were other ways to handle it,” Kento said.

                “Guy draws down on you, he’s decided those other ways ain’t for him,” Orion said.  “I’m pretty sure you didn’t mind trick him into picking up a blaster and pulling the trigger.”

                “That’s not the point,” Kento said.

                “There ain’t no right way to handle this kind of thing, so I won’t tell you you’re doing this wrong, Jedi.  But I appreciate that I’m breathing right now and you had a lot to do with that.  And I’d rather you be breathing than him, if I had to pick between you.”

                “I wasn’t trying to kill him,” Kento said.

                “I wasn’t trying to kill that hijacker.  I didn’t wake up that morning wanting to do that.  But I took an oath to defend the helpless and there you go,” Orion said, downing the last of his drink, “I don’t know what your oath says, but I think you’re in the clear on this one.  Anybody gives you hell about it, you show ‘em this,” Orion said, tossing his burnt and holed bomber jacket onto the table.  Kento could see the blackened scorch marks where the blaster bolt had hit.

                He shook off the justification, “The Living Force teaches us that…”

                “Oh, don’t even start with that!” Orion said, interrupting him.  “The Force isn’t calling you to save lives or to take them.  You aren’t violating its will because you ended someone who was about to end you.  The Force doesn’t have a will.  No more than gravity does.”

               A beat passed and Kento took another sip from his glass.  Orion went on.

               “It’s survival.  Most natural thing in the galaxy.  Nothing good or bad about it.  You did what you did to save yourself and you saved me in the process.  You don’t owe that guy a thing.  He would have blasted me, you, Zave.  He had a shot in that weapon for all of us.”

                “I’m just saying that to take a life violates the spirit of what we as Jedi…” he trailed off, not quite knowing what the end of his thought was.

                “Don’t pawn your actions off on some all-powerful nonsense that you can’t get a handle on.  You pulled me out of the fire back there.  I’m not gonna let you beat yourself up over it,” Orion said.

                “You’ve got a strange way of thanking me,” Kento said.

                “If you want to get all existential, start blaming the spice or the Force or the blaster or whatever, that’s fine.  But you do a disservice to yourself.  Hell, you do a disservice to that Rodian in the street.  He made a choice to put himself in a fight.  You made your choice to do what had to be done.  Face it head on and you give him some respect in death.  Try to hide behind bad intentions or mysticism and you don’t do anybody any good.”

                Kento put his newly emptied glass down and sighed, “What was your second kill?”

                Orion looked at him in silence across the table for a moment.

                “I’ll tell you when you’re older,” he said.

                                                                                –

                They both slept hard.  It had been a grueling day for both.  There was nothing more to be said.  Orion had his wound, Kento had his dead-eyed remembrance.  They both had one more round of milkfuel and went to bed.   

                The next morning Kento woke to the sounds and smells of frying meat emanating from the galley.  He padded in from his sleeping quarters and Orion put down a plate in front of him.  Kento silently took up a utensil and dug in.  The eggs and meat were some of the best he’d ever had.  It dawned on him that this was likely due to a long-imposed hunger, rather than Orion’s culinary skills.

                Orion sat across from him with a sandwich of the same foods.  Two mugs of caf sat on the table and they ate in silence.  Orion gave a perfunctory nod as he finished and put his plate and cup in the sonic dishwasher.

                Kento was in the process of handing his empty plate over when they heard a banging sound coming from the floor.

                “Fixer!  You better let me out of here right now!” Zave said, shouting from the cargo bay in the belly of the ship.

                Kento and Orion looked back and forth at each other and shared a guilty laugh.

                “Uh, did we forget we had a prisoner down there?” Orion asked.

                “It appears so,” Kento said, staring down at the floor.

                “Well… that’s… different,” Orion said, not quite sure what else to say.

                “I mean, we were pretty drunk,” Kento said.

                “Not that drunk,” Orion said.

                “Is there a refresher down there?” Kento asked.

                “There is not,” Orion said.

                “Oh.  Well, we’d probably better check on him,” Kento said, rising from his seat.

                “I suppose.  Not like we have better things to do,” Orion said, leading Kento out of the ship’s galley.

                “What’s our course?” Kento asked as they walked down the hall.

                “I put us in the spacelane headed for Kessel.  If anyone tracks us, we’ll look like spice smugglers trying to get away.  After we deal with him, I’ll pull us out of hyperspace and replot our course,” Orion said.

                “Sounds good,” Kento said.

                “FIXER!!” came the shout from the cargo bay.

                “Why does he call you that?” Kento asked.

                “When I ran undercover with these guys, I got in with them by fixing a couple of their freighters.  The ships had been sabotaged and they didn’t have a competent engineer in the gang.  No one knew how to fix it,”

                “And you did?” Kento asked.

                “Of course I did.  I’m the one who did the sabotage,” Orion said.

                Kento laughed as they made their way down the ladder.  On one side was the egress ramp, closed against the vacuum of space.  On the other side was a door with a single window that allowed them to look at Zave, in an otherwise empty cargo bay.

                The Duros thug looked quite upset with his predicament.

                Orion dragged over a crate and sat down, facing the window, “Morning, Zave.  How did you sleep?”

                “Let me out of here right now, Fixer, or your next death notice won’t be quite so fictional,” Zave said.

                “What a charmer he is,” Kento said.

                “You Sithspit traitor!” Zave said.

                “Calm your blue butt down, Zave,” Orion said.

                “Right now, or Seris will send everything she’s got after this decrepit little cutter of yours,” Zave said.

                “They always threaten you,” Orion said to Kento. 

                “So I can see,” Kento said.

                “Hey, I’m talking at you!” Zave shouted.

                Orion spoke louder to Zave, “Shut up.  Just shut up.  I am so done dealing with you like a man.  Seris isn’t going to send so much as a bartender after you, Zave.  She’s got a dozen other thugs to worry about.  You’re a rounding error to her.  You want to be useful?  You want out of that hold?  Tell us about Braca.”

                Kento prompted him, “You said his people had Jedi skills.  What did you mean?”

                “I’m not telling you anything until you let me out of here and let me use a damned refresher!” Zave said.

                Orion shrugged and opened the door.

                “What are you doing?” Kento asked.

                “I don’t want him making a mess in my cargo bay.  You see a cleaning droid around here?”

                Zave stepped out and looked between the two of them.  Orion pointed a thumb at the ladder behind him.

               “Upstairs, first door on the right after the galley.  Touch anything important and I’ll have him lightsaber your face off,” Orion said.

                Kento blanched at the threat, but Zave seemed unaffected.  He rushed up the ladder quickly.  Orion followed him up.

                “You really think it’s safe to let him out of there?” Kento asked.

                “I think we can take him if he gets rowdy,” Orion said. 

                As they reentered the galley, Orion set the stool on one side of the table and moved the two chairs to the other.  A few minutes later when Zave emerged from the refresher, Orion waved him to the stool. 

                “Braca,” Orion said.

                “Why should I tell you a thing?” Zave said.

                “I’m the one flying this ship.  I choose where you get off.  You want to go back home?  You want to go to Kessel?  How about Oovo IV?  How about in open space a few lightyears away from Oovo IV?”

                “If he’s a Jedi, he’s not going to let you space me,” Zave said.

                “If he was a Jedi, he’d just rip the knowledge out of your head,” Orion said.

                “He can do that?” Zave said.

                “You wanna find out?” Orion said.

                “I think you’re bluffing,” Zave said.

                Orion tapped Kento on the foot under the table.  Kento looked at him sideways.  Orion nodded.

                Kento put out a hand.  He waved it past Zave’s face.

                “Tell us what you know about Braca,” Kento said.

                Zave blinked.  He looked unmoved, “This is what you’ve got?”

                Orion looked at Kento and shrugged one shoulder towards Zave.

                Kento waved his hand again, “You want to tell us what you know about Braca.”

                Again, Zave seemed unaffected.

                Orion put a single finger in the air and said to Zave, “Give us a moment.” 

                “Take your time,” Zave said.

                Orion put a hand on Kento’s shoulder, and they turned to confer quietly, “What’s going on?”

                Kento sounded apologetic in his whisper, “I don’t know.  This has never happened to me before.”

                “You think it’s the shooting?” Orion asked.

                “No, I think it’s the spice,” Kento countered.

                “That stuff can mess with your brain,” Orion said.

                “Either way, this isn’t happening,” Kento said.

                “So what do you want to do?” Orion said.

                “You’re the Ranger.  Did they teach you interrogation on D’rinba IV?” Kento said.

                “Okay, okay.  Relax,” Orion said. 

                They turned back to Zave, who looked more smug than his Duros face seemed to allow for.

                “You two about done?  Can I go home now?” Zave said.

                “Okay, you’re right.  He’s no Jedi.  He can’t invade your mind.  But that means he also doesn’t give a damn if I dump you in a gundark nest,” Orion said.

                “I know you, Fixer.  You’ve got that messed up sense of honor among thieves.  And you’re a bad liar.  Why don’t you talk payment?  Or at least tell me what’s going on here?”

                Kento took the datapad from the countertop and activated it.  He pulled up the images of the dead Selkath victim.

                Zave looked down at the datapad and recoiled in horror, “Ugh, hey!  What is this?  What are you showing me here?!” he said, turning away.

                “Open your eyes!  That’s what we’re trying to stop!” Orion said.  “There’s a crazy guy out there who’s hunting people, pumping them full of spice, and carving up the bodies.”

                “And you want me to help you track him down?  What, so I can be his next vic?  I don’t think so!” Zave said.

                “He’s only going after Force users.  You wouldn’t be of any interest to him,” Kento said.

                “Sure, right,” Zave said.  “A guy carving people up doesn’t seem like he’d be vengeful at all.”

                “Okay, look, forget Braca for a second.  What do you know about a bounty hunter named Montross?”

                “You said forget about Braca,” Zave said.

                “Yeah, we’re talking about Montross now,” Orion said.

                “That’s still talking about Braca!  Montross is Braca’s hunter of choice,” Zave said.

                “Montross works for Braca?” Kento said.

                “I told you; I’m not talking about this!” Zave said.  “Quit trying to trick me.”

                “How do you know Montross works for Braca?  You’re in a rival gang,” Kento said.

                “Last year, we had a spice runner who went rogue.  He made off with a tanker worth of Kessel glitterstim.  Wanted to set himself up with a fat paycheck and leave us all in the dust.  We sent three bounty hunters after him.  Montross killed two of them and our runner.  Not long after that, we found some of Braca’s crew hawking that spice on Nar Shaddaa,” Zave said.

                “So he’s good?” Orion said.

                “He’s very good,” Zave said.

                “You think he could do this?” Kento said, holding up the datapad.

                “No way.  When Montross kills you, he just kills you,” Zave indicated the datapad, “That’s straight crazy,” he said.

                “But Braca?” Kento said.

                “Braca’s a kingpin.  He’s got people, just like Seris.  You keep them in line however you can,” Zave said.

                “Fear is a pretty powerful motivation,” Orion said.

                “You said his people have ‘Jedi stuff’.  What did you mean?” Kento asked.

                “They’re like you.  They can do all that hand-waving stuff.  Throw you across a room and stuff like that,” Zave said.

                “Do they carry lightsabers?” Kento asked.

                “Who the hell carries a lightsaber?” Zave said.

                “I do,” Kento said.  He pulled his saber from his belt and put it on the table.

                Orion looked down to admire the curved-handle of Kento’s lightsaber.  The chromium glinted in the lights of the galley.

                “That’s nice.  I haven’t seen one like that before,” Orion said.

                “Focus,” Kento chided.

                “Right,” Orion said.  Then he turned back to Zave, “Look, let’s bottom line this thing.  You can tell me where to find Braca and I’ll drop you off anywhere you want.  Name the planet and I’ll have you there fast as I can fly.  You’ll never see me again and I’ll forget your name.  All I need is a location.”

                Zave chuckled, “You two are idiots.  You never heard of Braca until yesterday.  And now you think you can just walk in and grab him.  What, after you deal with Montross out front?  I wish I could give you that location.  Just have you march right in and get your heads blown off.  You two deserve it,” he sighed, “Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that.  You’d know that if you did any research.”

                “What are you talking about?” Orion said.

                “Braca doesn’t have a base.  He’s not like Seris.  There’s no bar or hideout or whatever you’re picturing.  He stays mobile.”

                “On a ship,” Kento asked.

                “Yes, on a ship.  He’s got a big ship and he keeps it moving,” Zave said.

               Orion asked, “What’s the…”

               “I don’t know the name, or the registration, or where he flies.  As you can imagine, this isn’t a guy that people talk about all that much,” Zave said.

               “What about Montross?” Kento asked.

               “What about him?” Zave asked.

               “How do we find him?” Kento said.

               “He’s a bounty hunter.  Put out a bounty and wait.  Or dangle some money out of a window and see if he shows up.  C’mon, guys,” Zave said. 

               “You ever heard of Hoth, Zave?” Orion said.

               “No,” Zave said.

               “It’s about to be your port of harbor unless you tell me something useful.  They got these things called wampas.  You’re gonna love it there,” Zave said.

               Zave sighed and made an obscene gesture with his hand.  “What do you want from me, Fixer?  I can’t give you what I don’t have.”

               “I don’t need the Force to know you haven’t given me everything,” Orion said.

               “Fine.  There’s a bounty out now on a guy.  I figure Montross might be interested,” Zave said.

               “Where?”

               “Who’s the target?” Orion asked.

               “A guy named Voster Dent.”

                                                                                –

                “And so, after you spoke with the merchant on Outland Station, you contacted the local police?” Adi Gallia asked.

                “Yes, Master.”

                “And from them, you heard about the undercover identity of Master Vos?” Gallia asked.

                “Yes, Master.”

                “And that’s when you called me?” Plo Koon asked.

                “Yes, Master.  Just as soon as we left Outland Station,” Kento said.

                                                                                –

                The communications console beeped and whirred as the image of Master Plo Koon materialized on the screen.  His face was unencumbered by a breathing mask, which told Kento that he’d reached the Jedi Master in his private quarters.  The Kel Dor species could not live in an oxygen atmosphere, but within his quarters at the Jedi Temple, other gases were piped in for the comfort of the respected Master.

                “Master Koon,” Kento said.

                “Kento, how goes it?” the Kel Dor master said. 

                Kento could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen his former master without a mask.  The sight was startling.

               “The killer’s name is Braca.  We are tracing him through a bounty hunter that he uses to locate Force Users.  Somewhere in this galaxy is a being called Voster Dent.  We need to find him, and we need to find him fast.  He’s Braca’s next target,” Kento said.

               There was a rumble through the communications circuits.  It was impossible for an oxygen breather to accurately read the facial expression of a Kel Dor, but he could sense unease even through the screens and lightyears that separated them.

               “Do you know this person?” Kento said.

               An audible sigh was emitted from the speakers.  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” Koon said.

               “Is he a Jedi?” Kento asked.

               Again there was a grumble, “Is your Jal Shey friend in the room, Kento?”

               Orion poked his head in from over Kento’s left shoulder, “I’m here, Master Jedi,” Orion said.

               “Could you not be?” Koon asked.

               “Um, sure.  It’s my ship, but I get it.  Everyone needs a little privacy,” Orion said.

               There was an awkward moment as Kento and Orion shared an exchange of silent glances.  Each unsure, each straining for graciousness.

               Orion shuffled past Kento, and an audible click of the bulkhead door could be heard.  The two Jedi could converse privately.

               “He’s gone, Master.  Who is Voster Dent?”

               “Voster Dent is an undercover identity for Quinlan Vos.  Vos has been infiltrating Hutt operations in the Outer Rim for some time,” Plo Koon said.

                “He’s in danger,” Kento said, matter-of-factly.

                “Do you really think so?” Koon asked.

                “Yes, I do,” Kento said.

                “He’s a full-fledged Jedi Knight, with years of training.  Very strong in the Force,” Koon said.

                “And the killer we are tracking has defeated many Force users.  We know of at least seven,” Kento said.

                “Seven?”

                “I’ll deliver the lightsabers after my mission is complete.  This man Braca is incredibly dangerous.  Wherever Quinlan Vos is, he needs to be aware of this threat,” Kento said.

                Silence passed between them.

                “Do you know where Quinlan Vos is, Master Koon?”

                “I’m sorry to say I don’t.  But I do have a comm code for him,” Koon said.

                “I’m ready to copy it down,” Kento said.

                “You need to be very careful.  If you interrupt him at a critical moment, you may well put his life at risk yourself,” Kento said.

                Kento could only think of one reply.  One Plo Koon had taught him as a boy.

               “Trust in the Force.”

                                                                                –

                Dawn breaks twice on Tatooine.  Under the long shadows of early morning, Quinlan Vos slept hard.  In a small hovel on the outskirts of Mos Espa, he rolled over groggily at the sound of his beeping comlink. 

                That wasn’t supposed to happen.  No one on this planet had his comm code. 

                Last night’s hangover made the beeping echo through his skull like a warship’s collision bell.  He needed to make it stop.  He went to the water tank.  Opening the valve, he threw a handful of cold water into his face.  That did the trick.  The beeping had gone from a howling fury to a reasonable annoyance.

                Withdrawing a lockbox from under his table, he entered the code on the tumblers.  The latch opened and he found the three most important objects to him on this planet.  One was his lightsaber, the other was his credentials, the real ones.  The last was the comlink that was his only connection back to the Temple on Coruscant. 

                He accepted the incoming signal and plugged the comlink into the projector.

                “Whoever this is, do you have any idea what time it is here?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

                “I don’t even know where here is,” Kento said.

                “Who the hell are you?” Quinlan asked, getting a good look at his caller for the first time.

                “My name is Kento Marek.  I’m an instructor on Ilum,” Kento said.

                “I haven’t been to the academy in years.  And last I checked, I don’t have to do homework anymore, so what do you want?”

                “I’m calling to tell you that you’re in danger,” Kento said.

                Quinlan looked at the projector sideways.  It dawned on him that he was shirtless, “I’m a Jedi on an undercover assignment on a planet controlled by the Hutts.  I’ve been in danger for three months.”

                “This is a different threat,” Kento said.

                Quinlan sighed and pulled up a chair, facing the projector again.  He put his head in his hands for a moment and groaned, then looked back at the blue holographic visage that confronted him.

                “What is it?” Quinlan asked.

                “There’s a bounty on your head,” Kento said.

                “There’s always a bounty on my head.  Which of my three undercover identities does someone want dead?”

                “Voster Dent,” Kento said.

                “I haven’t used that name in a long time,” Vos said.  “Who put a bounty on me?”

                “A spice runner named Braca,” Kento asked.

                “Braca?  I don’t have any beef with Braca.  What does he want with me?” Quinlan asked.

                “Braca is targeting Force users.  Jedi, Jal Shey, different types.  He’s killing them ritualistically,” Kento said.

                “Creepy, but okay.  What do you want me to do about it?” Quinlan asked.

               “Do you need to be extracted?  We have a ship.  If you tell us where you are, we can come and get you,” came another voice.

               “Who is that?” Quinlan asked.

               “Orion Xadau, I’m a Jal Shey Ranger working with Jedi Marek.”

               “Well, whoever you are, you’re not going to mess up my operation.  I’ve been at this too long now,” Quinlan said. 

               “We need to locate Braca.  You seem to be his next target.  I don’t wish to blow your cover, so I’m open to suggestions,” Kento said.

               “The bounty is for Dent?” Quinlan said.

               “That’s correct,” Kento said.

               “Good.  The last time anyone saw Voster Dent was on one of the moons of Cato Neimoidia.  I’ll book a ticket on a transport to Daiyu.  I’ll do it under the name Voster Dent.  There will be a record that a good bounty hunter could trace,” Quinlan said.

               “I see.  So you’ll book the ticket, but won’t make the flight?” Kento asked.

               “Exactly.  Fly to Daiyu and go to my safehouse there.  I’m transmitting the coordinates for it to you now,” Quinlan said, pressing a few buttons on his console.  “If they can find the flight, they can find my safehouse.  You’ll be able to wait for your hunter and get the drop on him there,” Quinlan said.

               Kento conferred with Orion offscreen and then returned his attention to Quinlan, “We can be on Daiyu in less than a day.”

               “I’ll arrange the flight tomorrow.  You may be in for a wait,” Quinlan said.

               “That’s fine with us,” Kento said.

               “Good.  Don’t ever contact me again,” Quinlan said.

               “Understood,” Kento said.

               “One more thing, who is Braca sending after me?” Quinlan asked.

               “A bounty hunter named Montross,” Kento said.

               “Hmph, he must really want me dead.  Best of luck.” Quinlan said.

                                                                                –

               The Thunder Child set down at a busy dockyard on the planet Daiyu.  They had stuck Zave back in the cargo bay.  He’d served his purpose.  Orion went to give him the happy news that they were going to let him go, now that he could cause them no trouble.

               As Orion descended the ladder and peered through the cargo bay window, he saw the Duros crouched in the far corner.  He was bent over, with his back to the door.  Orion thought something might be amiss, so he opened the door in a flash. 

               His orange saber lit the dim cargo bay as he walked brusquely towards his captive.

               “Set away, there, Zave.  What have you got there?”

               The Duros turned.  Orion saw an orange powder around Zave’s face.  His red eyes flashed bright with the sheen of a spice high.  The Jal Shey Ranger was disgusted, if relieved.  Better a stash of spice than a thermal detonator.  He deactivated his saber.

               “Zave, you idiot.  Why have you got to get into that right now?  I was just about to let you go,” Orion said.

               “I step off this ship and I’ve got scary men who want me dead.  Might as well enjoy it while I can,” he said, shaking the empty vial of spice.

               “Nothing like a good fix,” Orion said, shaking his head.

               “You killed me.  You know that?  If Montross hasn’t marked me yet, then Braca surely will,” Zave said.

               Orion rolled his eyes, “Yeah, we’ve all got problems.  I kinda doubt you’re important enough for them to care about.  And I’m about to make it not matter.  Get up.  This is your port of harbor,” Orion said, grabbing him by the back of his collar.

               Orion marched him to the landing ramp and all but shoved him off the ship.  Zave stumbled and then started to laugh maniacally.   Kento looked on at this little melodrama and was anything but amused.

               “Go back to Nar Shaddaa, or better yet, go do something else,” Orion said.  “Whatever you’re thinking about, forget it.  History has proved your first thoughts aren’t winners.”

               Zave’s eyes seared into Kento’s mind, “Nothing I could do to you would compare to the wrath of the Black Queen.”

               “What are you talking about, spicesniffer?” Orion said.

               “You’ve seen her,” he said, pointing to Kento, “In your dreams.  The last and the first.  The final arc of the loop.  She’ll be glad to make you a part of her glory.”

               Zave pushed a chilling laugh into the putrid air between them.  Then he slowly backed away onto the streets of Daiyu.  He kept his eyes on Kento and Orion.  Which meant he never saw the hoverttruck that swept past and plowed into his right side.  The bulky vehicle flattened him into a shattered stew of bone and blood.  

               Orion and Kento shared a look of horror.  They raced to the streetcorner not ten meters away.  The truck carried on as if nothing had given it the slightest delay.  Droid drivers were programmed not to stop.  A crowd formed around the remains, but it quickly dispersed when blue lights appeared at the end of the block.  The Daiyu locals would handle this, and Orion saw nothing to be gained from informing the police of their involvement.

               Daiyu was a capacitor.  It soaked up stench and energy and grime and neon and spat them out in equal measures.  Everywhere you looked there were droves of people.  A fetid stew of life and decay, with a pinch of death mixed in for spice.  At every turn there were three different species Orion could identify and at least one he couldn’t.  The crowds shuffled on sidewalks.  They filed into hovertrains.  They conducted commerce and conversation.  For someone who could feel the energy of life, it was almost deafening to be in such a wash of it. 

               Kento was still stunned as they passed by a row of grimy shops.  Orion walked next to him but tried not to look the Jedi in the eye.

               “Are you okay?” Orion asked.

               “I uh…”

               “I’ve never seen anything like that either,” Orion said, finishing his thought.

               “Yeah,” Kento said, trying to shake the memory from his brain.

               “Do you have any idea what he was talking about?  That thing with the dreams and the, what was it?”

               “The Black Queen?” Kento asked.

               “Yeah,” Orion said.

               “No.  I don’t… no.”

               “He’s a spice user.  You can’t take him too seriously,” Orion said.

               “Well, not anymore,” Kento said.

               Orion coughed down a small chuckle, “When you were high on that stuff he gave you…” Orion let the thought trail off.

               “It was weird,” Kento said.

               “It always is, the first time.  And the twentieth,” Orion said.

               “You’ve had it?”

               “I was undercover for a year.  Didn’t have a choice,” Orion said.

               “Did it… I mean, what was that thing with the loop and the…”

               “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know,” Orion said.

               “I thought you wanted to know everything,” Kento said.

               “I thought I did too,” Orion said.  He grabbed Kento by the sleeve and pulled him into a building.  They had reached the safehouse.

                                                                                –

               Vos’s safehouse on Daiyu was somewhere between squalor and decrepit.  They had found a Trandoshan couple squatting there upon their first arrival.  It had taken a forceful suggestion to get them to move along to another apartment. 

               Kento was relieved that the place had running water, but that was about the only amenity it could boast.  The mattress, such as it was, was a patchwork of stains and smells that he dared not consider.  The view was of another building across an alleyway.  The natural aura was a cross between rotting meat and narcotic violations. 

               The cold storage had two bottles of Aqualish beer.  Sitting in the only two chairs that were structurally sound and bacterially non-invasive, Kento and Orion talked things out while they drank.

               “Are you doing okay with all of this?” Orion asked.

               Kento paused for a long moment, clearly in silent contemplation.  Orion was about to prompt him when he spoke first. 

               “Death, crime, spice.  You live in a world of madness.  You ever worry that it’ll corrupt you?  You ever worry if you’re a bad man?” Kento asked.

               Orion shook his head and sipped his ale, “No, sir. I know for sure that I’m a bad man.  The galaxy needs bad men.  We keep the rest of the bad men from the innocents.”

               Kento washed that insight down with a sip of ale.  Orion moved them to other subjects.

               “So, I’m thinking I should be his bait and we’ll have you concealed and ready to step in,” Orion said, cracking open his bottle on the edge of the table.

               “Why are you playing the bait?” Kento asked. 

               “From what we saw on Tertan-Ral, he hits his targets with spice,” Orion said.

               “Braca does, not Montross,” Kento said.

               “That’s an assumption.  Either way, we know spice is something that is used to incapacitate the victims,” Orion said.

               “So, why should it be you?” Kento said.

               “I saw how you were when you got that bump of spice back on Nar Shaddaa.  I thought I was going to have to take you to a medical droid,” Orion said, with a slight smirk.

               “It wasn’t that bad,” Kento said.

               “Let’s not lie to each other,” Orion said, with a mild smirk.  “I’m amazed you woke up, let alone were able to come get us.”

               Silence bore through the space between them.  They each contemplated the task to come and neither did so with relish. 

               Orion checked the time, “I think he’ll wait for night.”

               “I would, if I were him,” Kento said, nodding.

               Orion pulled the K-2 off his hip and toggled one of the switches on the blaster, “Here.  Take this,” he said to Kento.

               “I’m not shooting anyone,” Kento said.

               “You mean anyone else?” Orion said.

               Kento gave him a stern look.

                “Relax, I set it on stun.  You may need to put him down and a lightsaber in his back isn’t going to tell us where Braca is,” Orion said.

                Kento wrinkled his mouth but took the blaster.

                “One thing,” Orion said, putting a hand over his as he held the blaster, “We don’t talk this over.  He comes in.  He comes after me.  You shoot him.  He falls over.  No talking.  No bartering.  No bantha poodoo.  Put him down.”

                “Then what?”

                “Then we haul him back to the Thunder Child and figure out what’s next.  He’s too dangerous to deal with when he’s armed,” Orion said.

                “Another kidnapping?” Kento asked.

                “It’s not like I planned the first one,” Orion said.

                “Still, we’re going to get a reputation as kidnappers,” Kento said with a wry grin, taking a sip of his ale. 

                “It’s not an original plan, but it’s worked for us so far,” Orion said.

                Kento tapped his bottle against Orion’s and smiled, “Old Mandalorians had an expression: Drink it all, you’re dead tomorrow.”

                “Let’s hope Montross has a sense of humor,” Orion said.

                “Doubtful,” Kento said.  “If he gets the drop on you…”

                Orion waved away the concern, “I’ve heard tell of these Trandoshan enforcers from Black Sun.  Black Sun uses them for debt collection.  They don’t have to work too hard.”

                “Why is that?” Kento asked.

                “They have a method.  They catch you, then they tie you up.  They starve you for ten days.  Then they start cutting pieces off.  They cut off everything that isn’t vital and feed it to you.  By then you’re hungry enough to take it.”

                “Yeesh, that’s bad,” Kento said.

                “When there’s nothing left that you can’t spare, they bring out a deep fryer and cook what’s left.”

                Kento didn’t have a word for that.

                “Yeah, so, whatever we got in front of us… it ain’t that.”

                Color came back to Kento’s face slowly.  He sat back and downed the last of his beer.  “You know, we ought to have a nice meal.  We aren’t likely to have too many chances to sit and eat in peace from here on.”

                Orion’s eyebrows went up, “That does sound good.  You want to run out and grab us something?”

                Kento nodded, “Sure.  What do you want?”

                “Nothing fried.”

                                                                                –

                Kento found a hole-in-the-wall establishment that sold noodles with various accoutrements.  He paid the merchant well and went to an adjoining shop for a couple of bottles of water and a couple more with exotic tinctures. 

                The four flights of stairs leading up to the apartment were dimly lit and bug-infested.  He lamented the lack of a functioning turbolift in the building. 

                When he reached the door to the apartment, it was blasted off its hinges.

                He froze.  Almost losing his grip on the food containers.  He placed the bags on the floor and drew his lightsaber, fingering the button, but leaving it inactive.  The snap-hiss would surely alert an intruder to his presence.  The blaster stayed on his belt.  When the danger was close, he wanted something familiar. 

                He tiptoed inside, checking the corners of the room as he came through the door.  No sign of anyone.  The kitchen was empty.  So was the bottle he’d left on the table.  Orion’s wasn’t next to it.  There was no sign of his partner. 

               He heard a loud creak from the bedroom. 

               Kento’s head snapped around.  The door to the bedroom was cracked open.  He pushed himself flush against the wall and looked through the slit between the door and the wall.

               He saw Orion on the floor, he was face down.  Kento watched for a moment, but he couldn’t tell if the Jal Shey was breathing or dead.  His mind raced.  If Orion was already dead, he wasn’t sure if he could handle Montross on his own.  If he was stunned, then Montross might be using the body as bait. 

               He had to go in.  Fast and loud, or slow and quiet?  His heart raced.  He reached out with the Force.  He sensed the energy beyond the frame.  Montross was inside.  He was sure of it.

               An idea came to him.  It formed at the edge of his mind, like a hazy shadow.  Then suddenly it came into a clarity that he rarely felt.  It snapped into shape, crisp and sharp.  As a boy, Master Koon had taught him that such moments were insights into the will of the Force.  Orion had given doubt to that theory.

               In a clear voice, he spoke through the door, “Montross.  You are targeted.  Slowly, put your weapons down and your hands up.”

               “Whoever you are, stay away from the sabaac tables.  You’re a horrible bluffer,” Montross said.

               Kento had been taught that violence had to be a last resort.  He was proud neither of what he had done, nor of what he was about to do.  But justice demanded action.

               The hilt of his lightsaber emitter made a slight noise as he pressed it to the wall.  The snap-hiss that he had worried would give him away now sounded muffled as the blade of his saber cut through the wall between him and Montross.

               In a streak of plaster, steel, and blue plasma, Montross saw the lightsaber blade burst from the wall and come for his throat.  Kento cut through the wall and slashed hard for the spot where Montross stood.  The rush of panic echoed from Montross and was more than enough to confirm his location.  Even then, the bounty hunter let out a shocked yawp as he stumbled back, trying to avoid the blade.

               Kento wasted no time, using a surge of the Force to shove through the flimsy wall.  Shabby residences like this rundown building used cheap material as a matter of course.  The shards burst forth in a hypnotic shower as he shoved his way into the room.  Kento shut his eyes to avoid the spray of debris.  Vision itself was superfluous now.  The Force told him all he needed to know. 

               A quick slash and the blaster rifle Montross carried was cut in half.  The bounty hunter was falling back on his heels.  When he hit the floor, he backpedaled.  By the time he reached the far wall, Kento’s blade was under his chin.

               Montross looked up.  His white hair stood on end.  After a beat he brought his hands together and clapped, “Nice move, Jedi!”

               Kento smiled despite himself. 

               “If you’re not going to kill me, would you mind if I stood?”

               Behind him, he heard a groan.  Orion flailed a bit on the floor.  Kento fought all his instincts to keep from turning to look. 

               “Toss… the guns,” Orion said, groaning.

               Kento nodded, jutting his chin at the ankle holster on Montross’s armor.

               Montross reached for it with both hands.  Kento snapped the saber blade in front of his eyes, “One hand, two fingers, toss it in the corner.”

               Montross slowed his movement, putting his right hand up.  His left hand slid the holdout blaster out of its holster and slid it across the floor.

               “One… more,” Orion said, still clearly in pain.

               Montross shared a look with Kento, then sighed and nodded.  He reached under the brown shoulder plate of his Mandalorian armor and pulled out a smaller blaster.  Again he tossed it away.

               “Blades,” Orion said.  Kento heard him groan as he sat up.

               Montross pulled a vibroblade from the gauntlet on his wrist.  With a pair of pinched fingers, he tossed it in the corner.

               Behind Kento, Orion groaned and fell back on the floor, face up this time, exhausted.

               “You didn’t kill him?” Kento asked, throwing a shoulder back to indicate the stunned Jal Shey Ranger on the floor.

               “I’m here for Dent.  If Dent wasn’t here, I need him alive to tell me where he is,” Montross said.

               Kento nodded, “Get up.”

               Montross put a hand on each of the walls that cornered him.  As he rose, Kento felt a strange sensation at his back.  In a flash, a blue bolt came from between his legs.  The stun shot hit Montross square in his chest plate.  He crumpled back to the floor in a heap.

               Kento turned and saw Orion holding his K-2 blaster, ripped by the Force from its temporary residence on Kento’s belt. 

               “No… frelling… talking,” Orion said.  Then he fell back on the floor.

               Kento looked back and forth between the two stunned men. 

                                                                                –

               It was easier than he thought to hire a load lifter droid.  The company that hired them out didn’t ask questions.  And the droid itself didn’t even have a vocabulator.  Kento threw all Montross’s weapons and armor into a bag.  When the white-haired bounty hunter stirred, he fired another stun bolt into his back.  That stopped the groaning.

               He put a shoulder under Orion’s arm and together they gave the appearance of two drunks staggering back from a bad night at the cantina.  Walking a few paces behind the load lifter, they were simply one pair of unsavory characters in a stew of seedy eccentrics. 

               He paid the droid’s fee with a few coins in its receiving slot and then used the Force to deposit Montross’s thick frame into the cargo hold.  He poured Orion into the small bed aft of the ship’s galley, then went to the cockpit.

               An hour later, he was in open space and Orion padded in, groggy and limping.

               “You alright?” Kento asked.

               “Yeah, he hit me in the leg, and it still hasn’t woken back up yet.  But I’m good,” Orion said.

               “Good,” Kento said.

               Orion looked over the ship’s consoles, “What’s our…”

               “HEY!  Let me out of here!” came a loud and angry voice from below.

               “I think our guest is awake,” Kento said.

               “Let’s see if he’d like some breakfast,” Orion said.

               “Have I mentioned how much I love running a B&B with you?” Kento asked.

               “No, but it’s nice to hear you say so,” Orion said as they made their way down the ladder. 

               “Hellooo, Montross,” Orion said as they looked in on him through the window in the door. 

               “You’re kidnapping me?” Montross said with a snarl.

               “Oh, I’m sorry, you object to being taken somewhere against your will, bounty hunter?” Kento said.

               Montross rolled his eyes, “If you’re not gonna kill me, what’s the point of this?  Is there a bounty on me now?”

               “Braca,” Orion said.

               “I don’t give up clients,” Montross said.  “It’s bad for business.”

               “He’s a bad client,” Kento said.

               “I don’t care,” Montross said.

               “He’s giving you a bad name out there,” Orion said.

               “What are you talking about?” Montross asked.

               “Have you seen what he does with the people you bring him?” Kento asked.

               “Of course not.  That’s not the job,” Montross said.

               “He guts them and drains the blood,” Kento said.

               “And pays promptly,” Montross said.

                “You really want to get a reputation for being morbid?” said Kento.

                “With some clients, that might help,” replied the bounty hunter.

                “Ugh,” Kento said, disgusted.

                A silence settled for a long beat.  Orion saw that letting Kento try the moral approach was a mistake.  He changed tactics. 

                “I’m curious about your methods,” Orion said.

                “What do you mean?” Montross asked.

               “Word on the street is that you don’t do live bounties.”

               “Carefully cultivated word,” Montross said.

               “So why drag home live bodies for Braca?” Orion asked.

               Montross rubbed the fingers of one hand back and forth.

               “I still get my kills in when I need to,” Montross said.

               “Oh yeah?” Orion asked.

               “You should talk to the last guy who tried to interfere with my business.  Oh wait, you can’t.”

               “Big, tough guy,” Orion said, acting unimpressed.

               “Shopkeeper had that same attitude,” Montross said.

               “What?” Orion said, turning to look him in the eye.

               “Some fool on Outland Station who didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.  I made sure that mouth will never open again.  Fat, ugly, slob.”

               Orion turned to look at Kento.  Kento had a hand to his mouth and his eyes had gone wide.  Orion pulled him away from Montross’s gaze. 

               He gripped Kento’s shoulder and spoke to him in a honed whisper, “Don’t let on.”

               “What?” Kento asked matching his low volume, “He killed your friend!”

               “Shh!  There’s no reason for him to know we were involved.  Information is all we have here.  Let’s not give away some out of anger,” Orion said.

               “I’m not letting this pass,” Kento said.

               “Braca first.  We throw Montross to the authorities and Braca will go so deep underground we’ll never find him.”

               “Are you really going to pretend like nothing happened?” Kento asked.

               “If Dex was here, he’d tell you the same thing.” Orion said.

               “Are you two handmaidens done gossiping?” Montross called out.

                Orion changed the subject, “What do you fly?”

                “What’s it to you?” Montross said.

                “Just answer the question,” Orion said.

                Montross harrumphed and looked around the empty hold, “I fly a CloakShape.  Not much, but it could outfly and outfight this hunk of junk.”

                “What does Braca fly?” Orion asked.

                “Ha!  Nice try, blue.  I’m not that stupid,” Montross said.

                Orion held up an empty hand, “Look, is his ship nicer than yours?  I mean, you’re a bounty hunter.  CloakShapes are small.  How do you even fit a bounty in there with you?”

                Montross laughed, “Most of the time I just bring the heads.”

                “Charming,” Orion said.  Kento turned away from this loathsome character.

                “What’s your point, blue?” Montross asked.

                “I’m betting whatever he flies is better than your dinky little starfighter.  How’d you like to trade up?”

                Montross stroked his stubbled chin, “At least you’re starting to get interesting.”

                Kento chimed in, “And we’ll let you keep the spice.  His ship will be loaded with it.  You can sell it off, no questions asked.”

                Montross looked pensive, “Do you have anything remotely resembling a plan?”

                Orion stepped forward, “Contact him through your usual channels.  Tell him you located Voster Dent on a ship.  This ship.  You’ll give him the course and position and he’ll take it from there.”

                “That’s not usually how this works,” Montross said.

                “Then make something up!  Earn your money, nerfherder.” Orion said. 

                “You might even get him to make an upfront payment for the freighter coordinates,” said Kento.

                “Not likely, but it’d be nice.  Still, a new ship isn’t worth betraying a client.  Word gets around,” said Montross.

                “Braca’s not going to be a free man for long whether you do this or not.  We’ll get him with or without you.  You can either sit back and watch, or you can get paid a lot of money for a bare minimum of work.  You pick it.  By the way, option three is you learning to breathe vacuum real fast,” said Orion.

                Montross steepled his fingers and laughed.  “That’s the spirit!  Hey Jedi, you could learn something from your friend here.  At least he’s not playing around,” said the pale bounty hunter. 

               Clearly, they’d gotten his interest. 

               Orion looked him over, “It’s not about the money for you, is it?  It’s not even about the reputation.  You don’t have any real loyalty to Braca.”

               “Don’t think you understand me so easily,” Montross said.

               “You sat there this whole time and the word ‘credits’ hasn’t come out of your mouth,” Orion said.

               “What’s your point?” Montross said.

               “You like the hunt,” Orion said.

               “I love the hunt,” Montross said. 

               “Would you rather hunt the weaklings that Braca has you taking down now, or do you want a prize that’s truly worth your time?”

               “Braca himself,” Montross said.

               “Anyone can take down a padawan.  It takes a true hunter to take down a kingpin.”

               Montross gave a hearty laugh and crossed his arms.

               “Toss in a thousand credits and you’re on!”

                                                                                –

               “And so, you set a trap for this man Braca,” Gallia asked.

               “With Montross’s help,” Kento said.

                                                                                –

                  After the credits had been transferred, the tension lessened somewhat.  Montross had gone from kidnapping victim to hired mercenary, and he was still a professional.  Orion wasn’t impressed with the lack of a snarl from their newest visitor.  He kept a wary eye on Montross and Kento joined him in his suspicions. 

                They sat on either side of Montross as he worked the communications console.  This was their first look at Braca. 

                He wore a mask.  A thin hood of black material framed the durasteel oval that covered his face.  A pair of lines cut vertically over the eyes, all the way to the base of both cheeks.  There was no aperture for the mouth or nose.  Black ovals, linked with a line, marked the eyes.  The visage was designed for ominous anonymity.  It was the mask of an assassin, a cutthroat, a man who would sacrifice honor for power. 

                The voice that came forth was controlled, but edgy, “Montross, do you have my package ready?”

                Right to business. 

                “Hit a bit of a snag.  I found Dent on Daiyu, but he slipped away.  He stowed away on a Doomtreader before I could cut him off.  I’d go after him myself, but my ship’s hyperdrive is down.  I need to get it fixed, but I know where he’s going.”

                Braca pursed his lips and looked off to the side, perhaps at an underling.  Perhaps not.

                “This is unlike you, Montross.  I expected better,” Braca said.

                “You can have him now, or I can bring him in later, what’s your pleasure?” Montross said.

                Braca gave him a disapproving look.  He sighed and nodded, “Send the damned data.  If I get to him before you do, your reward money is forfeit.”

                “That’s why I always take half upfront,” Montross said, with a bit of a chuckle.  He pressed a few buttons and the ship’s navicomputer transmitted the data packet. 

                Braca looked aside to another screen and examined the incoming information.

                “Adrathorpe?  You think he could be heading for Jedha?” Braca asked.

                “You pay me to shoot, not to speculate,” Montross said.

                “If I get there and he doesn’t show, I won’t be paying you ever again,” Braca said.

                “He’ll be there,” Montross said.  He projected the confidence of a man who was comfortable ending lives.

                “We will see,” Braca said.

                                                                                –

               It would take a while to reach the Adrathorpe system.  Montross, being the least nervous man onboard, was asleep in the cargo bay.  Kento found Orion, munching on a midnight snack in the galley. 

               For a long time, neither of them spoke.  Orion waved a hand to indicate the fuel line, offering to fix Kento another of his milkfuel specials, but Kento shook him off.  He wanted nothing that might dull his senses in the coming fight. 

               But there was a question on his mind that remained unanswered.

               “With your friend, Dex…”

               “Don’t do that to yourself,” Orion said.

               “I’m just so sorry,” Kento said.

               “When the time comes, we’ll get justice for Dex.  But he can wait,” Orion said.

               “I just…”

               “It’s okay,” Orion said.

               They sat in silence for a bit.  Somehow, sharing a space allowed them to share their burdens.

               “What was your second kill?” Kento asked. 

               Orion paused, sighed and rubbed his face, clearly pained from the extraction that Kento was now causing.               

                “You think the Force has a sense?  Can it make choices?  Does it know how we suffer?  Does it care?” Orion asked.

                Kento grimaced and shrugged, “I’d like to think it cares.  I’d like to think that it tries to tell us all to do better.”

                Orion gave a single chuckle of an exhale.  There was no humor in it, “One of my first assignments as a Ranger was to look into slave trafficking out near the Rishi Maze.  Bad business.  We’ve been trying to stop it for decades now.  But the Jal Shey aren’t exactly a massive group.  And we have more Scholars than Rangers.”

                “I noticed,” Kento said.

                “We needed to know what routes they were using to get off Nal Hutta, so I volunteered to be sold at one of the slave trading houses.”

                “That was bold,” Kento said.

                “Be without fear in the face of your enemies,” Orion said, quoting his oath by way of an explanation.  He continued, “I was on this transport, in a hold with a few hundred others.  They didn’t have to keep us in binders.  The only way out was ray shielded and about twenty meters over our heads.”

                “Effective,” Kento said.

                “Very,” Orion said.  “While I was in there, I met this Twi’lek girl.  Her name was Sana.  Beautiful.  Such a cliché, I know.  Twi’lek girls are victimized at a ridiculous rate.  There were probably two dozen like her around the hold.  But she and I got to talking.  She wasn’t from any special family on Ryloth.  No money.  No prestige.  But she was smart.  She learned navigation and took a job on a freighter.  It was honest work.  No smuggling, just a small shipping outfit.  Legitimate and proper.”

                “That’s pretty rare in the Outer Rim,” Kento said.

                Orion nodded, “Her ship got hit with an ion storm and had to put down on this small moon.  It got bad.  They ran out of food pretty fast.  She talked about how her crewmates turned pretty savage after a few weeks.  She was worried about being… she was worried about what the men would do to her; so, she ran.  Took the other woman who had survived, and they fled into a wasteland.  Just with the supplies on their backs.  The other woman froze on the third day.  Went down, never got back up.”

                Orion shivered, “She trekked across a tundra, alone, for… well, she lost track of time.  She was half-starved by the time she found shelter.  Said that she just kind of collapsed in this little igloo that was abandoned.  When she woke up, they’d found her.”

                “Her crew?” Kento asked.

                Orion shook his head, “Zygerrian slavers.  Vicious cutthroat types.  Even by Hutt standards.  They used the moon as a supply cache.  Came back to stock up and, what do you know, they found a Twi’lek girl just waiting to be captured.”

                “Terrible,” Kento said.

                “Terrible was what happened next.  I’ll give you the kindness of sparing you the details, but, whatever you imagine, it was worse,” Orion paused, gathering himself, “After they had their fun, they sold her to another group and eventually we wound up on the same ship together.  Girl had done nothing wrong, but that’s where the Force brought her.  Your vaunted Living Force that’s in all of us.  Including those men she ran from.”

                Kento let the thought wash over him for a beat.  He hated himself for asking, but he had to, “Orion… what happened to her?”

                “I happened,” Orion said.  “You know I couldn’t let that go.  The plan was to wait for me to be sold to a slaver before extracting me.  But they wouldn’t sell us as a group, so… I decided to blow the operation.”

                Kento nodded, unsurprised at that twist.

                “When we put down on Ord Mantell, I used a mind trick to get past a guard.  I’m not nearly as good at that as you, but I just clouded his mind enough to let us walk past,” Orion said.

                “Just the two of you?” Kento said.

                “I figured my extraction team would have come back for the others later.  The plan was just to figure out their shipping patterns.  We didn’t want to stop one shipment, we wanted to stop all of them,” Orion said, indignantly.

                “I was just asking,” Kento said.

                “Yeah.  We ran.  Stole a speeder and Czerka Security came after us,” Orion said.

                “Czerka?  You were sold to Czerka Corporation?” Kento said.

                “You think you build a corporate empire with justice and mercy?  You know how many ‘sentient assets’ they keep on their books?”

                “I…” Kento said.

                “Save it,” Orion said.  “While we were running, Sana found a blaster in the speeder’s storage box.  I drove, she shot at them.  Took out two of the speeder bikes.  She was good.

                “Sounds like it,” Kento said.

                “I was working the comms, trying to get my people to come in and get us, but I couldn’t reach them.  The Czerka guys closed in.  There was a crash.  The whole thing went to hell,” Orion sipped his drink and winced from the taste.

                “I crawled out from under the speeder and found the blaster on the ground.  Two guards were already taking her.  I hit the third with a round and he caught me in the hip,” Orion said.  He patted his right side, marking the location of the wound.  “I went down, and I really thought that was it.  It hurt like hell.  I saw them dragging her away and she was screaming at me.  Begging me.  She didn’t want to go back.”

                Kento nodded.

                “One shot.  It was clean.  She didn’t suffer.  Czerka guys were pissed, but they didn’t kill me.  Slaves are worthless if you shoot them.  Two weeks later, the Jal Shey pulled me out, just like they planned.  Then Czerka changed their shipping routes, so we lost the opportunity.”

                Kento sighed, “That’s just…”

                “Awful?  Horrible?  Appalling?” Orion asked.  “I’ve heard them all.  None seem to do her any good.  I’ve seen a lot of bad in the galaxy.  Seen a lot of…” he trailed off and finished his drink.  “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t see the Living Force in all of us.  I stick to what I can measure.  What I can see.  And I can see that not all of us are worthy of redemption.  If the Force has any kind of will, then I want no part of it.”

                                                                                –

               The Thunder Child exited hyperspace on the outer edges of the Adrathorpe system.  Orion set a course that would take its time transiting through the orbits of the inner planets.  Once again, all they had to do was wait.

               Kento meditated in the galley.  Orion came down from the cockpit and interrupted him.

               “Montross?” Orion asked.

               Kento sighed as he came out of his meditative mindset, “He’s in the refresher,” he said, nodding to the door that led aft.  “I sealed off access to the engine room.  I don’t think he can cause much trouble.”

               Orion gave a half-shrug, “Fine.  As long as he behaves.”

               “Won’t be long now,” Kento said.

               “I want to go over his intel again,” Orion said.

               And right on cue, Montross emerged into the ship’s galley.  His armor was stored in a corner.  He strode in, naked and unashamed.  Orion rolled his eyes.  Kento’s were politely averted.

               “This is a fine ship, blue.  I haven’t seen water pressure like that outside Chandrilla,” Montross.

               “I’m surprised they let you on Chandrilla,” Orion said.

               “Hah!” Montross said.

               “Let’s go over what we’re facing again,” Kento said.

               Montross donned his underarmor, “Jedi are so boring.”

               “How many?  What do they have to throw at us?” Orion asked.

               “Braca has two enforcers.  They’re like him,” Montross said.

               “What do you mean by that?” Kento asked.

               Montross sat down across the table, “They have the Force.  All your mystical energy stuff,” he said, waving his hand in the air between them.

               “Weaponry?”

               “Nothing all that special.  Blasters of every sort.  Vibro-blades.  When they need to get a point across, they usually just choke you,” Montross said, holding his hand out and squeezing the air.  He gave a wry chuckle.  “Why bother shooting someone when you can do that?”

               Kento frowned and bit the corner of his mouth, “No lightsabers?”

               Montross paused for a soft beat, “Nah.  Never seen anything like that from his people,” he said.

               “This is strange,” Kento said.

               “How so?” Orion asked.

               “I just was figuring he was a rogue.  An ex-somebody.  A lost Jedi or some-such.  A Force user of some stripe that fell to the Dark Side,” Kento said.

               “I think that’s accurate,” Orion said.

               “But no signature weapon?  Nothing distinctive?  Half the Force sects in the galaxy carry something notable,” Kento said.

               “But not the other half,” Orion countered.

               “Still, it’s strange.  Especially if he thinks of himself as a Sith,” Kento said.

                “Look, I’ve fought Jedi before, but it was usually a fair fight.  You’ll need to keep him from using the Force against me and the beat cop here,” Montross said.

                Kento nodded, “I can keep him in check.”  He didn’t let on about Orion’s powers.  Montross’s ignorance was an advantage.

                “If not, we’re all dead,” Montross said.  He had no mark of fear in his voice.  A hunt was not glorious if it had no danger.

                                                                                –

                “Alert!  Vessel on approach!  Alert!  Vessel on approach!” the ship’s computer announced. 

                Orion sat down in the cockpit and checked the screens.  He killed the alarm and activated the ship’s intercom. 

                “We have incoming.  It looks like a large freighter.  Mon Cal construction.  Not running a transponder code,” Orion said.

                “That’s him,” Montross said over the ship’s speaker.

                “Kento, open the weapons locker and let our houseguest have his pick.  Then get in the aft section and wait.  They’ll come in through the top hatch,” Orion said.

                He plotted a course for the edge of the system, but locked the ship’s sublight throttle at three-quarter’s speed.  Braca needed to see a target running for its life, but not one that was so fast it would get away. 

                Coming back to the galley, he looked up at the top hatch and made a quick calculation. 

                “Given the course and speed, I think we have about three minutes before…”

                The lights went out throughout the ship.  The everpresent thrum of the engines fell to stark silence.

                “Ion blast,” Orion said.

                “Here he comes,” Montross said.

                “Quiet,” Kento said.

                Emergency lighting activated.  Dim and amber, giving the ship a stressed feeling.  Orion looked aft and saw Montross donning his helmet and gripping his DK-42 Blasterbuss.  The wide angle of the barrel would serve him well in close quarters. 

                “Did you get a rebreather?” Kento asked, holding up his mask. 

                Orion pulled a face mask off the wall and put it on.  On the galley ceiling, a mechanical whirr-snap echoed through the ship’s hull.  The Thunder Child was about to be boarded. 

                The clicking of a crank tink-tink-tinked through the hatchway above them.  Slowly the hatch began to open.  As the space was half ajar, a canister fell through and landed on the galley table with a dull thunk. 

                Gas began to spew forth.  A green noxious cloud that filled the space.  Orion took the goggles he wore around his neck and moved them over his eyes.  He did a quick check of the seal on his mask.  It held.  He shut the door to the galley.

                A purple-blue Lasat enforcer jumped down through the open hatch.  Over two meters tall and built like a tank, he shrugged off the gas.  It had no effect on the Lasat species.  He spun slowly, checking the two sealed doors.  One led forward to the cockpit, the other led aft, to the engines.  

                “Dent!” he yelled, loud enough to be heard behind the sealed hatches.  “Wherever you are, you’re not getting away.  Surrender now and we’ll make this quick and clean.”

                Kento stood in the hallway aft of the galley and stared at the closed door.  He could hear the brute’s words clearly.  He spared a glance to his left.  Montross was standing in the small, cramped space of the refresher.  He slid the refresher door shut.  Braca’s people were after one Jedi, not three warriors.  Surprise was a powerful ally.

                Kento’s saber gave a deafening scream as the blue blade activated.  It was a calculated move.  Beyond the door, the Lasat turned to face the sound.  He thought he had the drop on his prey.  The trap was set.

                A pair of shots hit the electronic locks that sealed the doorway.  The clamps were blasted to pieces and fell uselessly to the floor.  Lasats were known for their strength and this one did not disappoint.  His massive foot kicked the door down and it fell away, revealing a cloaked Jedi in a mask.

                “Dent, you’re out of options.  Come quietly and it’ll all be over soon,” the enforcer sneered. 

                Kento backstepped a bit, trying to passively signal fear, though adrenaline ran cold through his veins.  He changed the angle of his saber, but the Lasat didn’t fire.

                Stepping over the broken hatch door, the Lasat gave a slow pursuit down the corridor, one step at a time, looking for an angle.  A true hunter, he kept his eyes on the target.  His focus was absolute.  He saw a chance and fired one shot at the Jedi’s feet.  A blaster bolt pinged off the floor and was intercepted by the blue blade.  Another off the wall had the same result.

                “Not bad, but it’s hopeless,” the Lasat said.  A scraping sound came from his right flank.

                “It sure is,” Montross said, levelling the blasterbuss at this invader.  He pulled the trigger and the Lasat’s head vanished in a fury of plasma and light.  The headless corpse fell to the floor in a heap.  The thud as it hit the grating echoed through the Thunder Child. 

                Even Montross looked surprised at the power of the weapon he wielded.  He’d been going for a killshot, but he’d never fired a blasterbuss before.  The recoil had knocked him back into the refresher.  He kicked the corpse to punctuate the power he now felt with this new weapon.

                In the front of the ship, Orion knew just what had happened.  His plan was working perfectly.  He opened the door to the galley and looked up at the hatch that led into Braca’s ship.

                A single, Force-assisted leap flung him through the opening, and he landed on the lower level of the Mon Cal freighter that had disabled his ship. 

                “Happy Life Day, you shikweasels!” Orion said as he drew his blaster.  He found himself in a large, open cargo bay.

                A pair of armed Gammorean guards took aim at him from ten meters away.  Orion blasted the first with his K-2 and wheeled around on his toe to dodge the incoming fire.  His bomber jacket flung out like a cape behind him, and a bolt singed the black nerf leather.  In a whirl, Orion lit his orange blade and deflected a shot back at the remaining, green-skinned guard.  It caught the pigman square in his broad chest and he went down with a grunt. 

                As Orion cleared the way for Kento to come aboard, a Dug clambered down a staircase.  A pair of blasters carried by its forelimbs spewed an array of incoming fire.  Orion ducked for cover behind a crate.  Kento scrambled behind a table.  Orion saw the Dug gesture over to the right and then a crate flung itself through the air.  It passed right over Orion’s head.

                “Thugs with Force powers.  What will they come up with next?” Orion said.

                Orion’s Huttese was a little rusty, but he could pick out some fairly heinous insults spewing from the mouth of this Dug.  Kento rose and the Dug’s blaster shots blanketed him.  The Jedi twirled his saber rapidly and spat back the incoming fire in dozens of directions, though none at the attacker. 

                With the laser light show already in progress, Orion leaned out from behind the crate.  He changed the K-2’s setting to a three-round burst.  The first two went wide, but the third caught the Dug in one of the rear legs.  The second burst finished him off completely. 

                Kento came to his partner, and they stood back-to-back for a moment, surveying the empty chamber in which they now stood.  The door at the top of the stairs swung shut and locks activated.  The only other exit appeared to be a large bay door at the opposite end, or the hatch that led back to the Thunder Child.  Orion took a step towards the door and stopped dead in his tracks when the ship’s intercom sounded.

                Braca’s voice came out bombastic and confident.  “It seems we have a womp-rat infestation on my ship.  Let’s see if our pet is hungry.”

                Kento turned as the bay door opened.  The Jedi and the Jal Shey looked out at Braca’s solution to the problem they presented.  Beyond the cold grey door was the shimmering pale fur of a fully-grown nexu.

                The glowing red eyes signaled an untamed fury.  This was no housepet.  This was a statement.  Do what was expected or the boss will feed you to his jungle beast.  The quills on its back rose in sharp lines.  The fangs flared out behind a bright red tongue.  The split tail swung back and forth.  For a moment, they stood pondering each other.  The hungry and the hunted.  Then the creature pounced.

                Orion spared a hand to push Kento out of the way.  He shoved the Jedi aside so as to take the full attention of the beast for himself.  It was a tactic that had gotten them aboard this ship, but it did maximize the danger.

                The nexu leapt for the Jal Shey Ranger.  He tucked and rolled, barely avoiding a large row of snapping fangs as he changed position.  The nexu flew centimeters over his head and he swung his orange saber for its soft underbelly, missing by a small margin.

                Across the bay, Kento slid into a wall and turned to watch the fight.  He was ready to charge in, but his feet were stayed by the sight of Orion taking on this massive, quilled jungle cat singlehandedly.

                “Magnificent valor.”

                The nexu circled and snapped at Orion.  He brought his K-2 up but a swipe from the nexu’s claws sent it skittering out of his hand and across the floor.  He spotted a chair in the corner, reached out to grip it with the Force, and turned its legs towards the beast’s jaws.  His orange saber swung around as a threat, but the nexu wasn’t easily dissuaded.  This human looked tasty, and it greatly enjoyed a warm meal.

                Kento could wait no longer and rushed forward, ready to take a swipe at a back leg or a flank.  He was unready for the whipping motion of the nexu’s split tail, which swung around and wrapped him up by the waist.  He found himself lurching through the air unexpectedly.  His azure blade with its curved handle jolted from his hand.  It tumbled uselessly through open air.  He reached out with the Force and snapped it back into his palm.  The nexu’s tail released him just as quickly and he sailed into a pillar at the end of the room.

                “Ha! Ha! Ha!  Good kitty!” came the cackling laughter from the intercom.  Braca was clearly enjoying this entertainment. 

                Orion shrugged off the mockery and spared a thought for Kento, who had been unprepared for that wild ride.  The Jal Shey made a mental note to avoid this creature’s tail.  He hadn’t known it could do that either. 

                He poked with the chair and prodded with his saber blade.  Neither had much effect.  After a few snaps of its fangs, the nexu decided it had had enough of Orion’s antics.  A swipe of its paw and the chair was shattered.  Orion went on the attack and swung for the claws as the nexu went for his head.  The saber blade cut through the longest claw on the left leg.  The nexu recoiled and screeched. 

                It was hard to say that he’d really hurt the creature.  This seemed more of a surprise to the beast.  The big cat pounced again, and Orion saw his opening.  He ducked under the incoming bite and brought his blade around his waist.  He could feel the resistance as it cut into the nexu’s hide just above the bend in its front leg.  He carried the motion forward until the nexu had a cauterized stump replacing its landing leg. 

               The monster was so unready for this that it tumbled over upon hitting the ground.  The scratching of its quills against the floor made a horrible sound.  It was accompanied by the shrill shriek of a wounded animal.  Orion winced as he plunged his blade into the nexu’s skull, trying to make it quick.  The cruelties of the galaxy did not begin or end with sentients. 

               A silence descended through the room.  Orion looked around and saw no sign of his Jedi companion.

               A gust of air and a mechanical clank filled his senses.  He turned, looking for a threat.  His skin prickled in random places.  It took a moment to register why.

               The hatch that he had come through, the one that led back to his precious Thunder Child, now stood exposed to open space.  The automatic circuits in Braca’s ship were working to close it, but the rush of air slowed their progress.  Instead of a quick slam, it took a few seconds for the door to seal.  By the time the air pressure was restored, Orion knew it was already too late.

               “Did that son of a Hutt just steal my ship?” Orion said, realizing that Montross would no longer be assisting with this operation.

               Another cackle echoed through the chamber.  Braca was quite amused. 

                                                                                –

               “I felt like a fool for not predicting Montross’s betrayal.  He was supposed to follow us in, but he chose the quick payday.”

               “His code of honor had ossified,” Adi Gallia said.

               “Well, we had put him in a bind, and he was as loyal as his options demanded,” Kento said.

               “After your fight with the nexu, what happened next?”

               “Well, we went forward together into the next cargo bay.  That’s when we got pinned down…”

                                                                                –

               Orion looked around, but Kento was nowhere to be seen.  After the nexu had tail-whipped the Jedi into a column, Orion had lost track of him.  Likely he was dazed and had retreated to recover his senses.  Just as well.

               The Jal Shey Ranger stalked forward towards the doors the nexu had used to enter.  Another bay lay beyond.  This one had holds on either side that were filled with a red-orange powder.  Braca’s spices were here and unguarded.  That would not last for long.

               On a landing above him, he heard an electric thrum just a moment before his instincts told him to leap away.  As he turned, he saw angry red blaster bolts fill the space where he had just stood.  He whirled and saw the source.  Another Lasat brute, as big as the one who had boarded the Thunder Child.  This one stood on a catwalk, at the controls of a massive repeating blaster. 

               The air sizzled with plasma filled fury as he leapt atop one of the spice holds.  The blaster bolts trailed his feet and he started to run.  Leaping ahead, he made another double-jump, this time to the far side of the catwalk from the turret.  The blaster fire continued. 

               To pause and try to redirect the bolts would have been folly.  There were simply too many and they came in too fast.  Instead, he dove for a doorway and flung his body into the corridor beyond.  He turned and drew his blaster, firing a thudding bolt into the door controls.  The heavy partition slammed down behind him. 

               Energy bolts sang an angry chorus into the bulkhead door.  His attacker had been foiled, but only briefly.  The crew of this ship would certainly know how to get around this temporary barrier he had erected.  There was no time to lose.

               The corridor offered him only one direction and he chose to think of it as forward.  If it led to the bridge, all the better.  If it did not, he would have to hope that Kento’s luck was better than his. 

               Up a staircase and down a hallway, he found what appeared to be crew quarters.  His suspicions were confirmed when a black-haired Wookie stepped out of a hatch.  The arms that grabbed him were as black as night and far more terrifying. 

               He was being choked and hauled up simultaneously.  The Wookie aimed to dash his brains against the ceiling or cut the air from his lungs.  It was a good plan.

               Orion, so surprised from the sudden intrusion, had dropped his blaster and it clattered to the floor half a meter below his feet.  His hand found the lightsaber on his hip, and he lit it and swung for anything, not picky about his target. 

               A howling shriek and a soupçon of cauterized blood and the affair was half-over.  The Wookie didn’t drop him as much as lose both hands to a lightsaber slash.  The bellowing beast was too stunned to put up a fight, but Orion took no chances.  A slash to the throat ended the threat and he winced at cutting down such a prime example of the species. 

               At the end of the grated walkway was a single door.  He didn’t need to see a label to know that it was the bridge.  He could feel the end coming and it was a relief.  He gave no quarted to the idea that it might be his end beyond that door.  Rest would come after, in any case.

               Where the hell is Kento?

               A flick of his fingers opened the door and he prepared himself for anything that lay beyond.  The hilt felt comfortable in his right hand.  He could feel the power imbued within the chamber.  The contained fury.  The fire that awaited a spark through the crystal. 

               The blaster in his left hand was weighty.  The alloy of the grip cooled his palm.  He squeezed the grip and felt it resist.  It was unyielding, just like he had to be.  He knew what it was to take life, but there was no pleasure in it.  He did not delight in death as Montross or Braca did.  But the weapons he carried were there to steel his resolve.  They were well chosen.

               The bridge looked out onto a field of stars.  Like most Mon Cal designs, there was room for a respectable crew, but the various seats were unoccupied.  He glanced from side to side and saw switches flipping on their own volition.  Buttons were depressed without being touched.  The entire ship was under the control of a single man wielding the Force with stunning accuracy.  And he was alone.

               “Braca,” he said, facing the back of the captain’s chair.  Slowly the chair spun in place.  The mask he’d seen on the hologram now came into stark relief.  Somehow, in real life, on a body that was fairly average, it didn’t seem quite so scary.  Definable features showed Orion that this was not the ineffable demon that his mind’s eye had created. 

               He wasn’t a Dark Lord spawned from ancient Sith hatreds.  This was a spice runner.  A Sith cultist.  And his lunacies had drew him into a pursuit of power and death. 

               Orion’s blade hissed to life.  The orange saber cast an eerie glow over the bridge.

               Braca rose from his chair and pulled off the mask.  A human face looked out from underneath.  Braca was male, fair-skinned and had a hard-scrabble look.  His face carried a bit of stubble.  His nose had clearly been broken and repaired at some point, but the eyes were the real story.  The eyes were lit with a fire that Kento had come to recognize.  He’d seen it in that cantina on Nar Shaddaa.  He’d seen it on Zave’s face just before the bus hit.  He’d seen it in the eyes of the Abi Buran.

                It was the light behind crazed eyes.  A light that only came from the use of spice.

               “Have you come to kill me?  It’s not as easy as it once was,” Braca said.

               “That’s entirely up to you,” Orion said.

               Braca’s hands were spread apart.  He had no weapon that Orion could see.  His body was not physically imposing.  It was actually more unnerving.  There was no threat he could identify.  The unknown was always more troublesome than the overt.

               Braca’s eyes closed and a smile came across his face.  Orion’s hand tensed on the trigger to his blaster.  It was tempting just to end this, but that was not the way of the Jal Shey. 

               The killer gave another low chuckle like the one Orion had heard through the ship’s speakers.

               “What pitiful games you play with the Force.  Channelling all your energy into toys and using them for your naïve notions of altruism.  A child at play, wasting an energy he could never truly understand.”

               “At least I don’t kill people,” Orion said.

               “Yes, you do,” Braca said.

               Orion flinched and then recovered himself.

               “You can walk out of here or be carried out in pieces.  Make your choice,” Orion said.  He used the Force to draw a set of binders from one of his trouser pockets.  The binders floated in the space between them. 

               Braca held his wrists out as though he might actually accept his incarceration.

               “Even if you end me here, your existence would be a waste.  You push against an ocean of darkness, and you think it noble.  All your vaunted knowledge and you cannot grasp futility.  Your vitality is wasted by your blind adherence.  I could use your essence for something truly magnificent.  Let me take your burden.”

               With that, a spark emitted from Braca’s fingertips.  In a flash it had become a crimson maze of energy.  A burst of red lightning that arced forward, towards an unsuspecting Orion.  Braca howled with laughter as he rose and channeled all his rage into Orion’s position.

               The Ranger snapped his orange blade up reflexively.  The searing energy crackled, and he could feel it overloading his saber.  He had heard of Sith lightning as a historical fact, but this was different somehow.  The red light that lit his face told him this was something deeper, uglier. 

               The cerise channels reached out and were soaked in by his saber.  He grunted in pain and flinched.  The raw power was overwhelming.  The lightning pushed his blade as effectively as if he was in a duel.  His boots slid back across the floor, straining against the shove he’d received.  When his blade could absorb no more, the lightning skittered down and invaded his right hand.  His fingers clenched so tightly that he thought he might crush the hilt of his own lightsaber.  But the blade had been imbued with a dark power all its own.  It held through the onslaught, though he felt death in his fingers.

               Braca was not trying to wound him.  He was trying to drain the life out of him.  Orion suddenly realized how Abi Buran felt in her final moments.

               He could feel his grip on the saber slipping.  Without really thinking, he dropped his blaster pistol and gripped his saber hilt with both hands, groaning against the attack.  The K-2 clattered to the floor and the clang of metal on metal gave Orion an idea. 

               With as much concentration as he could muster, Orion lifted the weapon off the floor with his mind.  He turned it with a flick of his chin and took aim at the serial killer who spouted lightning from his fingertips. 

               The aim didn’t have to be perfect.  Any spot would do.  He rotated the barrel just a bit more.  When his palms ached and his lungs cried out for relief, he squeezed the trigger with the power of his mind.

               A single blast shot out of the K-2’s barrel and struck Braca in the leg.  In a flash, the lightning stopped.  Braca fell to a knee and clutched his wound.  He’d never seen it coming.

               With the threat neutralized, Orion snapped the K-2 back into his hand.  He fired three more times.  Putting bolts into all four of Braca’s extremities. 

               The pained cries turned to shocked whimpering.  Orion felt nothing approaching sympathy as he kicked Braca in the face.  The man flailed and spun, landing in a heap on his chest.  Orion had the binders on him before he could recover.  Another set of binders went around his ankles and Orion hauled him up on his knees.  He let out a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding.

               With the K-2 pointed at Braca’s head, Orion found the switch on the captain’s chair that activated the internal comm network.

               “Attention.  To all crew.  Braca has been defeated.  Whatever compensations you gained from him are no longer available.  Fill your pockets and use the nearest escape pod.  There is nothing left for you on this ship but pain and death.”

               “Nice touch, errand boy,” Braca said, kneeling behind him. 

               Orion aimed his K-2 for Braca’s forehead and kept checking the ship’s systems.  Without glancing Braca’s way, he added, “Give me a reason.”

               Braca’s expression went from haughty to amused. 

               “Did the acolyte send you?  Has he finally communed with his goddess?” Braca asked.

               “What are you talking about?” Orion said, finally sparing a look at his captive.

               “The Black Queen will take her place and the cycle will begin anew.  The Force is a flat circle.”

               “The Black Queen?” Orion asked.

               “She sent you because I wouldn’t walk her path.  You slowly grind the gears and think you can stop the machine, but you only whirl around the rim.  She knows the way to the center,” Braca said.

               Before Orion could counter, there was a mechanical whoosh as the door to the bridge opened.  He drew down, blaster at the ready, saber blade extended from his hip.  Kento appeared in the doorway. 

               “Oh, good, you’re not dead,” Orion said.  “I was worried.”

               Kento staggered in, Orion wondered if he’d been hurt further after their encounter with the nexu.  He looked closer.  Kento’s eyes were filled with tears.  His body was tense.  He breathed through his teeth, as though his rage might force its way out in a primal scream.

               “It’s okay, buddy.  We got him,” Orion said, pointing his blade at the defeated, kneeling Braca.  Orion went to holster his sidearm. 

               Orion turned back to the navicomputer, “I may have found something interesting…”

               Kento’s blue blade sprang to life.  He took two steps towards the kneeling Braca.  Braca hadn’t turned to face the Jedi, so he never saw the blade that cleaved him in half.  Kento’s strike was true.  He cut Braca down from the shoulder to the hip.  The body fell to the deck in two pieces.  He was dead before he hit the floor.

               Orion was so shocked by the act that it took him a moment to realize it had truly happened.  He stared at Kento with a look of appalled surprise.

               “What the hell?” Orion said, looking at the two pieces of the kingpin on the floor between them.  “Kento…why?”

               Kento’s look hadn’t changed.  The tears still flowed; the teeth still gnashed.  He offered no words to Orion.  Instead, he waved a hand towards himself and turned.  Orion followed.

               With the walk of a soldier on a mission, Kento marched out of the bridge.  He led Orion past the crew quarters, through a spacetight door into the middle section of the vessel.  Orion hadn’t been through this area before.  He saw the remnants of a few thugs that he assumed Kento had cut down.  They were a mix of species, and the detritus of their remains did not provoke any special interest. 

               Kento led him to a room with a damaged door.  Kento pointed at the Aurebesh on the panel.  Once it had said “MEDBAY” in crisp lettering.  That had been struck through with a blade of some sort and carved underneath was a symbol.  The last time Orion had seen that symbol, it had been carved into Abi Buran’s forehead.

               Inside the door was a nightmare come to life. 

               On the table was a Sullustan boy.  No more than a juvenile.  His ears were underdeveloped, and his facial flaps were clearly not fully grown.  The boy was spread out on a table.  His arms and legs were locked into binders.  Tubes ran into his arms and chest.  The boy’s body had been drained.  The desiccated corpse was all that remained. 

               Braca’s latest victim.

               Orion took in the body and felt dread seep into his bones.  He circled the room, taking in the tanks and tubes and the horrible, clinical nature of it all.

               “Monster.”

               It was the only word that he could utter.  He looked at Kento.  Kento shook his head and waved for him to follow again.

               Kento led him to the rear where a door had been jammed open.  A thrust from a lightsaber had rendered the lock inoperable.  Beyond was a storage closet.  A dark hold, devoid of light or heat.  Orion lit his blade for illumination and screams filled the air.

               Within were the bodies of children.  Some dead, some living.  Those that could draw a breath cried out in terror.  He wheeled back on his heels, as startled as they were.  It took a moment for him to reach out and assure them the danger was gone. 

                                                                                –

               “After we killed the nexu, we came into the aft cargo bay.  We were looking around at these holds full of spice when all of a sudden, we took fire from a turret that was on a catwalk above us.”

               “Braca had people lying in wait?” Adi Gallia said.

               “It was Braca himself.  I think he wanted to handle us personally,” Kento said.

               “Bold of him,” Gallia replied.

               “Well, he was probably high on spice at the time,” Kento said.

               Gallia acknowledged that thought with a head nod.

               “We hid behind a crate, taking fire.  I tried to block a few incoming shots, but it was a big gun and I had to duck back down.  The only way to deal with it was to split up.  I circled in one direction to draw his fire away.  When he started shooting at me, Orion broke off and ran in the opposite direction…”

                                                                                –

               Two escape pods had been used.  Kento swept the ship, from room to room looking for anyone else who might be alive.  He found no one.  In the meantime, Orion had found food and water for the children.  The two men met on the catwalk in the spice hold.  The remains of the dead nexu stared back at them through the hold’s outer doors.

               “They’re eating.  Took a bit to calm them down, but they’ll live.  The ones that are still alive, at least,” Orion said.

               Kento had dried his eyes, but they were still full of pain.  The anguish on his face had shifted from rage to something more melancholy. 

               Orion saw him reach for the lightsaber on his belt.  He held it up and examined it, twisting it back and forth as though he were looking for signs of trouble.  Then he tossed it away.  Orion watched it tumble through the air.  The clatter as it hit the floor was jarring.  Kento’s silence was a stark contrast.  It took Orion a moment to understand the symbolism. 

               “You can’t go back, can you?” Orion asked.

               Kento rested his arms on the catwalk railing and nodded.  It was as though he feared that to open his mouth might allow the galaxy to spin on.  He desperately wanted it to stop in its tracks. 

               “Your elders, or whatever they call it, they wouldn’t condone…” Orion let the thought trail off.  Killing Braca in cold blood would be an unforgivable offense.  He knew enough of the Jedi ways to know that they didn’t kill prisoners. 

               Kento breathed in and out for a moment, just pondering the space in front of them.  Orion shook his head slightly and shared the silence.

               He looked down at the black scorch marks on the floor, where he’d been targeted by that damned turret.  There was a line of blaster fire that raked across the path he’d taken.  He could look at it and remember his movement vividly.  His eyes trailed back to the turret from whence the fire had come.

               An idea formed.  Like most, it began as a faint sense and then snapped into place in a flash.  Fully formed, crisp, and lethal.

               “Stay right there,” Orion said.  Kento turned to look at his partner, but otherwise made no acknowledgment. 

               Orion went to the bridge and looked at the bisected corpse on the floor.  Lightsaber wounds were cauterized and there was no stain of blood on the carpet.  Kento’s single strike had been true.  He’d cleaved Braca but otherwise had left no sign of violence.

               Using the Force, Orion levitated both halves of the body.  It took all his concentration to bring them back to the cargo bay. 

               With his own bare hands, he moved Braca’s body to the now empty turret.  The one that had fired on him less than an hour ago.  He placed Braca’s body just so on the floor so that it appeared that the spicelord himself had been at the controls of the weapon.  Kento looked on with uncomprehending interest. 

               Leaning over the railing, Orion extended a hand out towards the floor below.  Ten meters away, Kento’s lightsaber began to wiggle and slide before shooting up from its discarded place into Orion’s hand.  The Jal Shey Ranger took the saber and activated it.  He smiled as the blue light came over his face.  With a moment of calculation, he took a swipe, slashing downward, cutting the air.  His slash cut through the turret handle and the catwalk railing.  Otherwise it had no effect. Then he took the controls of the turret in his own hands.

               Kento flinched when Orion began to fire the massive weapon.  Another channel of fire was blasted into the floor.  Orion blasted along the opposite side of the room, as though he was firing at a running target that wasn’t there.  He aimed again for a crate that he had bypassed earlier and blasted it until it started to crack open and smoke. 

               He ceased firing and peered out over the catwalk, looking down at his handiwork.  He seemed pleased with the result.  Orion pocketed Kento’s curved hilt saber and walked back to where he’d left the morose Jedi, who regarded him with confusion.

               “After we killed the nexu, we came through those doors,” Orion said, pointing at the doors to the hold.  “Braca was up here, and he started firing down on us.  We dove for cover behind that crate,” Orion pointed down at the smoking crate on the floor below.  “He had us pinned.  Our only chance was to split up.”

               Kento’s eyes narrowed.  He peered at Orion skeptically.

               Orion continued, “You ran out that way to draw his fire. I went the opposite direction, looking for a way up to his position.”  He pointed at the trails of blaster fire on the floor below, indicating the two paths.

               He went on, “I came through that door.  Braca was so focused on you that he never saw me coming.  He had you pinned.  It was just a matter of time.  I had no choice.  I had to kill him, or he would have killed you,” Orion said.  “Any Jal Shey Ranger would have done the same in my position.”

               Kento looked out at the scene below.  It was a violation of everything he believed in.  But so was cutting down a foe that had surrendered.

               Orion held out the lightsaber to Kento.  Kento could see everything in that curved chromium cylinder.  His entire life lingered in the chambers and circuitry.

               He took the weapon from Orion’s hand and placed it back on his belt.

               “Justice,” Kento said.

                                                                                –

               “Whatever else happened between us, I still owe him for what he did on the ship that day.  He saved my life,” Kento said.

               “And there was no avoiding Braca’s own death?” Gallia asked.

               Kento pursed his lips, “Absolutely no avoiding it.”

               Gallia nodded for him to continue.

               “After Braca fell, we used the ship’s intercom to tell the rest of the crew.  Told them they could run in exchange for their lives.  It would have been too much trouble to try to bring them all in.  We had no backup, and it was just the two of us.”

“And that’s when you found the younglings?” Gallia asked.

               “Yes.  Braca’s operation was beyond appalling.  I’ll admit, I felt such hatred for him when I realized what he was doing to those younglings.  I think the satisfaction I felt at his death was one of my first brushes with the Dark Side.”

               “It would have been impossible to be dispassionate from such a revelation,” Gallia said.

               “Still, it was not my proudest moment,” Kento said.

                                                                                –

                The pair of them looked at the children recovered from the hold.  The younglings eagerly ate and drank but said nothing. 

               Orion jutted his chin at them as they sat quietly, “Do you read any of them as Force sensitive?”

                “No.”

                It was only the second word out of his mouth since he’d killed Braca.  Kento wasn’t quite ready to be a Jedi again. 

                “They need doctors, psych droids, social workers.  I’m not any of those things.  Some of them might even have parents looking for them.  I don’t even know where to start,” Orion said, thinking out loud.  “Would the Jedi…”

                Kento gave him a look that stopped that thought before it could gestate.

                “The Compendium has plenty of doctors, but it’s not a long-term solution,” Orion said. 

               He looked around and bit the corner of his mouth.  “Well, if you’re an orphan, where’s the best place in the galaxy to grow up?”

                                                                                –

                Twelve hours later, they emerged from hyperspace. 

                “Alderaan Control, this is Orion Xadau of the Jal Shey.  I’m requesting permission to land at the Aldera City Spaceport.  I have a dozen passengers who need medical assistance.  Do you read me?”

                “Alderaan Control to unidentified freighter.  We acknowledge receipt of your request.  Please state your ship’s name and registration.  Over.”

                Orion turned to Kento in the copilot’s chair.  He shrugged and pressed a button to pause the communications link.

                Kento looked haggared.  The sleep that he’d gotten on the flight out had been fitful.  The adrenaline that had coursed through his veins also left him in a confrontation with his own darkness.  Orion studied his stupored companion.  Jedi training prepared one for many things, but apparently not homicide.

               Orion shook Kento’s shoulder to rouse him from the trance that he seemed trapped within.

                “What is it?” Kento asked, suddenly aware of his surroundings.

                “They’re asking for the ship’s identification.  I don’t think it’s going to go over well if we say we’re a hijacked spice freighter,” Orion said.  “Any ideas?”

                Kento shook his head and sank back into his seat. 

                Orion gave a roll of his eyes and reopened the channel.

                “Alderaan Control.  This is the Transgressor.  Newly acquired property of the Jal Shey.  I doubt if the ownership records have been updated yet.  Again, we are requesting medical assistance for several juvenile passengers.  Younglings in need of help.  Over.”

                There was a pause while Alderaan Control considered the situation.  Then they came back, “Transgressor, Alderaan.  You are cleared to land at Hospital Pad Four.  Sending coordinates.  Medical services have been notified.  You will be required to give a statement to Aldera City Police before you are cleared to leave.  Please acknowledge.”

                They’re calling the cops on us.  Orion thought.  I probably would too.

                “Thank you, Alderaan.  We appreciate the help,” Orion said.

                Orion set the ship on a new course to enter the atmosphere.  The view of ionized air out of the cockpit seemed to rouse Kento from his stupor.

                “The Transgressor?” he asked, looking at Orion with a raised eyebrow.

                Orion didn’t look up from the controls, “I named it after you,” he said, dismissively.

                Kento made a face that could charitably be described as sour, “You Sithspawn son of a…”

                “Save it,” Orion said.

               The stubby wings of the newly christened ship bit into the thickening air.  As the cloud cover broke, Orion saw Aldera City spread out before them like a glittering sea of civilization.  The pristine white towers reached for a beautiful blue sky.  Around the perimeter, a crystal-clear lake moated Alderaan’s capital city.  The grasslands extended to the horizon, broken up only by the occasional, tastefully sleek hovertrain.  It was truly a city of splendor.

               “I think we picked the right place.  They deserve to grow up somewhere that beautiful,” Orion said.

               Kento’s silence had returned.

                                                                                –

               Like everything else on Alderaan, the paramedics that met them on the landing pad were pristine, efficient, and gracious.  For the most part, the children walked out on their own legs, but a couple had to be carried.  Kento took one Twi’lek girl in his arms.  Orion did the same for a young Cathar boy. 

               Once the doctors and nurses were fully engaged with Alderaan’s latest refugees, Orion and Kento were approached by a small phalanx of uniformed officers.  The leader of the pack, a Muun woman, spoke for the group.

               “Which of you is the captain?” she asked.

               Orion gave a sidelong glance at Kento and decided to take the lead role in this little melodrama that now had to play out.

               “Orion Xadau, Jal Shey Ranger.  At your service,” he said, barely suppressing the urge to bow.  Alderaan’s opulence had already started to affect him.

               “I’m Captain Gaal, Aldera City Police.  We have some questions.”

                                                                                –

               As the local star descended towards the Aldera City horizon, Orion emerged from his interrogation.  He exited the police station and went to find Kento.  He felt rejuvenated.  This entire planet had a quality that warmed him to the core.

               Braca was dead and gone.  The orphans were being tended to.  He’d lost his ship but had a new one to replace it.  All in all, he couldn’t complain.  All that was left was to make sure that he and Kento got back to their respective homes in one piece.  He took a monorail back to the hospital and found the Transgressor right where he’d put it down this morning. 

               In the last light of the day, Orion finally got a look at the ship from the outside.  He hadn’t had the time to study it when they were unloading the children… and the bodies.  The freighter was small, nothing too heavy or flashy.  She was a Mon Cal build, which meant her hull was sleek and smooth.  The blue-grey fuselage brushed out into a pair of short wingtips.  Her bridge was set high and towards the rear.  Strakes and blisters completed her look.  She had served a monster for too long.  Orion was determined to put her to good use now.

               An external preflight check was his next order of business.  He searched for any damage or signs of problems and found none. 

               Inside, as promised, the Aldera City PD had vacuumed out every last trace of spice from her holds.  They’d had people crawling around the ship all day, documenting evidence, and ridding the Transgressor of her illegal contraband. 

               Orion could only assume that the story he had told of Braca’s crimes and death had been confirmed by Kento.  Otherwise, he’d be incarcerated by now. 

               As he entered the bridge, he saw that they’d been kind enough to top off the fuel tanks.  A kindness more likely born out of a desire to be rid of this scandalous ship and her crew of suspicious characters. 

               The view from the bridge offered a gorgeous vista of the lake around the city, with the sun setting over the grasslands beyond.

               At the shore of the lake, maybe a hundred meters from the nose of the freighter, he spotted Kento, kneeling in the grass.

               Walking over to his companion, Orion wasn’t sure what to expect.  Kento had certainly had a rough go of it.  What was to come might test his mettle even more.  The Jedi would make him speak about these days and Kento might be fragile enough to crack from the memory.

               He chose a soft tone, not wanting to disturb Kento’s meditation.

               “Kento?  We should be leaving.  I can fly you back to the Compendium for your shuttle, or anywhere else you’d rather go.”

               Kento kept his back to Orion, facing the lake.  The orange hues of sunset brought no comfort to him.

               “Where could I possibly go?” Kento asked.

               “Back to Coruscant.  Back to your temple,” Orion said.

               “To live a lie?” Kento said.

               “To live a life,” Orion said.  “If you’ve lost your way, find it again.  Let the Light Side return to you.  You’ll feel it soon enough.”

               “I can’t feel anything anymore!” Kento’s words still carried great anger.  He rose and turned, facing Orion.

               “Since we met, I’ve been shot at, spiced up, and my mind has been run through a meat grinder.  You have destroyed whatever connection I had to the light!” 

               “Oh, I did that?” Orion asked mockingly.

               “You go wherever your vaunted knowledge takes you.  Light, dark.  To your eyes, it’s all the same.  I felt your nature when I held your saber, back on the Compendium.  I should have cut you down, then and there, but I didn’t.  I let your darkness fester and it spread into me.  Your corruption made me a murderer.  Your anger twisted my path.”

               “That’s got to be the spice talking,” Orion said.

                Kento’s blade lit once again.  The stark blue light played amongst the tree branches.  The wildflowers at their feet took on a melancholy hue.

                “The only way I can save myself is to destroy you,” Kento said.

                “I think you might actually believe that,” Orion said.  His orange blade crackled to life.  He drew the blaster from his hip and tossed it aside, into the grass.  He planned to come back for it.

                Kento aimed the tip of his blade for Orion’s chest.  Orion brought his blade up in a defensive stance.  The Jedi advanced.  The Jal Shey sidestepped.

                Orion did what he always did with unknown scenarios.  He scanned his brain for any obscure knowledge that might help.  Kento’s saber told him volumes.  The curved hilt was distinctive.  It was the choice of fencers, fighters who valued precision and accuracy over power.  Few Jedi chose such a design for their weapon.  That Kento had told him something.  He’d seen shades of it in their various actions.  Kento was no berserker.  He was a man of finesse. 

                The question was: would he fight that same way?  Finesse was a virtue that often fell by the wayside when emotions ran high.  This case had been a trial for him.  So much trauma, so much blood.  Some of it on his hands.  Still, guilty or not, distraught or not, Kento Marek was a Jedi and not to be underestimated. 

                Across the small, deadly space between them, Kento Marek wasted no thought on analysis.  His body settled into old stances, familiar positions.  His mind perceived his enemy through a haze of anger.  The duel became a mission of clarity. 

               From the moment he’d touched Xadau’s blade, with the dark side coursing through its every molecule, he’d been set on a course of destruction.  Such things were possible in the Force.  There were dark energies that gathered, that reached out.  He had simply been infected by the ones that swirled around this Orion Xadau.  Through the centuries, there had been good Jedi who had dealt with such corruptions.  Some had survived, some had succumbed. 

               He’d spent many a happy hour as a boy watching Count Dooku instruct younglings such as himself on the fine art of Makashi.  The rare and respected Form II of lightsaber combat.  Most Jedi chose different tactics for their fighting style.  Kento had never considered anything else.

               The blue blade cut through the air, aiming for Orion’s heart.  The Jal Shey countered with a simple parry.  Kento advanced through the motion, raising his blade higher than he needed for a powerful downward slash.

               So much for finesse. Orion thought as he darted out of the way. 

               Jal Shey fighting techniques were a bit different from other sects.  Instructors prized fluidity of motion, efficiency of action.  Orion remembered their words. 

               Your opponent will choose the power he brings to bear.  If that power can be deflected or absorbed, then it need not be opposed.

               In other words, get out of the way so you don’t get your head cut off.

               Both of them had suffered an elongated string of bad days.  Days filled with death, exhaustion, violence, and cruelty.  Now that they had found this peaceful world, it seemed utterly tragic to use its ground for yet another act of savagery.  But the stars were unfeeling, and destiny had a way of asserting itself at the most inconvenient times.

               He leaned back on his heels, dodging the swipe at his neck.  Kento’s next strike went for his thigh in a swinging circle.  Orion backstepped further, knowing the lake was somewhere behind him, but without a clue of his line of retreat. 

               The slashes and slices were entirely out of form for a fencer.  The quick motions that he was expecting had not appeared.  One might attribute that to attrition, but Orion credited anger for Kento’s lack of balance. 

               He parried and backstepped, whirled and countered.  Only one of them wanted this to be a fight to the death.  If Kento’s vaunted Jedi elders could see him now, they’d surely raise more than a skeptical eyebrow.  Cold blood might run through Kento’s veins, but Orion had no wish to spill it on the grasses of Alderaan. 

               As his initial energies wore away, Kento’s attacks became more precise.  Powerful swings became fast thrusts.  It was an encouraging sign to his opponent.  If Kento’s anger had diminished, perhaps his rationality might return. 

               Orion gave a beat from his saber that was countered by an off-balance lunge.  He twirled and let Kento’s momentum carry him stumbling by.  For an instant there was an opening at Kento’s back.  If he’d wanted, a swift downward strike would have cut the Jedi in half.  The thought never came to him.  Orion made a brief swipe, aiming for the back of Kento’s legs.  It was a move intended to send a thin cut that might end the fight, but the maneuver hit nothing but air. 

               As Kento recovered his footing Orion took the pause in the fight to look at his hand.  The discolored scars gave his skin an angry randomization.  Braca’s lightning had taken a toll.  It was the same damage he’d seen throughout the bodies of the victims.  His hands ached, from the lightning and the fighting.  All this violence and death had taken a toll.  For a moment, seeing Kento rise from his staggering attack, he considered just relenting.  He wanted to rest.  Wanted to end the madness that he’d been pushing against for so long.  It would be so easy to let go.

               This little monk is trying to mind trick me! 

               Orion smiled as he realized that this duel was now taking place in their heads as much as in this meadow.  His amusement only seemed to enrage Kento even more. 

               A growl came from the Jedi’s mouth as he reset his feet.  He charged forward, advancing heel-toe and arcing his blade through a mesmerizing infinite pattern.  As he closed, his feet shifted, and he launched his body like an arrow aimed for Orion’s heart. 

               With no time for a swirling dodge, Orion simply sidestepped and saw Kento shoot dangerously close to his left hip.  He brought his saber down as Kento swung for his center.  His strike was perfect.

               Kento’s beautifully crafted lightsaber hilt was cut through the hilt.  The blade winked out of existence and the pieces of the grip sprayed out and tumbled to the ground.  Kento landed in a heap on the soft grasses and gave an enraged roar.

               For Orion, it was more than he’d hoped for.  Time was the only thing that would heal Kento’s wounded spirit… and wounded pride.  No words from his tongue would be comforting to the infuriated Jedi. 

               He retracted his lightsaber and returned it to his right hip.  Reaching out with the Force, his blaster rose from the grasslands.  Kento looked ready to pounce with nothing more than his bare hands.  Orion flipped the setting on his K-2 to stun and took aim.

               “Goodbye, my friend.”

               The blue stun bolt put Kento in the dirt. 

                                                                                –

               “And it was sunrise when I woke up.  He’d left me in that little meadow by the lake.  Took the ship and flew away sometime in the night.”

               Adi Gallia pondered him from across the table, “And you haven’t seen or heard from him since?”

               “No, though he did leave a note behind,” Kento said.

               “A note?” Gallia asked.

               “Yes.  When I woke up, I found a note underneath one of the lightsabers we had recovered.  It was the one with the Whillscript.  The note asked me to return the saber to the Guardians.”

               “And did you?” Gallia asked.

               “Yes, I hired a transport and flew to Jedha.”

               “How were you received?” Gallia asked.

               Kento paused, considering his words, “Cordially.  The Guardians of the Whills are a solemn people.  They were grateful to know the fate of their lost youngling.”

               “Which of the victims…”

               “The Sullustan boy.  I didn’t know until they told me, of course, but I returned his saber to the Guardians, and they were kind enough to allow me to rest and recover on Jedha.”

               “How long did you stay?”

               “A few weeks, I’m not sure exactly.  I had been deeply troubled by the events, as you can imagine.  The suffering of the younglings had preyed upon my soul.  And my exposure to Xadau and the ways of the Jal Shey had brought me dangerously close to the Dark Side.  I needed to reconnect.  On Jedha, in the Temple of the Kyber, I was able to find my way back to the light.”

               “Do you think that Xadau sent you there for that reason?” Gallia asked.

               Kento thought about that for a moment, “I suppose it’s possible.  The Jal Shey are nothing if not altruistic.  But I think it was more about him not wanting to go himself.”

               “What do you mean?” Gallia asked.

               “The Jal Shey study the Force as a scientific phenomenon.  They’re deeply moved by the power of the Force, but they have no respect for its spiritual nature.  The Guardians are just the opposite of that.  They revere the Force’s spiritual aspects.  Whenever I mentioned the Jal Shey on Jedha, the Guardians reverted to a posture of silent hostility.”

               “That’s very interesting,” Gallia said.

               “I found it to be an echo of the duality of the Jedi and Sith.  The Jal Shey value knowledge while the Guardians seek spiritual enlightenment.  That may not be a reason for conflict, but it does not make for camaraderie either.”

               “Do you sense a slant?” Gallia asked.

               “How do you mean?”

               Gallia continued, “Knowledge and spirituality aren’t aspects of light or darkness.  One can use both to embrace the Light Side or the Dark Side of the Force.  Indeed, I’d say that both are required for either pursuit.”

               “I agree,” Kento said.

               “What I’m asking is, having spent time with both groups, do you sense that one is closer to the light and the other closer to the dark?”

               “Oh, I see.  I think it would be unwise to assign a blanket statement to the groups as a whole.  I will say that I found Orion Xadau to be far more comfortable with the Dark Side than any Jedi should be.”

               “And you think Xadau’s inner darkness led to Braca’s death?”

               “I think Braca murdering younglings and shooting at us with a blaster turret led to Braca’s death.”

               Gallia angled her head slightly, accepting the bluntness of his answer.

               “Did you sense the Force within Braca?” she asked.

               “Yes.”

               “But Xadau was able to cut him down?”

               “With sufficient numbers, anyone can be defeated,” Kento said.

               “Your ‘sufficient numbers’ were two,” Gallia said.

               “In this case,” Kento said.

               “Does it strike you as odd?” Gallia asked.

               “What do you mean?” Kento asked.

               “You defeated Braca who was clearly an adept of the Dark Side, but you were bested by Xadau, who, by your own testimony, you said was not nearly as strong in the Force.”

               “Well, I was having difficulties from…”

               “Whatever happened to the lightsaber of Abi Buran?” Gallia interrupted.

               “I’m sorry?” Kento asked.

               “The lightsabers you recovered from Outland Station.  You said one was from the Sullustan boy who was with the Guardians.  The others were presumably from other victims of Braca.  Why did you not find Abi Buran’s lightsaber?”

               “I really don’t know.”

               “By your testimony, Braca let Montross take the sabers as part of his payment.  But you encountered both Montross and Braca and never found Abi Buran’s lightsaber.”

               “That’s…”

               “Xadau was the one who suggested your approach to the case, correct?”

               “Yes.”

               “Xadau was the one who first encountered Montross?”

               “Well, I had gone out for food…”

               “Xadau was the one who cut down Braca before he could confess?”

               “If you recall, I was under heavy blaster fire…”

               “Xadau was the only one who was able to defeat a Jedi in single combat,” Gallia said.

               “Again, I…”

               “Do you really think that a single Jal Shey Ranger could defeat a Jedi Knight without some form of enhancement?”

               “I’m sorry?” Kento said.

               “The blood rite that Abi Buran was subjected to is clearly a Dark Side ritual, would you agree?”

               “I would,” Kento said.

               “And you said Xadau was a Dark Side user,” Gallia said.

               “No, I said his saber was imbued with Dark Side energy,” Kento said.

               “But you have no ties from Braca to the death of Abi Buran,” Gallia said.

               “The symbol over the door was carved into her face!” Kento said.

               “There has been another murder,” Gallia said.

               “What?” Kento said.

               “Three, actually.  All within the last two months.  A series of killings.  Force users.  Younglings,” Gallia said.  She pointed to the R2 unit beside the table.

               On the wall behind her, images were projected of more bodies.  Kento was shocked.  He saw a Neimoidian who was drained and carved up in the same manner.  There was also another human girl like Abi Buran, and a Trandoshan boy.  Similar circumstances for all of them.  Not trussed up in some clean room on a spice freighter.  Sliced to the bone and left on display.”

               The carved symbol on the forehead, the bodies drained of blood.  He looked on in horror at the images.

               “We contacted the Guardians of the Whills.  They have been searching for a youngling of theirs who was kidnapped.  A young Falleen woman who went missing on a mission to Boz Pity.”

               Plo Koon leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees.  Kento recognized the posture from countless lessons of his youth.  Koon’s gruff voice hit Kento like an avalanche.

               “Is it possible that Xadau knew Braca before he ever met you?”

               Kento was flabbergasted.  His mouth moved, but no words came.

               “I have no idea what either of them did before we met,” he finally said.

               “Is it possible that Xadau is more adept with the Dark Side than you realized?” Koon asked.

               “How could I know the contents of his mind?” Kento said.

               “Is it possible that this technique of Braca’s was somehow used by Xadau to enhance his Force powers?” Koon asked.

               “We never saw any evidence that it worked,” Kento said.

               “I believe you did,” Adi Gallia said.

               “Braca had some abilities, but I don’t think…”

               “Not Braca.  Xadau,” Gallia said.

               “That can’t be…”

               “Xadau had intimate knowledge of the case before you met him.  You were wary from the start.  He managed to gain your trust and then directed you to other suspects.  It’s possible that Braca was an accomplice or a rival of some sort and he used you to discover his location and eliminate him,” Gallia said.

               Kento stammered.

               “It would explain why he never tried to capture Braca.  In the situation as you describe it, he did not have to choose a killing blow,” Koon said.

               “I don’t believe what I’m hearing,” Kento said.

               “You were deceived,” Gallia said.

               “No,” Kento said.  “That can’t be.”

               Plo Koon sighed through his mask and nodded to the R2 unit.  The image on the wall changed.  It was an image of onlookers gathered at a crime scene.  One face in the crowd was circled.  Kento recognized it as Orion Xadau. 

               “This was taken by police on Iridonia,” Plo Koon said.

               The scene shifted again.  Kento recognized the Transgressor on a landing pad.  Orion was walking off the ramp, dressed in his signature bomber jacket. 

               “This was recorded on Batuu, which is where the human girl vanished,” Koon said.

               Another image, this time it showed Orion walking into an establishment.  His trusty K-2 was on his left hip. 

               “A restaurant on Boz Pity,” Koon said.

               “I take your point,” Kento said.

               “It’s more than suggestive, Kento.  It’s suspicious,” Gallia said.

               “So, all of this was just to reel me in?” Kento asked.  “No problem with the archive records?”

               “We wanted to get our facts straight,” Koon said.

               “And now you have,” Kento said.

               “Unless you have something to add,” Koon offered.

               “Yes.  I don’t appreciate being deceived.  By Xadau or by you.  If you want to question my judgement, say it to my face.  You want to go after Xadau, best of luck.  But don’t waste my time with false pretenses,” Kento said.  He rose from the table and turned to leave.

               “Where are you going?” Adi Gallia asked.

               “I’m going to find Xadau and see how many lies I’ve been told,” Kento said.

               “Kento…” Plo Koon said.

               Kento paused in the doorframe and looked back, “I’ll need a copy of the evidence.  Droid, follow me.”

               The R2 unit disengaged from the computer terminal and rolled away, following Kento Marek out of the archives.

               Adi Gallia turned to her fellow Master, “We could have handled that a bit better.”

               Plo Koon shook her head, “I disagree.  He’ll track Xadau to the ends of the galaxy now.  His path will only end when he’s found justice.”

                                                                                –

                Ten hours later, Kento released the clamps and allowed the Delta-II fighter to float away from the small hyperdrive rig.  He wiggled the ship’s controls and felt the response.  As he maneuvered, the starfighter’s astromech plotted a course for the Outland Station and displayed it on his viewscreen.  He twisted the ship around to the proper heading and pulsed the engines.  He would dock at the space station in half an hour and from there could start to properly chase down Orion and get some answers.

                Out of nowhere, a blue bolt flew past his cockpit.  He banked the Delta-II and twisted his neck.  The shot had come from behind him, but he could not see the source.  His sensor array reported a contact to the rear but gave him no useful information other than that his attacker had a much larger vessel.

                Another ion blast flew past as he started to come around.  Kento noted that the ion shots would only disable his ship, not destroy it.  He began to suspect that his journey here had been predicted.

                With his laser cannons spun up, he finished the turn just in time to meet the third ion bolt head-on.  His astromech squealed from a power surplus and shut down to avoid damage.  Similarly, his cockpit crackled with electric energy before going as dark as space and freezing.  He was dead-stick and isolated.  There was nothing that could be done until the energy dissipated.  That could take hours.

                His radio could still receive, though transmitting would be difficult.  He heard his headset beep, followed by a familiar voice.

                “Jedi vessel, this is the Transgressor.  Prepare for docking,” the voice of Orion Xadau, Jal Shey Ranger, was as infuriating to him as the humiliation he’d felt in the council chamber. 

                This man has defeated me two times now, there will not be a third.

                His attacker came into view.  He recognized the Transgressor immediately.  The lovely, curved lines of her hull had been given a fresh coat of paint.  She now sported what looked to be a pair of blue racing stripes over a white finish.  Orion had been busy.  He’d added the blue oval of the Jal Shey on the starboard wing.  A pair of laser cannon were embedded in her nose, matching the ion cannon slung underneath.  Kento took that as a good sign.  If Orion’s aim was to kill him, then he could have simply blasted the helpless starfighter into dust. 

                The Delta-II was swallowed up by the larger vessel.  As his small starfighter settled to the surface of the cargo bay, he gave a moment for a quiet meditation.  He might have to kill Orion and he would need all his reserves to do that.

                Inside, the bay had been cleaned out.  There was no trace of any of the ship’s former illicit activities.  No sign of the dead nexu that had given them such a challenge.  Even the vague scent of spice had faded over the last year.  Or it had been deliberately scrubbed away. 

                He exited the Delta-II slowly.  He knew not what he would encounter, but he was determined to stay in control of the situation, and himself, as much as possible.  The doors that led to the next bay opened.  As they retracted, Orion stood dead center, hands out, unarmed.  He wore the same jacket Kento had been shown in the holographic recordings. 

                “Sorry for the theatrics, Kento.  I figured you’d come looking and I couldn’t chance it if you were told to take me out.”

                Kento stifled a confused look and settled for one of exasperation.  He swung his robe open enough to show the handle of his lightsaber but made no move to reach for it.

                “Orion, the Jedi don’t send people to… take out… targets.  We’re not bounty hunters.  You know that.”

                “Still, we didn’t exactly depart on good terms last time.”

                “I’m not here for revenge.  I’m here for answers.  Why are you here?”

                “Because we have unfinished business,” said Orion.

                “I couldn’t agree more,” said Kento.  He pulled his new saber to his open palm and the snap-hiss of the blade filled the bay.  A green blade lit the space between the two men.  Xadau did not flinch.

                Across a few meters of air, they measured each other’s intentions.

                “Kento, you really want to kill another unarmed captain of this ship?  That’s a little bloodthirsty.  Especially for a Jedi,” Orion said.

                “Someone is out there killing younglings.  Just like before,” Kento said, angling his blade a bit.

                “I know,” Orion said.

                “The Jedi think it’s you,” Kento said.

                “I know,” Orion said.

                “But they also think you killed Braca,” Kento said.

                “What do you think?”

                “I think you’ve been working alone.  Maybe the Jal Shey don’t trust you anymore.  Maybe they do.  Either way.  You’re trying to find the real killer, and you’re not gonna stop until you do.”

                Orion nodded.

                “But that doesn’t explain why you seem to get to the planets before the dead bodies show up,” Kento said.  He brought the glowing green blade up, aiming the tip between Orion’s eyes.  The Jal Shey didn’t flinch.  They stood only a few meters apart.

                “You want me to explain?  Or you just want a body to bring back?” Orion asked.

                “I’m debating,” Kento said.

                Orion shifted slightly to the left.  Not an attack, just an adjustment in posture.  The Jal Shey, from a distance, examined the weapon pointed at his head.

               “Nice design.  I see you went with a straight handle this time.  The green looks good.  Excellent construction.  That’ll do the trick.”

               Kento spoke over the hum of his saber blade “You were right.  Curved handles aren’t that good unless you’re in a fight against another saber.  Blaster deflection comes up a lot more.  Your stun bolt taught me that.”

                Orion nodded, then reached a hand behind his back.  He pulled out a curved handle that Kento recognized immediately. 

               Kento set his feet in a combat stance, ready to attack.  Orion put up a hand as though asking for his patience.  He held his saber with two fingers, displaying it, rather than brandishing it.  He left it unlit, then tossed it into the air, towards Kento.  Kento reached out with the Force to arrest its motion in midair.  The saber hilt hovered in the space between them. 

               Orion spoke as Kento pulled his saber closer, “Based my new one off your old one.  Hope you don’t mind.  I think a curved handle is going to come in handy pretty soon.  There’s going to be an old-fashioned saber duel before this is over.”

                Kento looked at him warily, “You didn’t seem like you were looking for a fight here.”

                “Oh, not with you, Kento.  Not with you.  It’s time you learned the truth about these killings.”

                Orion’s saber slowly floated towards Kento.  Silence and tension filled the rest of the space between the two men.  Kento still wasn’t ready to trust.

                Orion took the initiative, never being comfortable with silence.  “I’ve got something to show you.  If you still think I’m guilty after you see it, you can take your pick which saber you use to kill me.”

                With it now being close to hand, Kento took hold of Orion’s new lightsaber.  Everything about it felt different.  His first saber had been a weapon of darkness.  This one immediately conveyed a sense of the light.  The curved handle was instantly familiar to Kento.  He activated the blade.  A beautiful cerulean blue blade sprang from the emitter.

                The Jedi’s dark resolve abated, “Show me what you’ve got.”

                                                                                –

                Orion led Kento down the length of the ship, to the lab rooms where they’d seen the worst of Braca’s horrors. 

               “There’s a Falleen girl.  She’s the latest,” Kento said.

               “I know.  Taken on Boz Pity two days ago.  She’s one of the Guardians,” Orion said.

               “She hasn’t turned up yet,” Kento said.

               “I noticed that,” Orion said.  “This one is different to him.  Special, I think.”

               “Why?” Kento said.

               “I haven’t figured that part out yet.  Maybe you can help.  But I need to catch you up first,” Orion said.

               They paused at the door to the room where they’d found the dead Sullustan boy.  The room marked with the same symbol that had been carved into the victims.  Orion waved Kento inside.

                The lab had been cleaned up.  A crisp, antiseptic look on every surface.  Orion pulled a chair out with the Force and placed it in front of the central table.  Kento sat down.  At the back of the room, Orion opened a cabinet door.  When he stretched up, Kento noted the K-2 on his hip.

               “Lose the blaster, will you?” Kento said.

               Orion sighed, “Not ready to trust me yet?”

               “Until I see your evidence, I’d rather be the only one armed on this ship,” Kento said.

               Orion placed his blaster on the countertop and then pulled an item from the cabinet he’d opened.  He set the ornate red and gold pyramid on the table in front of Kento.

               “Is that what I think it is?”

               “If you think it’s a Sith holocron, then yeah,” Orion said.

               “Where did you…?”

               “I found it in Braca’s quarters after I left you on Alderaan.  He had it hidden away in this little panel in the wall.  I’d probably have missed it if I hadn’t bumped the panel with my elbow one night.”

               “What’s on it?” Kento asked.  He eyed the holocron with suspicion.

               Reaching back into the cabinet, Orion pulled out an exquisitely curved bottle and set it in front of Kento.

                Kento looked just as surprised, “This is Starlight Brandy.  That’s one of the most expensive liquors in the galaxy.  Isn’t it only available on…”

                “Taris, yeah.  Stuff is like a hundred credits per shot.”

                “Did you find that hidden away here too?” Kento asked.

                “Yeah,” Orion said.  “Spice kingpins can afford nice things.”

                “Like a nexu for a pet?” Kento said.

                “Uh-huh,” Orion said.  He pulled up a chair and sat down across a corner of the table, to Kento’s right.

                “Why are you putting this in front of me?” Kento said, indicating the brandy.

                “You’ll see,” Orion said.  He activated the holocron. 

                A face appeared to hover over the crimson pyramid.  It had the cold blue color of a holographic recording, but the features it contained gave Kento a visceral shock. 

                The bone spurs at the brow that ended in sharp points.  The stunted tendrils that hung down from the cheeks and chin.  The eyes that glowed even through a hologram. 

                “A pureblood Sith?  It can’t be,” Kento said, staring back at the feminine visage with disbelief.

                “I said the same thing,” Orion said.

                “They went extinct, millennia ago.  Some scholars think they never really existed.  Just an old myth.”

                “She looks pretty real to me,” Orion said.

                “This recording must be ancient.  The holocron… it’s a relic.  Incredible,” Kento said, unable to take his eyes away from the floating face before him.

                “I don’t know a lot about this, Kento.  You’re the history teacher.  Teach me,” Orion said.

                Kento tried to organize his thoughts under this mild shock to his mind.  He found the words through a haze of surprise.

                “Thousands of years ago, Korriban was an isolated world.  A species originated there and called itself Sith.  They had red skin and faces much like this one.  They were adept with the Dark Side of the Force, though they barely understood what they were meddling with. 

                “At some point a group of Dark Jedi came to Korriban, after being cast out from the Republic.  They found the Sith species there and the two groups fused.  They bonded over a mutual affinity for the Dark Side and a desire for power.  From that alliance, an empire sprang up.  It conquered much of the Outer Rim and made inroads into the Old Republic. 

                “Over time, the original pureblood Sith were held in high regard.  They were seen as paragons of darkness.  Leaders, warriors, assassins.  Eventually, they interbred with the Dark Jedi to the point where purebloods like her just… faded out.  They didn’t perish as much as they became something else.”

                “The Sith,” Orion said.

                “Exactly.  What we call the Sith now are the physical and spiritual descendants of the ancient Sith Empire.  The species died, but the culture remained.  Dark Side worship.  A desire for power.  Infighting, backstabbing.  The Sith carried on those traditions very well.”

                “And she,” Orion said, referring to the face projected from the holocron, “Is an original Sith?”

                “Looks to be, yes, a pureblood.  A Red Sith.  A True Sith.  To my knowledge, no one has seen a pureblood Sith in almost five thousand years.”

                “You should see this,” Orion said.  He tapped the holocron in one area and the image changed.  Above the floating face of this pureblood, a symbol formed in the air.  The same symbol that was cut into the door of the room in which they sat.  The same symbol cut into the faces of the victims.

                “What is going on here?” Kento said.

                “I’ll let her explain,” Orion said.  He let the holocron recording play.

                                                                                –

                “If you are hearing this, then you have accessed my legacy.  I am Darth Fatalis, Black Queen of the Sith.”

                “I rose to power after the death of the great Marka Ragnos.  My ancestry afforded me certain privileges within the empire, which I used to blaze a new path to glory.  Armed with ancient Sith alchemy and guided by the Dark Side, I discovered a secret which led to my exile on this barren world.”

                Kento looked at Orion, who shrugged in response.  The recording continued.

                “As a check on the power of the barbaric Ludo Kressh, I began to absorb the midi-chlorians of my fellow Sith through a ritual known as bloodstalking.”

                “Bloodstalking is a technique that allows one Sith to drain power from another, leaving the victim devoid of life and essence.  With each victim, the user becomes more and more powerful with the Dark Side.  Fusing the midi-chlorians of many Sith to enhance the powers of one. 

                “Bloodstalking is achieved through this method,” Fatalis said. 

                Kento paused the recording, “That’s impossible.  You can’t transfer midi-chlorians…”

                “Just watch,” Orion said, reaching for the holocron.

               “Am I going to want to see this?” Kento asked.

                “No.”

                Kento started the recording again.  He watched as this Sith, this Darth Fatalis, restrained a young human girl.  Holding her down with the Force, the Sith cut into the victim’s forehead, leaving the distinctive mark they’d noted before.  Then cuts were made into the young girl’s arms, causing the blood to flow at a prodigious rate. 

                “Oh, stop!  Stop!  That poor child,” Kento said, unable to do a thing to ease her suffering across the inconquerable barrier of time.

                Kento watched as Fatalis projected lightning from her fingers, the rivulets of blood coalescing in the energy to give the lightning a searing red quality.  The young girl’s body spasmed, wracked with pain.  The girl’s frame contorted and stretched in horrible ways.  The restraints kept her in place, but the raw energy that coursed through her body almost wrenched her loose.

                On the recording, Fatalis had used the Force to compact the blood of the now drained and deceased human girl into a swirling ball of red liquid.  With more lightning entering the sphere, it began to rotate faster and faster.  As it sped up, the sphere was drained of color, as though the lightning had leeched away any remnant of the red blood that had once coursed through the victim’s veins.  What was left was a smaller, glowing orb, still lofted by the Force energy that Fatalis projected.

                Kento watched as Fatalis brought the orb to her frame and let it enter her body through the skin.  The wicked smile on her face marked the conclusion of the ritual.  Behind her, the desiccated body of her victim fell limply back to the ground.

                Orion stopped the recording.  Kento, with gritted teeth and tear-stained cheeks, reached for the bottle.  As he drank, Orion spoke, calmly and clinically.

                “That red lighting… that’s what Braca tried to hit me with,” Orion said.

                “The striations on the victim’s bodies,” Kento said.

                “Braca must have learned from this holocron,” Orion said.

                “So did whoever is doing these new murders,” Kento said.  He paused, looking at the holocron again, “Is there more?” he asked.

                “I don’t know.  That’s all I’ve been able to access.  There seems to be a slot for something but I don’t know what.”

               “Sometimes they used kyber crystals to store data.”

               “You can do that?” Orion asked.

               “We can,” Kento said, nodding.  “Some Masters keep journal files and store the data there.  More private than ink and paper.”

               “At any rate, there wasn’t anything else with this when I found it,” Orion said.

                Kento nodded.

                “Do you still think I had anything to do with this?” Orion asked.

                “No,” Kento said.  “But why are you in such proximity to these new victims?”

                “I have a theory.  I think whoever this killer is can track my movements.”

                “How?” Kento asked.

                “Maybe they have a beacon on this ship.  Maybe it’s in the holocron.  Maybe it’s something totally different.  But I think they decided to follow me and they’re leaving a trail of bodies in their wake.”

                “You’ve tried to set a trap?” Kento asked.

                “Twice.  Whoever it is, they’re cautious.  No open confrontations.”

                “You think they knew Braca?” Kento asked.

                “I do.  At some point either Braca taught our killer how to do this, or it was the other way around.  Braca used bloodstalking to build himself a nice little criminal empire.  This killer… is going a different way.  I think he killed your Jedi and my Rangers.  Braca was surely a killer, but he wasn’t our killer.”

                Kento put a hand to his mouth, in realization, “So, if I hadn’t killed Braca, he might have…”

                “Don’t do that to yourself,” Orion said.

                Kento seethed with inward directed anger, “We need to find this Sithspawn.”

                “How do you propose to do that?” Orion asked.

                “If Braca knew this guy, they must have been in the same place at the same time.  If we knew where this ship had been, we could check those locations.”

                “I thought of that, but the ship’s navicomputer is locked.  There’s a security program in place.  All the navigation records from before we took the ship, I can’t access any of that,” Orion said.

               “I wonder if he can,” Kento said, nodding to the R2 unit that he’d brought along from Coruscant.

***

               On the bridge, the R2 unit whirred and chittered.  Kento watched it connect to the navicomputer.  The flickering lights seemed to indicate that it was searching, or processing, or slicing.  Either way, he let it work in peace.  Orion stepped in from the corridor and sat down across from him, in the captain’s chair.

               “How have you been?” Kento asked, swiveling to face him.

               “Eh, passable.  When the Jal Shey heard about the new killings, they weren’t too happy.”

               “Same with the Jedi Council,” Kento said.

               Orion shook his head, “Truth be told, I can’t blame them.  I haven’t slept real well since I found out.”

               Kento nodded, “I can imagine.”

               Orion let out a breath and sat back in his chair.

               “I was actually on Coruscant a few months ago.  I thought about trying to see you, but I wasn’t sure if…”

               “What brought you to Coruscant?” Kento said, cutting him off.

               “I was helping Dex set up his new place,” Orion said.

               “Dex?  The shopkeeper?  He’s dead.  Montross said…”

               Orion put up a hand, “Montross thought he killed him.  It was a case of mistaken identity.  Dex’s brother-in-law was at the store, Montross got them mixed up.  Couldn’t tell one Besalisk from another, I suspect.  The brother-in-law caught a blaster bolt, Dex got away clean.  He’s got a nice little diner now in CoCo Town.”

               “Oh,” Kento said.

               “You don’t sound too happy,” Orion said.

               “Well, it’s just… I thought I’d gotten him killed,” Kento said.

               “You didn’t,” Orion said.

               “I just got someone else killed.  Someone who didn’t have anything to do with this,” Kento said.

               Before Orion could reply, the R2 unit beeped excitedly. 

               “He’s got something,” Orion said.

                                                                                –

               The Transgressor emerged from hyperspace in the outer part of the Anoat system.  As the field of view reversed from white brilliance to black night, Orion ran a sensor scan of the surrounding area.

               “Okay, Anoat system.  What have we got?  Looks like a handful of planets.  Anoat itself is the only thing really interesting.  Decent population.  Lot of potential customers for our old friend.”

               Kento shuddered a bit at the reference to Braca as an “old friend”.  He had never been able to fully clear his mind of the image of Braca’s body.  And now here he was again on the bridge, the site of his greatest failure.

               Orion kept talking, more to himself than to Kento, as he continued the sweep.  “Hey!  There it is.  Navigation coordinates are pointing us to an asteroid field out at the edge of the system.  It’d be a good place to hide from the law.”

               “Hiding a secret spice operation, perhaps?” Kento asked, with a raised eyebrow.

               “I’m thinking so.  I can’t get a reading from this far out, but let’s get closer and see what we can find.”

               Half an hour later they approached the edge of the asteroid field.  The cluster of rocks, large and small, tumbled and bumped in universal randomness.  Kento was apprehensive about flying through such a maelstrom of stone and vacuum, but he didn’t give voice to his concerns.

               “Are you picking up anything?” he asked.

               “There’s a shadow beacon,” Orion said.

               “A shadow beacon?” Kento asked.

               “Yeah, it’s tuned to the ship’s navicomputer.  It’s putting out a signal only we can see.  But it’s intermittent.  Not surprising, considering all this,” Orion gestured to the chaotic mess of rocks outside the cockpit window. 

               “Can you navigate that?” Kento asked.

               “I really shouldn’t,” Orion said.

               “Are we sure there’s something in there?” Kento asked.

               “According to the navicomputer this ship has been to this system many, many times.  I’m sure there’s some kind of beacon in there that only this ship can pick up on.  I just can’t be sure there’s anything in there worth searching for.”

               “We have to risk it,” Kento said.

               “Yeah, I know.  I know.  Just… not wild about this.  Strap in.  This is going to get interesting,” Orion said. 

               Kento pulled himself into the seat at the sensor station and buckled the harness.  Orion pulsed the sublight engines and entered the asteroid field.

               “Keep an eye on the scanners.  We’ve got to find that signal among all the hash.  When you spot it, point me in the right direction,” Orion said.

               Kento put his hands over the sensor screen and peered into it.  He was grateful to have something to look at besides the asteroids.  When the shadow beacon’s signal blinked into life on his screen, he called out the angles to Orion. 

               “Left thirty, mark eight point four,” he said. 

               Kento felt the ship lurch as Orion adjusted the direction.  He saw the screen in front of him rotate and the markers spin around.  Then another sudden twist as Orion flew to avoid an incoming rock.  He dodged and weaved among the boulders.  Kento felt a spat of nausea as he stared at the sensor screen.  He looked up to stare out the window and was confronted by a small mountain of rock.  He quickly went back to the little electronic screen on the console.

               “Angle up at eighteen.  Mark four point seven,” he called out.  Again, the change of motion played with his innards.  This was starting to feel like a very bad idea.

               “I think I see it,” Orion said.  “That looks like it could be it over there, look.”

               Kento looked up, scanning the sky.  He saw a cloud of debris over to the right.  Bits of transparisteel and ship hull pieces hanging in a cluster over the smashed wreck of a freighter.  The freighter’s rear had been pulverized, presumably from impacts with other asteroids.  The forward section, what was left of it, was attached to an asteroid.

               “That doesn’t look like most of the rocks here,” Kento said.

               Indeed, it did not.  The asteroids in this field were mostly round or oblong.  They were lumpy, random masses.  This particular asteroid looked like a pair of spheres that had fused together.  It held position amidst the swirl.  There seemed to be no translation or rotation.  Kento didn’t need an explanation.  It was clear what he was looking at.  This was a space station, small, but no doubt efficient.  A cylinder that was padded with a bulbous outer coating that made it look like a couple of local rocks had become conjoined.

               As the Transgressor circled around the other side, the ruse was completely lost.  Embedded in the other end of the cylinder, opposite the ruined freighter, was a docking port.  Available and inviting.

               “Not a bad little design,” Orion mused.  “He brings in the spice on one side, processes it inside the station, offloads it to a freighter on the other side.  Simple in and out.”

                “Pretty small,” Kento said.

                “Minimal crew.  Don’t split up the profits any more than you have to.  You could run something like that with two or three people, maybe a couple of droids.  You’d make a killing selling down on Anoat.  If you had enough freighters and raw material, you could run spice through this whole sector.”

                “So, this was just Braca’s flagship, not his whole operation?” Kento said, indicating the Transgressor.

                “I believe so,” Orion said.

                “Let’s see if they left anything behind,” Kento said.

                Smoothly, Orion brought the Transgressor up to the empty docking port.  A series of heavy clicks indicated they were connected securely to the station.  Orion got up from his chair and made his way to the hatch just aft of the bridge.  Kento followed close behind.

                “Keep your saber at the ready.  They might have left traps.  Spice runners aren’t known for being very trusting.”

                Kento used the Force to pull his saber hilt into his right hand.  Orion did the same for the blaster on his left hip.  Kento watched the bulky weapon float past Orion’s chest and saw the Jal Shey aim it at the closed hatch.

                “Do you want me to go first?” Kento asked, hefting his saber.

                “I’d rather you watch my back.  I’ll take point,” Orion said.  He opened the hatch.

               A chill filled the air.  The cold bit into Kento’s skin like an impact with an iceberg.  He shivered and pulled his robes tighter around his shoulders. 

               The interior of the station was dark and eerie.  Whatever powered the vehicle had apparently depleted.  The lights were off, heating was off, and so, apparently, were the artificial gravity systems.  Internal illumination from the Transgressor revealed a few details, but the shadows held most of the territory.  Orion hit a button on the barrel of his blaster.  A cone of white light filled the space wherever he pointed the weapon.

               Orion pushed off from the hatch and floated into the chamber.

                Kento watched as the Jal Shey Ranger pirouetted and checked the walls all around him. 

               “Looks clear,” he said.  “Are you sensing anything?”

               Kento shook his head, “The Force tells me nothing.  There is no life in this place.”

               “That’s actually good news for us,” Orion said, making his way further down.

               “If you say so,” Kento said, following him in.  He lit his saber blade and the module filled with viridian light.  The snap-hiss visibly startled Orion and Kento gave him a sympathetic shrug.

               “Good thinking,” Orion said, turning back towards the space ahead of them.

               Odds and ends floated randomly through the vessel.  There were long tables down the middle of the cylinder.  A floor and a ceiling provided a sense of up and down, but with the lack of power, there was no gravity to enforce those senses. 

               They dodged glass containers and floating bags, both empty and full.  The air stung Kento’s nostrils when he inhaled too deeply.  A chemical smell, combined with a tang that undoubtedly marked the remnants of a sizable batch of spice.  Kento grimaced and wished he’d brought a breathing mask. 

               The curved side walls led up to cabinet doors near the ceiling.  Orion floated up and started opening the doors one-by-one, searching for anything that might be of interest.  Kento took the opposite wall and did the same.  By unspoken agreement, they started to call out the items they found.

               “I’ve got glassware and goggles.  Looks like basic laboratory stuff,” Orion said.

               “I’ve got a scale and a box of gloves,” Kento said.

               Orion shifted down, “A couple of empty boxes and…” he paused, handling some object, “I think this is a fire extinguisher.”

               Kento nodded, checking the next cabinet, “In here, there are rags and cleaning supplies.

               Orion checked the last door before the far wall.  He opened it and his head pulled back suddenly, “Whoa.  Interesting.  It’s… it’s a droid.”

               Kento frowned.  Based on the size of the cabinets, it must be a small one.

               “Is it active?” Kento asked, abandoning the row of cabinets he was checking.

               Orion pulled a small metal foot from the cabinet.  The rest of the droid came with it.  Kento’s first thought was that it looked kind of cute.  It appeared to have no weapons and it was not even half a meter tall.  The small frame made it non-threatening.  He couldn’t imagine any danger from this little sprite.  It had a boxy, bipedal frame, mostly white with some blue trim.  The legs bent backwards.  The head was angular, with a pair of antennae coming off the top, almost like ears. 

               Orion held the little droid like an injured pet.  It made no movements, emitted no sound. 

               “It must be out of power,” Orion said.

               “That makes sense.  It’s been out here for more than a year,” Kento said.

               “Based on where we found it, I don’t think it was something that Sithspawn took good care of.  Poor little fella,” Orion said, cradling the droid in his arm.

               “Have you ever seen a design like that?” Kento asked, tapping one of the droid’s feet.  The unit began to slowly tumble in the space between the two men.

               “Not familiar to me.  Still, who knows what it might be able to tell us?” Orion said.  “We’ll take it back when we’re done.”

               Kento nodded.  Orion put the little droid down on a countertop, uselessly as it merely floated up in the zero gravity.  He pressed the tiny frame into a corner and held it motionless for a moment.  Satisfied that it wouldn’t float away, he confronted the round door on the far wall from where they’d come in.

               “Does that lead to the busted freighter?” Kento asked.

               Orion shook his head, “No, I don’t think so.  The station is bigger than this,” he said, indicating the room they now occupied.  “I think there’s another module, probably the same size, behind this one.”

               Kento nodded to the hatch, “Okay, let’s check it out.”

               Orion swung the hatch open.  Kento angled his body slightly and went in first, floating in mid-air through the hatch combing.  Again, there was a dark void, though this one was more cramped.  His saber blade lit boxes that floated around just as randomly as the asteroids outside.  The crates bumped and nudged together gently, slowly. 

               “Storage,” Kento said.  He sniffed the air and grimaced, “Spice storage.”

               Kento pushed one crate aside before it could bump his shoulder.  Orion watched from the first module, waiting to see if he found anything noteworthy.

               The green light gave the space an eerie feel.  It cast the room with stark shadows.  Orion floated in the doorframe between the two modules, watching as the Jedi looked around.  He glanced to one side of the module just before the shadow swooped down.  The sudden loss of light from Kento’s blade was jarring.  He looked up just in time to see the outline of a figure between him and his partner.  This was no small, unthreatening droid.  This silhouette was bigger than either of them.  And Orion could see the shadow of a large, repeating blaster at the end of one arm.

               “Statement: You are an intruder,” the droid said, before he commenced firing.

               Kento barely turned in time to dodge the first shot.  The rest came in a fast stream of angry red bolts.  His saber swept the space between his head and the blaster fire.  It was enough to save his life, but only barely.  He tumbled backwards, bouncing off the floor and several crates all at once.  His training gave him the presence of mind to use the floating boxes for cover.  He kicked off and scrambled, trying to dodge more fire. 

               Blaster bolts burst open crates that floated near him, spilling potent doses of spice into the air.  He moved to cover his mouth and ducked away.  Behind him, he heard more blasts ringing against the far walls of the fuselage. 

               Orion, a witness to this ambush, had a perfect shot on a stationary target.  He brought up his blaster and levelled it at the droid’s back.  His shot struck the droid in the center of its exposed spinal column.

               And had no effect.

               The droid spun in midair to face this new threat.  Orion squeezed off two more ineffective shots before throwing the blaster at the droid, half in frustration, half in an attempt at distraction.  The blaster pistol bounced off the droid’s head and had no impact on its subroutines. 

               Orion was now its primary target.

               The Jal Shey Ranger used the Force to snatch his curved hilt saber from its place on his belt.  In one fluid motion, he activated the blade and flung the hilt at his attacker.

               The saber flew through space, the blade drawing out as it tumbled.  Guided by the Force, the spinning disc of light slashed through the droid’s neck at a sharp angle.  The sharp, pointed stump housed the connections that commanded the weapon to fire.  As the blade cleaved the droid, the attack ended as quickly as it had begun.

               Silence filled the space.

               Kento emerged from a cloud of spice dust.  He brushed it aside with the Force.

               “What was that?” he asked.

               “Some kind of sentry-droid.  Must have been left behind like our little friend.  Probably programmed to kill looters,” Orion said.

               Kento waved an arm behind him, “That would explain them.”

               Orion looked up, following his gesture.  There were a few corpses floating amongst the crates.  They were riddled with blaster shots.  Kento turned, saw the bodies and flinched.

               Orion floated over for a closer look.  He whistled forlornly, “Must be the crew of that freighter outside.  I figured the vacuum got ‘em.  Not so lucky.  Or maybe more lucky, depending on your point of view.”

               “Thanks for handling that,” Kento said, indicating the fallen droid.

               “Well, you got to cut the head off last time.  It was my turn,” Orion said, rather deadpan.

               “You know…” Kento said, his frustration oozing to the surface.

               “Save it.  Let’s get this done and get out of here.”

               “It’s a mess with all this spice in the air.  I say we leave and try out the little droid you found.  If it can’t tell us anything, we can always come back,” Kento said.

               Orion shrugged, “Good enough for me.”  He tapped the big battle droid’s frame with his boot, “You recognize this one?” he asked.

               Kento used the Force to snatch the severed head from the air and pull it to his hand.  He held it over the droid’s bisected neck and raised an eyebrow. 

               “Yes, actually.  It’s an antique.  Old hunter-killer model.  It’s a relic.  Must have been restored, or maybe a reproduction, lovingly built from old schematics.”

               “That tracks.  Spice runners are showy.  Having something like this would be intimidating to rivals,” Orion said.

               “He must have paid quite a bit for it,” Kento said.  “It’s a shame you had to destroy it.  If it’s an original, it belongs in a museum.”

               Orion shrugged, “Bring it along.  We’re already taking the little guy.  Maybe I can fix it,” Orion said.

               “Are you sure?  It just tried to kill you,” Kento said.

               “You tried to kill me last year and you’re sitting in my copilot chair.  Bring it along.  It’s worth saving.”

                                                                                –

               As the Transgressor emerged from the asteroid field, Kento felt a sense of relief.  He could feel the tension slough off of Orion as the ship cleared the last of the large rocks.  It was much less stressful to be in open space again. 

               “I’m putting us in an orbit that shouldn’t draw any attention.  We’ll let it drift for a little while.  Let’s see what that droid can tell us,” Orion said.

               Together they left the bridge and walked aft.  The droid had been left to charge in the workshop, just forward of the engine room.  As they entered, Kento saw the droid spring up from the workbench where they had put it down to charge.  The boxy little biped hooted excitedly and hopped back and forth on each foot, like a playful gizka.

               “Well, hey there, little fella,” Orion said. 

               The little droid hooted cheerfully.  Kento could see one of its lensed eyes refocusing, looking back and forth between the two men. 

               Orion spoke to the droid like a pet, “My name is Orion Xadau.  I’m a Jal Shey Ranger.  This is my friend, Kento Marek, of the Jedi Order.”

               The droid beeped and whirred, then tilted its head down, in what passed for a modest bow. 

               “BD-N8, we’re delighted to meet you,” Orion said.

               Kento interjected, “You can understand that thing?”

               Orion turned to look at him and frowned, “I speak binary, yes.  And let’s not refer to our new friend as a ‘thing’, shall we?  Especially when we need his help.”

               The droid whistled in a series that went rapidly between high and low.

               “Really?” Orion asked.

               Again the chittering whistles, a new pattern now.

               “Czerka Corporation?” Orion asked.

               Again Kento heard an incomprehensible response.

               “You want to catch me up here?” Kento asked.

               Orion ignored him, still talking to the droid, “Okay, that is this ship’s designator.  But it’s not a Czerka vessel any longer.”

               “This is a Czerka ship?” Kento asked, raising an eyebrow.

               “That’s what he’s telling me.  Czerka Corporation, the pharmaceutical division.  It’s a research vessel.  Or it was when he was last on board.  They were surveying worlds for new medicinal plants.”

               “That would explain the sensor arrays,” Kento said.

               “And all the cargo space,” Orion said.  He turned to address the droid again, “When we found it, it belonged to a spice runner named Braca.  Do you know him?”

               BD-N8 put out a smattering of excited sounds. 

               “He says Braca was his master.  Braca was a Czerka employee, and our friend here was assigned to him.”

               “So, the droid is Czerka property too?” Kento asked.

               “So it would seem,” Orion said.

               The droid gave a series of clicks and whistles that seemed to trail higher in pitch.

               Orion addressed the BD unit, “We found you aboard a space station that manufactured spice.  Do you know anything about that?”

               Kento said, “We don’t care about the spice operation.  Ask him about the murders.”

               “I’m easing in,” Orion said.  “Are you in a hurry?”

               “Yes!  I’m trying to catch a murderer before he kills again,” Kento snapped back.

               Orion shrugged, “This’ll be easier if you don’t try to rush it.”

               Kento sighed, took his lightsaber from his belt and put it down on the workbench, next to the droid, “Have you ever seen one of these before?”

               The little BD unit looked at the saber hilt intently.  He emitted a cone of light and scanned the saber hilt back and forth for a moment.  Then a series of clicks and hoots came forth.

               Orion replied to him, “That’s right.  We had a friend who was murdered.  She carried a weapon like this.  We’re trying to find the person who killed her.”

               The droid hooted mournfully.

               “No luck?” Kento asked, taking a guess.

               Orion ignored him.  The droid continued a low toned chirping.

               “Well, that could be something,” Orion said.

               “What’s he saying?” Kento asked.

               “He only has one record in his memory that references a lightsaber,” Orion said.  Then he addressed BD-N8 again, “Can you show us the file?”

               The BD unit whirred and chittered once again.  Its connection to the charging station began to rotate in a random pattern.  Above the workbench, the viewscreen illuminated the otherwise dim room.

***

               BD-N8’s electronic eyes came online.  In another room, a voice could be heard, shouting for him,

               “Nate!  Come on, we’ve got work to do!”

               The droid hopped off its perch and padded through the workshop, looking up from knee-height at a human male with a slight frame.

               “Charging time is over little man, we’ve got to see what’s out there.  Hop on up,” Braca said.

               BD-N8 climbed up onto the shoulder of his master.  Braca walked through the ship and onto the bridge.  Out in front of the ship was a red, rocky planet. 

               A small scout ship flew into view.  Braca pressed a button to open a communications channel.

               “Tarrus, do you read me?”

               “Loud and clear.  I’m telling you; this place has a lot of potential.”

               “I’m not so sure.  This whole world is rusted desert,” Braca said.

               “Not all of it.  This one grove is bursting with life.  It’s an oasis in the middle of a planet-wide desert.  The vegetation in that area looks a lot like Felucian jungle to me.  Don’t you want to know what’s growing there and why?” Tarrus asked.

               “All right, you sold me.  I’m starting the landing cycle.  We’ll put down at the outer edge of the grove.  Follow me and we’ll go in together.”

               “Good plan,” Tarrus said.

               BD-N8 watched as Braca brought the ship down over a rusted landscape.  Out the bridge window, a clump of trees appeared on the horizon.  As he approached, the clump took on the form of a large patch of jungle.  By the time he landed, the jungle trees and plants dominated the forward view.

               “Let’s see what we have here,” Braca said to BD-N8.

               The little droid clung to Braca’s right shoulder as he exited the Mon Cal freighter.  On the ground, BD-N8 watched as Tarrus landed his small Mankvim-814 interceptor.  Tarrus emerged from the cockpit.  BD-N8 zoomed in on his frame.

               Tarrus was a blood red Nikto.  An exceptionally brightly colored example of his species.  He was bulky and muscular.  It was amazing that he fit in the cockpit of his little interceptor.  This was clearly someone who valued his physical prowess.  Such mentalities were common among the Nikto.  His parents must have been proud.

               Braca waved Tarrus over and BD-N8 hopped down off his shoulder.  The little droid looked around the edge of the jungle as Tarrus and Braca conferred.

               “The director still wants us to prioritize pheromones and pollenators,” Braca said.

               “You’re the chemist.  I’m just the scout,” Tarrus said.  “How am I supposed to know what’s in there?”

               “Just don’t turn this into another Dantooine fiasco,” Braca said.

               “Oh c’mon.  That girl was beautiful, and it was two years ago.  How long are you going to keep bringing that up?” Tarrus said.

               Braca laughed, “As long as you keep getting mad about it.”

               “Yeah, yeah, funny,” Tarrus said, giving Braca a playful shove to the shoulder as they started into the jungle.  Tarrus went first, chopping at some of the undergrowth with a vibrohatchet. 

               BD-N8 recorded and scanned every plant that he could see from his spot on Braca’s shoulder. 

               “Why here?  What’s so special about this particular spot?  Everything outside of here is a wasteland,” Tarrus asked.

                Braca shrugged, “Something about the soil, or maybe there’s water underground.  But we should find the center of this grove.  Whatever the reason, we’ll find it at the center.”

                “Is Nate getting all this?” Tarrus asked.

                The little BD-droid hooted an affirmation. 

               As a group, they moved into the jungle.  After a couple kilometers of trudging, the two explorers came upon a stone archway.  In the capstone, an ancient symbol was carved. 

                “Any idea what that means?” Tarrus said, pointing up at the archway.

                “Not a clue,” Braca said.

                BD-N8 recorded them moving through the stone arch.  A pathway was cut into the jungle foliage.  They walked a short distance and came into a clearing.  A large, flat stone stood at the center.  It had the dimensions of a banquet table.  A grand disc that had been perfectly positioned at the core of this strange jungle.  Clearly an artificial marker or monument, its significance didn’t need to be stated to be obvious.

                At the center of the stone was the Sith holocron.  BD-N8 took note of an object that was sticking out from one side of the small pyramid.  The recording highlighted it and identified it as a lightsaber.

                Braca retrieved the holocron and it activated at the first touch.  The sharp-lined face of Fatalis hovered in the air above the pyramid’s apex and spoke.

                “If you are hearing this, then you have accessed my legacy.  I am Darth Fatalis, Black Queen of the Sith.”

                                                                                –

                “Nate, pause the playback, please,” Orion said.

                The image froze on Braca and Tarrus staring at the face of Fatalis. 

                Kento stared at the faces on the viewscreen with angry resolve.

                “Droid, pull up everything you have on this Tarrus,” Kento said.

                The recording faded and a new image came up on the screen.  It was the logo of Czerka Corporation.  That winked out and a file came up.  Orion began to read the Aurebesh on the screen next to the holograph of Tarrus’s face.

                “He’s a Kajain’sa’Nikto, obviously,” Orion said, “Born on Kintan.  Family migrated to Corellia.  Went to the Corellian Security Academy.  Dropped out after a year and signed on with a shipping outfit.  The company got bought out by Czerka and he got assigned to the scout ship Botanical Harmony.”

                Orion paused, “This ship is called Botanical Harmony?” he asked BD-N8.

                The droid hooted in the affirmative.

                “Dump that, I’m still calling it the Transgressor,” Orion said.

                “Focus, laser brain.  How can we find this guy?” Kento asked.

                “Nate, resume playback,” Orion said.

                                                                                –

                The image changed back to the jungle grove and Tarrus and Braca staring, dumbfounded, at the holocron’s recording. 

                Orion and Kento watched the two men observe the rest of the recording.  Neither appeared to be horrified.  Both had a look of fascination.

                Instead of ending, as it had for Orion and Kento, the holocron kept playing.  Fatalis’s voice continued.

                “As you are the first visitors to this sanctuary, I offer you a gift.  Embedded within this holocron are stasis-tubes that contain concentrated midi-chlorians.  Consuming the vials will confer upon you the ability to control the Force.  If you already wield the Force, these will greatly enhance your abilities.”

                Panels on the sides of the holocron rotated and retracted.  The object altered its shape and three vials emerged from the structure.  Braca took one, Tarrus another, they left the third in place.  Each examined his vial with a skeptical eye.  Fatalis went on.

                “Through the technique of bloodstalking, you will acquire greater power.  Every time you extract the blood of a Jedi through this ritual, you will gain more strength in the Force.  The lessons contained within this holocron will teach you everything you need to know.  How to construct a lightsaber.  How to defeat a Jedi.  How to use the Dark Side of the Force.  The grove will provide for all your needs.  When you are ready, I will instruct you in the final ritual.  The rite that will lead the Sith to become the greatest power the galaxy has ever seen.”

                Tarrus reached out to pause the holocron’s recording.

                “What are you doing?” Braca said.

                BD-N8 watched as Tarrus unsealed the stasis-tube and swallowed its contents.

                “Tarrus?” Braca said, stepping back.

                Tarrus looked positively gleeful as he absorbed the midi-chlorians, “This is everything.  The power of the Force.  We could do whatever we want.  We could be whatever we want.”

                “Are you sure?” Braca asked.

                Tarrus turned and saw a small rock at the edge of the clearing.  He took a deep breath, then reached out with his hand and the stone began to wiggle.  After a couple of tries, it levitated.  One more attempt and it flew into his hand.

                “I’m sure,” Tarrus said.

                Braca nodded and grinned.  He took his own vial and consumed it just as Tarrus had.  BD-N8 recorded a ripple that passed through his body.  The shock of the absorption gave Braca a chill that ran through his spine.  He recovered quickly. 

                “Wizard,” Braca said.  Then he turned to his little companion droid, “Nate, stop recording.”

                “Why?” Tarrus asked.

                “Whatever we’re going to do now, it’s no business of Czerka’s.  From now on, we work for ourselves.”

                The recording stopped.

                                                                                –

                Orion and Kento shared a silent moment of reflection.

                “Can that really be the way of it?” Kento asked.

                “What do you mean?” Orion asked.

                “Concentrated midi-chlorians?  I’ve never heard of that,” Kento said.

                “You know about midi-chlorians, though, right?” Orion said, tapping the patch on his jacket, the one with the blue oval logo of the Jal Shey.

                “I know what the Jedi have taught me.  They’re a microscopic form of life.  They live within cells and tell us the will of the Force,” Kento said.

                “It’s a little more complicated than that,” Orion said.

                “Teach me,” Kento said.

                “Midi-chlorians in sufficient quanties allow people like you and I to tap into the energy fields that make up the Force.”

                “I thought it was one field,” Kento said.

                “It is, depending on your perspective.  Small scale or large scale.  It’s all interconnected.”

                “Okay.”

                “The point is, the more of them you have, the more energy you can access,” Orion said.

                “Jedi 101,” Kento said.

                “Yeah.  And I’m betting in your classes, they tell you that midi-chlorians can’t be transferred from one person to another.”

                “Yeah, they were clear on that.  They do get passed down through bloodlines, but you can’t move them between bodies,” Kento said.

                “There’s nothing in the structure or workings of midi-chlorians that says they can’t be transferred.  We’ve just never seen it done.  Jal Shey researchers have tried this for hundreds of years.  No success.  Every generation or so, someone comes along to try again.  To take midi-chlorians from plants, or animals, or dead Force users and salvage them.  They’ve never gotten anywhere.  They’re never viable after a transfer.  We don’t understand why.”

                “And you think Fatalis figured it out?”

                “I think she could have,” Orion said.

                “Then why the exile?  If she’d given them this ability, they’d revere her, not cast her out,” Kento said.

                “’Given them’?” Orion asked.  “Sith do not give anything away.  If she learned this power, she would use it for her own ends, and may the Force be with anyone who stood in her way.  No, I suspect she started to prey on other Sith to the point that she became a threat, and those in power dealt with her before she could prey upon them.”

                Kento nodded, “Betrayal is the way of the Sith.”

                “I suspect our friends learned that the hard way,” Orion said, nodding to the frozen image of Braca and Tarrus standing together.

                BD-N8 gave a mournful hoot and chittered a series of clicks.

                Orion blushed, “Sorry, buddy.  I forgot you were listening.”

                The droid issued a rapid series of whistles and tones.

                “Oh, yeah, we’d definitely like to see that,” Orion said.

                “What’s he saying?” Kento asked.

                “He made another recording.  This is his last log entry from this planet.”

                “Show us,” Kento said.

                                                                                –

                A ripple of lightning crackled through the night sky.  The stars were blotted out, dimmed behind a thick bank of low clouds.  Hard rain pounded every plant and rock.  The jungle soaked in the moisture eagerly.  Nate’s sensors turned to record an argument that had broken out between Braca and Tarrus.  They stood by the center stone, arguing back and forth.  In the background, a pair of huts had been constructed.  The smouldering remnants of a campfire had been doused by the downpour.  A small pile of animal bones and fruit peels sat between the huts.

                “We can’t do that!  It’s a trick.  That’s not a path to glory, it’s a path to our deaths!” Braca said, yelling at Tarrus.  The rain came down on their heads.  Their raised voices could barely be heard over the thunder. 

                “We can’t refuse!” Tarrus yelled back.  “She’s given us everything.  We owe it to her to see this through!”

                “She’s been dead for a thousand years.  We owe her nothing!  You said yourself, we can be whatever we want to be.”

                “I want this!” Tarrus said.  His fists clenched.  His body shifted to tower over Braca, “She’s gotten us this far.  I want whatever destiny she has set for us.”

                “You’re a fool,” Braca said.  “It’s been months of this, and she’s led us up a blind alley.  Can’t you see this was her plan the whole time?  She doesn’t care for you!  She can’t.  She’s gone!  She’s just using you!  She would have used whoever got here first!”

                “I don’t believe that.  Look at what we can do because of her!  She’s never led us astray before.”

                “I don’t care.  I’m not going along with this.  I’m leaving.  Now!”

                “Then go!” Tarrus said.

                “And I’m taking the holocron,” Braca said, snatching it from the stone pedestal.  He tucked it under his arm.

                “Like hell you are,” Tarrus said.  He reached out with the Force to snatch the holocron back.

                The holocron hovered in the space between them for a moment, both men using the Force in an invisible tug-of-war.

                “It’s worth a fortune.  I’ll need credits to start out,” Braca said.

               “You’re not taking her from me!” Tarrus screamed. 

               BD-N8 zoomed in on the floating holocron and watched as it vibrated back and forth.  It seemed like it would shatter into pieces until, suddenly, the lightsaber that was mounted on its forward panel came loose and flew through the air, into the outstretched hand of Tarrus.

               Braca and Tarrus fell back, stunned at the sudden end to their struggle.  They each held a piece of Fatalis’s legacy.  Braca tucked the holocron under his arm, just as he had before.  He got to his feet and whistled for BD-N8.  The droid eagerly sprinted to catch up to his master.

               Nate climbed up onto Braca’s shoulder as the young man ran into the jungle.  From behind, he heard the iconic snap-hiss of a saber activating.  And a beat later heard a howling roar that bounced randomly off the trees.  A call that could not have come from Tarrus himself.  A howl that could only be summoned by an enormous creature.

               “What the hell was that?” Braca said, not bothering to look back at Tarrus or this new threat.

               BD-N8 skittered a fearful bleat.  The jungle ahead was dark, damp, and dangerous.  But it was nothing compared to the dangers from which Braca now fled. 

               After a few leaps over fallen branches and a moment of being bogged down in a mud pit, Braca heard his pursuer’s approach.  Nate snuck a peek over his shoulder and saw a searing slash cut through a fallen patch of brush.  Another followed it, creating an X.  Then the brush burst forth in a spray of wood and chaos.  Tarrus was shown in outline, backlit by a clash of lightning. 

               BD-N8 kept his photoreceptors on Tarrus.  Braca didn’t turn back.  Braca never saw Tarrus’s outline overcome by shadow.  He didn’t see the massive, clawed hand reach out and snatch the Nikto off the ground.

               But he heard the scream.

               Ahead was a huge purple leaf that blocked the route between two branches.  Braca hunched and launched his body straight at it.  He burst through and the light around him shifted.

               The rain ceased; the stars appeared above.  He looked around.  He was no longer in the grove.  He’d reached the edge.  The storm raged behind him, but only came down over the jungle.  The ground beneath his feet was dry as a bone. 

               “Unbelievable,” Braca said, looking back at the grove behind him.  The rain gave the scene a thin curtain of water.  The windy night air chilled him to the bone.  He turned and found the Botanical Harmony a few hundred meters away, right where he had left it, on a dry patch of desert.  Tarrus’s little scout ship sat next to it, undisturbed after several months in the elements.

               BD-N8 hopped down and trundled over to a plant at the edge of the grove.  A cone of light shot out from the droid’s head, and he scanned the delicate flower.  Behind him, Braca laughed.

               “You don’t have to do that now, Nate.  We don’t work for Czerka anymore,” Braca said.

               The droid turned to his master and hooted in response.

               “You got everything?” Braca asked.

               The image shifted as BD-N8 nodded his head. 

               A wide grin broke out over Braca’s face.  He patted his hip and BD-N8 joined him on the egress ramp.  Before he stepped onboard, he gave one last glance to the jungle he’d escaped. 

               “So long, Tarrus.”

                                                                                –

               The little BD-droid stopped the playback and Orion and Kento collectively shook their heads and faced each other. 

               “Braca left him to die,” Orion said.

               “That’s cold,” Kento said.

               “That’s Sith,” Orion said.

               Kento shivered.  “Well, it looks like Tarrus survived… somehow.”

               “Braca went out and made his fortune dealing spice.  Tarrus started bloodstalking,” Orion said.

               “One wanted money, one wanted power,” Kento said.

               “Power to do what?” Orion asked, “That’s what I don’t get.  What does Tarrus want to do now?  With as many victims as he’s had, he’s got to be incredibly strong in the Force.  If the goal was to bring the Sith back, where’s his army?  Where’s his fleet?”

               Kento shrugged, “There are a lot of ways to take over the galaxy.”

               “He strikes me as a head-on type,” Orion said.

               “Does he?  He kills from the shadows, incapacitates his victims, then steals their power.  That’s devious, but it’s not head on.”

               “You’re right,” Orion said.

               “That’s funny, all this time I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say those words to me in that order,” Kento said.

               “Shut up,” Orion said.

               “Now that I’ve heard,” Kento said.

               “This is it, Kento.  The Falleen girl.  I’m thinking she’s special.  Don’t ask me how.  But, on Boz Pity, she would have turned up by now if Tarrus was still on his usual routine.”

               Kento nodded, “If she’s special, there’s only one place in the galaxy he’d have taken her.”

               Orion nodded back.  They sat in silence for a long moment.

               Kento broke the stillness first, “Set the course.  I need to make a call.”

                                                                                –

               Orion gave him privacy at the communications station.  Kento put in the comm code that he’d memorized before he left Jedha last year.

               It took two tries before her face appeared.  As beautiful as he had remembered.  Even through the clinical blue light of a hologram, her smile could light the darkness.

               “Mallie,” he said, unable to remember another word at the sight of her face.

               “Kento,” she said.  Her nova-bright smile faded after a beat, “You’re not calling to tell me you’ve left the Jedi, are you?”

               Kento winced and shook his head, “It’s not time, Mallie.  One day, perhaps, but…”

               “Why are you calling?” she said, stopping him from another empty promise. 

               “We have a line on your missing Falleen girl,” Kento said.

               Mallie perked up at that statement, “What do you know?” she asked.

               “If it’s what we think, the killer is headed for a planet in the Unknown Regions.  I’m sending you the coordinates now.”

               “Wait, back up, who’s the ‘we’?” she asked.

               “I’m working with Orion again,” he said.

               “Wow.  With all that happened I never thought…”

               “Yeah,” Kento said. 

               She let the thought take root before moving on, “Are you also calling the Old Folk’s Home?”

               “Coruscant is even farther away than you are.  We’re making our best speed to this world, hoping we can save the girl.”

               “How about the Jal Shey?”

               “Orion says no.  He says we should handle this ourselves,” Kento said.

               “What do you say?” Mallie asked.

               “We owe a debt.  This girl wouldn’t have been kidnapped if we’d done things right the first time.  I’ll take the help, but I’m not stopping and I’m not slowing down.  Whatever it takes,” he said.

               “You don’t have to do this alone,” Mallie said.

               “A few hours might make all the difference,” Kento said.

               “You talk about debt, Kento.  What about the debt you owe me?” Mallie asked.

               Kento winced, “You saved me from the Dark Side.  I owe you everything.”

               “Then don’t throw your life away before you pay me back,” Mallie said.  “There’s happiness to be found out there.  We can look for it… together,” she said.

               “Mallie…” he said, looking back at her across the void.  He lost himself in her eyes once again, just as he had on those warm nights on Jedha last year.

                Mallie held him with her gaze for a long beat.  She had spent a long time learning to read his face.  She employed her knowledge well.

               “Kento, I know what it sounds like when you say goodbye.  You’re not coming back, are you?”

               “If I don’t, at least you’ll know where to find me.”

                                                                                –

               The world returned to her in a haze.  At first it was just light and shadow.  It took a while for the two of them to get together and form shapes.  Then for the longest time, the shapes were blurry.  They formed nothing that she could identify.  Not that her thinking skills were at their peak.  Her head felt stuffed, clogged.  There was an intellect that had been tranquilized in the same way that her body had. 

               And her body was of no help either.  The muscles didn’t respond to her commands.  The pheromones that she had used in so many situations sat dormant.  All that she had was her breathing.  Her lungs carried air in and out.  Air that tasted stale and mechanical, but air that kept her alive.  The air was so cold on her reptilian skin.  It weakened her to her bones.

               Sleep was her only companion.  The dreams that came to her were sometimes frightful, sometimes calming, but always strange.  She could tell the difference between dreams and wakefulness by the colors.  Her dreams were radiant and vivid.  The waking world, such as it was, was a blurry mess of white and grey. 

               The shadows shifted, moving of their own accord.  It took her an eternity to realize that it was her own body moving.  She had not chosen to move, indeed, didn’t think herself capable of it.  She was being lifted, loaded, placed, and transported. 

               The shadows fell away, and light swirled through her eyes.  It warmed her skin.  It brought an energy that she’d been denied for so long. 

               She let gravity pull her face to the side.  The sleeve of her tunic had ripped at the elbow.  The burgundy fabric gave way to the green skin of her arm.  She let herself be mesmerized by the intricate network of scales that ran down her arm. 

               With color, certain things began to return.  She remembered a world of sand and heat.  A place of rest.  Important to her.  She remembered words.  Jedha, Force, Whills.  The meanings toyed with her memory.  It seemed good progress to know that there were things she needed to remember.  

               Rough hands moved her from the cart to the stone.  She let out a quiet whimper of discomfort as her back thudded against the rock.  Her captor cared not for her pain but did care that she stirred with energy. 

               She saw a needle enter her arm and the dreams returned.

               Before she drifted back into the abyss of color, she heard the rough-handed male speak one final missive.

               “It won’t be long now, my queen.”

                                                                                –

               The Transgressor emerged from hyperspace.  The system it entered had no name.  Merely a topographical designator.  The galaxy had plenty of unscouted worlds.  The computers had nothing to say about this one, except that the ship had made one previous visit to this planet. 

               Orion used the smooth underside of the freighter as an airbrake, gently bringing the ship into the upper atmosphere.  The scans had shown only one point of interest on this planet.  And that’s where they were heading.

               “What do you think that thing was?” Kento asked, as the Transgressor glided silently over a low range of arid mountains.

               “The thing that attacked Tarrus?” Orion asked.

               “Yeah.”

               “The Sith like their pets.  You saw what Braca kept,” Orion said, referring to the nexu they’d defeated, “I’m betting whatever Fatalis hid in that jungle was even more impressive.”

               “Let’s hope Tarrus managed to kill it.” Kento said.

               “Hoping beyond hope,” Orion said, guiding the ship down.

               “There’s the grove,” Kento said, pointing a bony finger at a spot on the horizon.

               “I’m heading for Braca’s old parking spot,” Orion said.

               With its sublight engines bringing it into a hover, the Transgressor settled onto the surface of this uncharted world.

               “Are you ready for this?” Kento said.

               “Not quite.  Give me a minute,” Orion said.

               Kento expected him to take a moment to meditate and draw upon the Force.  Instead, he walked to the rear of the bridge and opened a panel in the rear wall.  Kento looked over his shoulder.  Inside were a variety of weapons. 

               “What are you doing?” Kento asked.

               “You really want to face a jungle with a lightsaber?  I don’t know what that thing was we saw in the recording, but I’d rather be able to hurt it when it’s ten meters away as opposed to one,” Orion said. 

               Kento saw him pull out some sort of blaster with a large, bulbous muzzle. 

               Orion smiled as he hefted the weapon, “DK-45 Blasterbuss.  That son of a Hutt Montross stole my old one.  It’s perfect for boarding actions and rawka hunting.  You want one?” Orion asked, indicating another matching weapon still in the locker.

               Kento shook his head, “I’d wind up shooting your foot.”

               Orion shrugged and held up a small, compact blaster pistol in a leather holster, offering it to Kento, “How about an S-72 holdout blaster?”

               “I’d wind up shooting my foot,” Kento said.

               “Are you sure?  I’ve got a spare.  This thing comes in handy.  Hell, in a pinch, you can hit the overcharge and it’ll go off like a thermal detonator,” Orion said, strapping the little blaster to his right ankle.

               “For a group that doesn’t seem to like violence, the Jal Shey certainly keep you well stocked,” Kento said, watching Orion check all his gear.

               “The Scholars don’t believe in violence.  The Rangers believe in preparation,” Orion said.  He slung the blasterbuss around his shoulder, the strap running over his bomber jacket.

               “You’d better let me take point,” Orion said.

                                                                                –

               Orion led the way into the jungle.  Just as they’d seen on BD-N8’s recordings, it was an odd, sharp transition from desert to rainforest.  The little droid now clung to Orion’s shoulder.  Kento was reticent to take it along, but Orion made the point that Nate knew the area better than either of them.

               The underbrush had grown thick and wild.  The recordings had shown a path cut out through the trees and vines, but Orion and Kento found no clear way through the growth.  After a few faltering attempts to reach the interior, Kento lit his saber and began to hack and slash at the downed branches, clearing a path as Orion swept their flanks and rear with his bulky weapon for any signs of danger.

               The strange flora fought for sunlight under the heavy canopy.  Deep purple leaves gave way to bright yellow flowers, which accompanied fruits that were as blue as the overhead sky. 

               In a small clearing, barely large enough for both men to stand comfortably, they found a stubbly treetrunk covered in red petals that glistened with dew.

               A sharp spiny growth emerged on several of the flowers and spat a dart at the two Force wielders.  Kento’s blade swished crisply through the air and blocked a dart from entering Orion’s neck.  The Jal Shey Ranger rolled and brought up his blunderbuss, firing a fusillade into the wall of spiny flowers.  When the patchwork was a crackling ruin, he lifted himself up from his kneeling position and nodded a small thanks to the Jedi. 

               “Told you this would come in handy,” he said, giving the heavy weapon an appreciative pat. 

               Before Kento could reply, a great howl was heard echoing through the trees.

               Kento and Orion looked at each other, then back in the direction where the roar had come from.

               “I think you might have woken up Fatalis’s pet,” Kento said.

               Orion turned to go in the direction of the call.  Kento put a hand on his shoulder, “Whatever that thing is, it’s not Tarrus.  We need to find the girl.  She might still be alive.”

               “If we don’t deal with whatever this is, we’re going to have to look over our shoulders when we find Tarrus,” Orion said.

               “The girl is more important,” Kento said.

               “Two enemies, two of us,” Orion said.

               “That’s not smart,” Kento said.

               “How many monsters can you take on at once?” Orion said.

               “I blew this thing because I wanted to kill something more than I wanted to save something.  Don’t make my mistake,” Kento said.

               Orion thought for a moment, “Nate, show Kento which way to the camp.”

               The little droid hopped off Orion’s shoulder and aimed a footpad off to the left, away from the sound of the roar.

               “Save the girl.  I’ll watch your back,” Orion said.

                                                                                –

               The terentatek was drawn to violence.  Drawn to conflict.  It was a creature of the Dark Side and it ruled this grove with a fearsome, clawed fist. 

               A slave of the Black Queen, it had lain dormant for centuries, nurtured only by the swirling energies that gave rise to this twisted haven of life amidst a world of desolation. 

               When Fatalis had come to this hallowed ground millennia ago, this entire world was an arid sphere of sand and rock.  The pitiful Sith younglings that had been deposited here were placed to bait a trap.  Fatalis could not resist the siren call of strong younglings, laden with midi-chlorians that she could possess for herself. 

               After Fatalis had begun the bloodstalkings, the Sith elders launched their cowardly strike.  Her ship was bombed into oblivion by fast-moving gunships.  Distracted by the hunt of the younglings, she had been unable to retaliate against those who had stranded her. 

               With all her great power in the Force, she could not lift herself off this planet or survive in open space without a starship.  Even if she’d had the means to call for help, not a single being in the galaxy would aid her escape.  Her very name had become synonymous with danger.  A threat feared by anyone who could wield the Force. 

               Fatalis would not gently confront the ravages of time and starvation.  She called upon the only resource she had left: the Force.  She used it to grow a fearsome garden amidst the wretchedness of this planet.  Guided by her hand, she raised a jungle amidst the sand.  She populated it with life that would sustain her body and her legacy.

               Time was her greatest enemy.  If she allowed it, erosion would scatter her very atoms to dust, but she was not one to give in without a fight.  Fatalis knew how to play the long game.

               The holocron had been lovingly crafted from the bombed and battered ruins of her ship.  The knowledge she possessed would one day reemerge into an unsuspecting galaxy, and her acolytes, though separated from her by millennia, would one day spread her unrelenting savagery. 

               As she surveyed her jungle and the monument to her own glory, she felt the need to create once more.  She needed a protector.  An enforcer.  A test for those who would come for her legacy and a grand exemplar of the power she controlled.  Her pet would suffice.

               The terentatek had been a gift to honor her victory at Kijimi.  It had started so small, so pitiful, but she helped it grow.  It matured into a powerful monster.  Like her, it fed on the blood of Force Sensitives.  And of that, she possessed a great deal.

               When she entered her slumber, so did the beast.  It burrowed into the soil that teemed with dark life.  It waited for the moment it would be summoned.  When conflict came to the grove.

               For thousands of years it slept, until the stirring clash between two acolytes brought it out of its torpor.  It set about for the stronger of the two.  In the life of the animal, that had seemed like only a fleeting moment ago.  The struggle had been epic, but the terentatek had lost, signifying the rise of a worthy acolyte for the Black Queen. 

               Now, having been defeated, the beast served its former foe.  And when it sensed new conflict in the grove, it sought to confront the threat to its new master. 

               Awakened by the sound of blaster fire in its territory, the beast rose from its dormancy.  The terentatek shook off the dirt from its tusks and opened its claws back and forth.  Taking a long breath, it inhaled an unknown scent.

               It howled and set off for its new prey.

                                                                                –

               Despite his mild obsession with weaponry, Orion Xadau was no hunter.  He’d always looked with disdain upon sentients who thrilled in the death of animals.  Food was one matter.  He’d kill to eat, if he had to.  He’d kill to survive.  But it seemed the most horrid of morals to go after a beast, fearsome or not, for no purpose beyond one’s own glory.

               He considered that as he hefted the blasterbuss and pushed through the trees.  In his mind, he wanted to protect Kento, let him be safe as he found his redemption in the confrontation with Tarrus, but part of him wondered if there was an uglier motive for his movement.

               He’d left Kento behind.  Left him to deal with this slayer of Jedi.  Was it fear that had turned Orion’s course?  Was it trepidation that led him away from Tarrus?  He hoped not.  The logic was sound.  Two foes, two directions, two men.  But he feared more than just the fight ahead.  Unlike Kento, he could afford to embrace the feeling.  He let the anger swirl around him, hoping it might fuel the fire within his soul.

               He pulled his old saber from its clip on the small of his back.  The weapon that had given such pause to Kento.  The black-paneled saber imbued with the power of the Dark Side.  He set it in the groove on the muzzle of his blasterbuss, as a bayonette. 

               Whatever this beast was, he would use his entire arsenal to protect his partner from it.

                                                                                –

               Nate led the way, hopping through tight spaces as Kento cut a path behind him.  The little droid waited patiently for the Jedi to follow.  In a cramped space between some trees, Nate paused and gave a muted whistle. 

               Kento looked down at the droid and saw that it pointed to an aperture between the branches.  Kento bent over and peered through the opening.  Beyond it he could see the stone marker where the holocron had once sat.  The huts that Braca and Tarrus had built were now ruined crumbles of wood and leaves.  But the area was anything but abandoned.

               Across the stone, Kento saw the object of his torment.  The bulky form that had led him to this place of ruined evil. 

                                                                                –

               Tarrus donned his helmet, the last of the gifts he had recovered from his Black Queen.  The armor crackled with Dark Side energy.  The helmet gave him a fearsome visage.  An embrace of Ubese and Mandalorian designs, the stalker armor was designed to draw fear in those from whom fear was anathema.  The Jedi suppressed their fear just as they suppressed their own innate selfish desires.  The Sith stalker armor was an ancient collection of claws and plates that was designed to embody the nature of the Sith itself.

               On leather belts, Tarrus held the collection of sabers he’d taken from those he had bloodstalked.  The armor bristled with melted durasteel that he’d forged from the weapons of lesser users.  The ones who had failed to impress him.  The sabers he’d kept on his belt were only from those who had given him something of a challenge. 

               The Falleen girl languished in anesthetized agony on the altar.  Her sacrifice would fulfill his glorification.  The Black Queen would honor his journey and lead him to the greatest glory.  She had found a way to cheat time and death and would teach him to do the same.  With those abilities, the conquest of a galaxy would be mere child’s play.

                                                                                –

               The attack came from his right.  He’d paused to get a sense of the terrain before him.  As he was summoning his senses, the swipe came from his side.  A set of claws that crashed through the branches and aimed for his head. 

               He was knocked into a tree trunk before he could really understand what had happened.  Behind him, more flora was cut down.  A shaft of light cut through the canopy of overgrowth.  His attacker was backlit.

               Orion Xadau became the first Jal Shey Ranger to face a terentatek in centuries.

               He pulled the trigger and fired a volley at the beast.  Terentateks did not have the size of a rancor, but they had the ferocity of five.  They relied on sharp claws, spines and tusks to impose their aggression.  A series of blasts from the heavy weapon did nothing to slow it down.  Orion watched the bulky shots land on the beast’s chest.  The scorch marks looked damaging, but the terentatek shook them off with no ill effect.

               Then it charged forward and took a hard swipe, knocking Orion’s weapon away.  The blasterbuss with its orange-bladed bayonette was ripped from his arms in one swipe.  It skittered out into the jungle, far beyond his reach. 

               Orion spotted a wound that he’d not seen before.  One finger on the beast’s massive left hand had been sheared cleanly off.  It took a beat to realize that the source had been the blade that he’d attached to his weapon.  The swipe had disarmed the Ranger, but it had wounded the animal.

               He drew his new saber from the spot on his belt.  The sky-blue blade now offered his only protection against the monster.  He was hemmed in by the dense jungle, but he found a way to maneuver, keeping some distance. 

               The monster swiped again, and he managed to cut its palm before it knocked him over.  He was woozy from the blow and missed the incoming punch that the beast gave.  He was stunned when his back slammed into a tree.  It might have been for the best as that blow would have hurt more if he had full command of his faculties.

               Another slash from his saber sliced a paw and drew an angered roar from the monster, but Orion knew that this was a losing battle.  From a distance, the beast had the advantage.  His saber was only a meter, but the arms of this creature were much longer.  He resolved to go toe-to-toe and closed the distance.

               Swirling in a lunge attack, he plunged the lightsaber into the terentatek’s chest.  The animal squealed in pain and knocked Orion back.  The Ranger lost his grip on his weapon and skidded to a stop against a web of vines that coated a hard boulder.  The air rushed from his chest, and he slumped to the ground.  He stared, in shock at the sight of his saber hilt sticking out from the monster’s chest.

               “How does that not kill you?” he asked, coughing.  A howling roar was the only response he got.

               Needing the saber back, he drew upon the Force to pull it, but he was still dazed and the attempt was found wanting.  The K-2 blaster on his belt found its way to his palm.  He fired a few shots at the wounded beast, but they did little more than annoy it.  Aiming for the eyes, he found his hands too shaky to get off a proper shot. 

               The terentatek recovered before he could get up.  It charged in and he practically welcomed it, wishing Kento the best and hoping that the Jedi’s fight would fare better than this one had.

               He dropped the K-2 blaster.  Now regarding it as the useless toy it was.  When the terentatek scooped him up in its massive, clawed paw, he tumbled over and looked down at his leg.  He spotted the last of his weapons and smiled.

               The terentatek prepared to swallow him in pieces, wanting a warm meal out of this annoying prey.  When it lifted the infuriating human to its mouth, a metallic clank echoed off its fangs.  The beeping that accompanied the unusual taste was distracting and it paused in its motion, long enough to swallow the unknown morsel that had hit its tongue.

               The little holdout blaster, now lodged in the esophagus of the monster, overloaded its power pack and gave a last beep to signal to anyone around that it was now doomed to explode.

               The detonation of the holdout blaster split the terentatek in half.  Chunks of blood and meat decorated the forest.  The clawed hand that held Orion Xadau tumbled down to the ground and opened.  The Ranger sat up slowly and looked around for the lightsaber he’d buried in the beast’s chest.

                                                                                –

               “Step away from the girl!” Kento said.  His green saber activated; the sound splintered the air in the clearing. 

               Tarrus turned.  His fingers, fitted with the armor’s razor claws, curled back and forth as he evaluated the Jedi before him.

               “No,” Tarrus said, calmly.

               “Whatever you aim to do here, I know you didn’t account for me.  If you want to kill her in peace, you should deal with me first.  Step away.”

               Tarrus chortled under his mask.  He seemed very comfortable in this space.

               “No, little priest.  You are unwelcome here, but I’m very glad to see him,” Tarrus said, pointing a fingerspike at the little BD-droid that had guided Kento through the grove.

               BD-N8 looked up at Kento and hooted something that sounded like a question.  Tarrus reached out with the Force and snapped up the little droid from the ground.  Nate’s squeal of terror lasted all the way until the droid landed in Tarrus’s hand.  He gripped it by the neck spar and pried open a panel on its head.

               The Sith stalker reached inside and pulled out something small from the droid’s casing.  He tossed the diminuitive little biped aside and it squealed again before being dashed against a rock.  The droid fell to the ground with a sickening crash.  One leg twisted as though to get up, but then stopped.  The glow of the photoreceptors died.

               Kento looked on in shock at the death of BD-N8.  Then he turned back to Tarrus, who now held a black crystal between his fingers.

               “You have delivered all the icons for the ritual.  The Black Queen thanks you for your service,” Tarrus said.

               “What are you talking about?” Kento said.

               “Soon the Queen will ascend to our plane, and then she will show me the path beyond it.  Your contribution to her ascension will be noted,” Tarrus said.  From behind him, he produced the holocron.  The one that Kento and Orion had left aboard the Transgressor.

               “Where did you get that?” Kento said.

               “These are her lands and that was my ship.  Nothing on this world is beyond my grasp,” Tarrus said.  “Including your blood.”

               With that he drew one lightsaber from his belt, lit it, and flung it at Kento’s body.  The Jedi saw the green blade tumble through the air, and he knocked it away with his own.  The clash of sabers sent a ripple through his arm.  He felt the blade’s power as it held firm against his own.  From ten meters away, Tarrus dueled him without touching the lightsaber. 

               Kento fought against the floating lightsaber itself, offbalance as he faced a foe that regarded him as nothing more than a nuisance. 

               He gathered what he could as he backstepped and slashed through the defensive rings he’d learned as a padawan.  The saber that attacked him through thin air was the blade of a proper Jedi.  He realized that Tarrus was using the weapons of his victims in this fight.  Kento seethed with the knowledge. 

               The Jedi swung a quick cut, dodged, and slashed, shearing the saber hilt in half.  He stood back as the lightsaber tumbled to the ground.  Tarrus turned once again.  Kento had fought well enough to demand his attention.

               “Well done, little priest,” Tarrus said.  He lit another saber, yellow this time, and charged in after the Jedi.

               The blades crackled as Tarrus swiped for Kento’s head.  Kento backpedaled and found an opening, then charged forward, lunging for the small aperture at the heart of Tarrus’s armor.  Tarrus gave a kick and a shove that put Kento off his footing.  He tumbled and rolled, then aimed a slice for Tarrus’s chest. 

               The Nikto deflected the blow and reached out with the Force, pulling Kento in suddenly.  The icy grip on Kento’s neck cut off his next breath quite well.  His saber tumbled out of his hand and hit the ground below, leaving a fiery scorch mark in the grass. 

               Blade points from each of Tarrus’s fingers dug in to the skin of Kento’s neck.  He kicked and punched at anything he could reach before Tarrus jammed more razor-sharp claws into his side.  The blood began to flow from Kento’s abdomen.  He felt the air rush from his body.  His flank screamed with pain.  He fought for air against the iron grip of the Sith stalker.

               Tarrus gave a gleeful grunt of approval as the Jedi started to bleed out.  He hefted the human over his head, blood rivulets spread from Kento’s core and splattered Tarrus’s helmet. 

               Kento looked down at Tarrus holding him aloft and at the lightsaber on the ground.  With what remained of his strength, he reached out for his blade and called it to his hand, activating it as it flew up from the dirt.

               The blade cut through Tarrus’s arm and left a sheared stump before it reached Kento’s hand.  In shock, Tarrus dropped his prey to the ground.  Kento fell in a heap, still wounded severely.  A swipe from Tarrus’s remaining hand sent four claws slashing across Kento’s chest.  The new cuts bled profusely.  The Jedi tunic he wore was soaked in blood.

               Another backhand from Tarrus’s only remaining fist knocked Kento into the borderlands of consciousness.  He tumbled and fell back, his head smacking the ground with a hard jolt.

               For a moment, neither warrior could rise.  Tarrus’s reserves of strength outmatched Kento’s.  He got to his feet slowly.  He came over to once again choke the life out of this maddening little Jedi.  The Nikto assassin peered down at his prey.

               Kento put everything he had into one last surge.  His arm lifted and he jammed the hilt of his saber between the ribs of Tarrus’s armor.  The blade drove through the Nikto’s body and came out the other side.  Tarrus reached out and pummeled Kento’s head until it cratered into the dirt below.

               With the Jedi dealt with, Tarrus felt the life began to ebb from his body.  He was nothing if not dutiful and there remained only one thing left to live for.

               He turned to face the altar where he’d placed the holocron and the helpless Falleen girl.

               The Black Queen called him from beyond the ages.

               Orion found his way into the clearing.  He had heard the cries of pain and anguish and sensed the danger ahead.  He was beaten, dazed and weary, but he was still on his feet.

               The scene he found at the meadow was as confusing as it was bloody.

               A stump of an arm lay on the ground near his friend.  Kento lay facing the sky, blood spreading over his body from wounds that looked vicious in the descending twilight. 

               On the stone table, the Falleen girl lay atop the center.  On her body rested the Sith holocron that had started so much of this trouble. 

               Orion saw Tarrus approach the stone monument and, with a single, shaky hand, place the black crystal into the forward panel of the little pyramid. 

               Tarrus fell to one knee as he reached out.

               Orion was twenty meters away.  He sprinted forward but could not stop what was to come.  He cried out in desperation.

               “No!”

               Lightning sprang from Tarrus’s hand and entered the holocron through the black crystal.  The ebon gem flared with illumination and channeled the energy through the holocron and into the green body of the Falleen girl.  It passed through her heart and down into the stone below.

               The stone which contained the final resting place of Darth Fatalis, Queen of the Sith.

                                                                                –

               With a powerful burst, Fatalis awoke from her stasis.  The centuries of wait rolled off of her like so much water.  She used the Force to explode the stone sarcophagus and emerge into the harsh light of the world that had held her body through the ages. 

                Around her were the ruins of her ascent.  The stalker, outfitted with the armor that she had designed centuries before, now lay dead at her feet.  He had given everything for her resurrection, and she lovingly ran a fingertip over his helmeted jaw.

                “Such devotion,” she said. 

               Her first words in twenty generations.

               Orion watched as the last of the pure Sith surveyed her humble empire of grass and death.  For a moment, he wondered what she would do next.  Whether an eon of sleep would dull her sharp edges.  Whether such a historic relic was worthy of something more than his lightsaber’s blade.

               Tarrus stirred briefly, still clinging to some last bit of life.  She extended a hand towards his chest, then lit him up with a scalding blast of Force Lightning.  Tarrus gave one final scream as he learned the lesson every Force user must discover:

               Betrayal is the way of the Sith.

               With a satisfied smirk, Fatalis ripped the lightsaber from the hand of her dead acolyte.  Then she turned to face the last man standing. 

               Orion Xadau, Ranger of the Jal Shey, drew his lightsaber.  The curved handle contoured to his hand.  The blade extended in a brilliant azure line.  For the first time in his life, he felt resolute looking upon the countenance of his own mortality.  Death itself smiled upon him now.  All he could do was smile back. 

               Stifling a wince from the pain of his last fight, he faced this final challenge. 

               “Fatalis, Dark Queen of the Sith,” he said, forgoing his own introduction.

               Fatalis used the Force to hold her pilfered lightsaber in midair.  With a wave of thought, she disassembled the pieces and watched them hover in place.  She withdrew the black crystal from the holocron and inserted it into the mechanism.  When the components coalesced and the exchange was complete, she lit the blade.

               White light sprang from the blade, but the inner core was black as night.  A black lightsaber. 

               “The Black Queen,” Fatalis said, aiming her blade at the Jal Shey.

               “My apologies,” Orion said.

               “You carry the mark of the Jal Shey,” Fatalis said, leveling her saber to indicate the patch on his jacket.  “I’m amazed they survived for this long.”

               “Knowledge is the ultimate survival tool,” Orion said.

               Fatalis dismissed the statement without a retort.  She regarded him with an amused contempt.  “The stalker proved too weak for the trials ahead.  My apprentice will have a position of great honor in my new empire.  If you are strong enough to submit to me, you would enjoy a reward the Jal Shey could not fathom.”

               “I’d rather be the first one you kill,” Orion said.

               “Very acceptable,” Fatalis said.  Then she sent a barrage of lightning towards Orion’s chest.

               He snapped his saber blade up and caught the lightning in its arcing fury.  “I’ve seen that trick before.  You’d be surprised what I learned chasing your errand boys.”

               “An education in death, no doubt,” Fatalis said, closing the distance between them.

               “Seems that’s one you never learned yourself.  I’d be happy to give you lessons,” Orion said. 

               He swung his saber for her neck.  Fatalis retreated.  Her jet-black hair glistened in the light of their blades.  Her tendrils agitated as she set a foot into the grass and countered his strike.  She sent a riposte to his strike, then countered with a fleche attack, which he barely defended.

               “How kind of you to use the old style.  Takes me back to the days of killing real Jedi,” Fatalis said.

               He advanced on her with his saber aimed straight at her chest.  She put up a beat that knocked his blade offline.  She swung fast, whirling through the air and shoving him with the Force.  Her blade struck home on the shoulder of his bomber jacket.  She sliced through fine Corellian leather before contacting his flesh.  He cried out in pain as he stumbled out of the line of the fight.  A small blaze of fire appeared on his jacket and ran its course before dying. 

               He brushed the smoke away and turned to face her again.  She snickered at him. 

               “Such bravado, wasted on a pitiful weakling in the Force.  Jal Shey were little more than targets in my time.  All those years of study haven’t made your kind more formidable,” she said.

               “And here I was thinking arrogance was a Jedi trait,” Orion said.

               He charged in again.  She moved to block his blade as she had before, but Orion saw the move coming, lifted his saber and twirled it over hers, sending a cutting stab through her left arm.  Had she not rolled her shoulder, he might have caught her between the ribs, or the chest. 

               Before she could counter, he drove his good shoulder into her side, toppling them both in a crash-tackle flailing of limbs and blades.  She backflipped and reeled out of the movement.  Before she found her balance, Orion was on her again, hacking at her like a tree he meant to chop down. 

               Fatalis dug her heels in and defended his burst of strikes.  Her blade was fast, but time had robbed her of the quick reflexes she had once known.  Orion found another opening after a dozen attempts.  She felt the fire of his blade plunge into her upper thigh, and she roared in pain.  She extended an arm and tried to backhand him across the face.  He used his free hand to block her arm, then sent a counterpunch into her jaw.  She hissed and brought her blade around, swiping her blade from left to right.  He pulled back before she could separate his face from the rest of him.  He stumbled away from the attack and backpedaled.

               Wounded and angry, once again she launched lightning at his core.  On his heels, he could not find the balance to avoid the blast of energy.  The lightning hit him squarely in the chest.  The electric fury knocked him through the air.  He impacted with a sickening crack of bone.

               Orion lay on the ground with his lungs on fire.  His heart was on overdrive, straining against the energy that threatened to shut it down permanently.  He looked at the night sky above.  A bowl of stars, the shimmering light of the galaxy he had spent a life trying to protect.  He felt the peace of exhaustion.  The relent of a man who had given all he had in service.

               Cutting off his view of the stars, Fatalis moved to stand over him.  He tried to swing his blade for her body.  She kicked his arm aside and gave a small sigh.  A swipe of her blade sent his lightsaber skittering away.  He let his arm fall back to the grass, trying to embrace the last comfort of his life.

               For the first time in fifty centuries, Fatalis was impressed with the skill of an opponent.

               She hovered over him, looking down into his eyes, “Lie still, little scholar.  You have already done everything that is necessary for the honor of your order.  This was a good death.  The Jal Shey will know of your bravery.  The last of them will die remembering you did your utmost to protect what they held dear.”

               She withdrew a dagger from behind her breastplate.  He recognized it as the blade she had used to carve up the youngling on that horrifying recording from the holocron.

               She held his wrist gently, determined to spare him any further pain.  She drew the tip of the dagger down the length of his right forearm.  He screamed in pain, then gritted his teeth.  The blood began to flow like a cascading river.

               Fatalis rose to watch the blood spill out.  She called upon the Force and the rivulets began to coalesce above Orion’s body.  She was patient, letting his life ebb away at the pace nature provided. 

               Ten meters away, Kento gasped at his last traces of life.  He had heard the fight take place nearby but was so focused on keeping the blood inside his own veins that he’d not been able to so much as see who was winning. 

               When Fatalis gave her monologue, he knew that his friend was done for.  Kento Marek had too much pride to let Orion die first.  All that remained to him was a choice.

               Not a choice of life or death.  Not a choice of victory or defeat.  Not a choice of bravery or cowardice.  The choice that remained was which saber to use.

               He looked over at the lifeless husk that was Tarrus’s body.  His vaunted Sith stalker armor had done nothing to stop Fatalis from draining his essence.  The limp shell of the Nikto’s body was still adorned with the hilts of his victims, both Jedi and Jal Shey.  Kento looked for a moment before finding the one he knew must be there.  The piece of evidence he’d neglected for so long.  The hilt of Abi Buran, Jedi Padawan.

               He lifted it with the Force and flung it towards the crimson bitch that had ruined his life through her mad pursuit of immortal power.  With his last remaining strength, he activated the blade. 

               Kento was too tired to turn his head and see the blade spin into the distance.  He was too drained to watch it strike Fatalis through her right lung.  He was too fatigued to see his attack succeed.  The fate of the Black Queen was beyond his concern.  All he wanted was rest.  If the price was death, so be it.

               Fatalis looked down at her body in horror.  She reached over her shoulder and withdrew the lightsaber from the gaping wound it had created.  The Jal Shey and his wretched honor were now the least of her worries.  Her acolyte’s final failure had now caused her such unconquerable pain.  She would end the Jedi, drain his power for her own healing, then see if there was anything left of the Ranger that was worth her attention.

               Fatalis tossed aside the troublesome weapon that had pierced her back.  She lifted the dagger and stumbled over to the prone Jedi.  With a seething hiss she aimed the tip for his heart. 

               Kento Marek watched his murderer lift her implement and then saw the back of her head explode with red light and smolder.  The blaster bolt struck her through her long black hair and bore a neat circular hole into her skull.  She crumbled to the dirt, with her dagger leading the way down, a useless arc that ended in dust and grass.

               Fatalis was no more.

               Kento spared a glance at his partner.  Orion’s arm flailed a weak greeting.  In his palm, he clutched his K-2 blaster pistol.  The one that Kento had long thought too inelegant for any wielder of the Force.  Had he air in his chest and blood in his heart, he would have been more than happy to sing a song of thanks to the blaster and the factory droids that had forged it.

               “Nice… shot,” Kento said, before he passed out.

               Orion, for once, let him have the last word.

                                                                                –

               The transport vessel overflew the planet’s lone point of interest.  The intermittent lights from the fighting were the only sign of intelligence across the entire system. 

               From her position in the forward observation area, Mallie spotted blue and green lights interplaying amidst the trees ahead.  She saw a flash of red and then the world succumbed to darkness once again.

               “Pilot!  Put us down where those lights were!” she said, practically screaming into her headset.

               The Guardian ship Kyberlight landed in the clearing.  As the doors opened, a flood of Guardians spilled out into the dimly lit meadow.

               “Put up an illumination flare.  We need to find them,” Mallie said.

               Three seconds later, the clearing was lit with a searing white dawn.  The stars were banished behind a miniature sun that had risen, courtesy of the dropship.

               Mallie and her fellow Guardians spread out from their landing site and searched the area.  Lightbows drawn, they were prepared for danger, but they would settle for any sign of life.  One of her brethren was the first to come across the fallen warriors. 

               He called to them over the dull whine of the dropship’s idling engines.

               “I’ve got two here.  Need medical!  On the double.  They’re hurt bad!”

                                                                                –

               Kento woke up slowly.  He tasted bacta.  The world looked green.  He floated in a tank that seemed to display him like a pet in a bowl.

               Beyond the hazy green universe, he saw a Mon Calamari man trudging over to a computer terminal.  He waved to get the being’s attention, but his arm was severely slowed by the thick bacta and his body’s own weakness. 

               After a fleeting attempt to contact the universe beyond, he gave up and surrendered to sleep once again.

               Unknown hours later, his eyes opened, and he inhaled a deep breath.  This time he hadn’t the need to request attention.  A gathered band of sentients now surrounded his tank.  He spotted a face among them that he’d come to know very well.

                                                                                –

               When he was cleaned up and in a proper bed, Mallie was the first to enter his recovery room.

               “Orion?” he asked, with a crackling voice.  It was the first word he’d been able to utter.

               She didn’t begrudge him the lack of an emotional reunion.  She had information he needed.  Intimate words could wait.

               “He’s alive.  For the moment.  He was hurt worse than you.  And you were barely alive when we got there.  We put him in bacta, but it’s not working as well as we’d hoped.  Stab wounds are simple to fix.  But what he got hit with, we don’t really understand.  He’s alive, but he’s not getting better.”

               “He got hit with Force Lighting.  Some special brand that Fatalis cooked up to drain life,” Kento said.

               Mallie nodded, “I’ll tell the healers.  Maybe it’ll help.”

               “I need to see him,” Kento said.

               “He’s in a bacta tank,” Millie said.

               “I still need to see him,” Kento said.

                                                                                –

               The Guardians of the Whills were able to undo the damage from Fatalis’s fulgurations with the two tools that had served them so well in the past: time and the Force.  It took days before Xadau was ready to be moved from the bacta tank.  It took a week in a bed before consciousness returned to his mind.  When he stirred, the first thing he saw was Kento Marek, asleep in a chair. 

               Orion pulled the breathing mask from his face.  He inhaled and tasted the desert sand that swirled outside this refuge. 

               “Is this Jedha?” he asked, with a rasping voice.

               “Yeah,” Kento said, not getting up.

               “The Guardians?” Orion asked.

               “They’re not mad.  I vouched for you.  They patched you up.  You killed Fatalis.  Bought you a lot of goodwill,” Kento said.

               “Did we save the girl?” Orion said.

               Kento just shook his head.

               “Jal Shey?” Orion said.

               “Worry about that later.  Go back to sleep,” Kento said.

               Orion took the advice.

                                                                                –

               The temple on the mesa was more or less sacred ground to the Guardians.  Within its walls were the beds and bacta tanks that had kept Orion and Kento alive and comfortable for the last month.  Kento and Mallie returned to the overlook where they had spent so much time together, so many months ago. 

               They sat around a campfire at the edge of the mesa.  Ahead, the lights of Jedha City twinkled in the distance.  The night sky above lent an intimacy to their discussion.

               “He’ll survive.  The damage is healing.  It’ll be a while before he’s ready for any kind of duty,” Mallie said.

               “He’s afraid of all of you,” Kento said.

               Mallie sighed, “We don’t think the Jal Shey are evil.  They just can’t see what we see.”

               “It’s immaterial.  He’ll live.  He’ll breathe in and out.  He’ll learn you aren’t out to get him.  Learning is what he does best,” Kento said.

               “You’re still not sure how to feel about him, are you?” Mallie asked.

               “He’s my friend.  My friend who drove me to the Dark Side.  My friend who saved my life.  My friend I was ready to die next to,” Kento said, blinking back tears. 

               “And what am I?” Mallie asked, trying to move him to a happier subject.

               “You’re the one who saved me from myself.  I came here a year ago and I was lost.  After he put me down on Alderaan, I wanted… ohh, Mallie.  I wanted to wring his neck.  I wanted to…” Kento shook his head, fighting back the emotions that flooded in now.  “He saved my life.  You saved my soul.”

               Mallie picked up Kento’s hand and kissed it.  Kento gave a tight smile and nodded.

               “Not the Jedi way,” Mallie said, lending voice to his thought.

               He held her grip for longer than he needed to.  When it was gone, he would be a Jedi again, with all the responsibilities it demanded, so he kept his grip on her and held tight.

               “I have to maintain… something,” he said.

               “I know your heart.  Time will take care of the rest,” she looked out into the desert, “It always does.”

                                                                                –

               Days later, Kento returned to Orion’s recovery room.  The Guardians had brought him some food and water.  Kento found him asleep.  He took a moment to look around the room.  The weapons had been confiscated.  The Guardians might trust Xadau, but only to a point.  His bomber jacket, slashed and scorched, was draped over a chair.  His trousers and gunbelt were on a hangar in the closet.  On a table beside the bed were the remains of BD-N8.  According to Mallie, Orion had been calling out the droid’s name in a delirium when they were loading him onto a gurney. 

               In his few waking hours Orion had been tinkering with the droid, trying to fix the damage Tarrus had caused.  He’d made some progress, but there was a long way to go.  Much like Orion himself.

               Kento found a chair and sipped from a cantine of water that the Guardians had been kind enough to provide.  He sat in quiet contemplation of his partner for a long moment.

               Orion’s shoulders shifted back and forth, and his eyes opened slowly, first halfway, then full when he saw Kento at his side.

               “You still here?” Orion asked.

               “Yeah,” Kento said.

               “You watching me sleep?” Orion asked.

               “I got here, and you were asleep.  I was about to go, but you woke up,” Kento said.

               “You going for good, or you just going?” Orion said.

               “There’s something going on.  The holonet has a bunch of stories.  Something about the Trade Federation blockading a planet.  I didn’t get all the details.  Either way, I need to head back to Coruscant.”

               “Sure.  I bet Vux is wondering what happened to me.  I should report in,” Orion said.

               “Eh, rest up.  Take a few more days.  Let them finish putting you back together before you go out there to get ripped apart again,” Kento said.

               Orion tilted his head, “That’s good advice.  This bed is pretty comfy.”

               “You need anything?”

               Orion smiled, “Get me out of this room.  I haven’t seen anything of this planet except the hospital.”

               Kento helped him out of bed.  The few Guardians who noted their movement seemed disinterested.  The dusty sands of Jedha whipped around the exit at the end of the hall.  They began to walk to the edge of the mesa, under a blanket of a billion stars.

               “You know, something occurred to me while you were asleep,” Kento said, supporting Orion on one shoulder.

               “Oh yeah?  What did you learn?” Orion said.

               Kento rolled his eyes, “I didn’t say learn, I said occurred.”

               “Lay it on me,” Orion said.

               “Last year, you beat me in that little scrap on the landing pad,” Kento said.

               “I remember it well,” Orion said.  They neared a bench at the end of the temple grounds that offered a magnificent panorama.  Kento helped Orion to sit, then settled next to him.

               “Yeah, but my point is, you didn’t kill me,” Kento said.

               “If you’re looking for a rematch, I’m not really up for it at the moment,” Orion said.

               “Sithspawn bastard,” Kento said, giving Orion an insult and a grin.

               Orion chuckled and then winced from the pain, “What about it?”

               “You didn’t kill me.  You defeated an enemy without killing them.”

               “Uh-huh,” Orion said, looking out at Jedha City spread out like a carpet in the valley below. 

               “Well, you already imbued a weapon with the Force.  And you walked on an unknown world.”

               “Wasn’t unknown to the Sith,” Orion said.

               “Close enough.  Definitely forgotten, at the least,” Kento said.  “And when Fatalis came at me with the dagger, you were the one who stopped her.”

               “Are you sure you don’t want to take credit for that one?  I took credit for the last one,” Orion said.

               “Shut up,” Kento said, in an exaggerated tone of annoyance.

               “What’s your point?” Orion said.

               “You saved my life, in your service as a Ranger.  That’s all four tasks.  You’re a chief!  All you have to do is live and go back to the Compendium to tell the tale,” Kento said.

               “Ahh,” Orion said.  He took a beat and let the thought wash over him in silence.

               “You don’t sound so happy about it,” Kento said.

               “Well…” Orion said.

               “What’s the problem?” Kento said.

               “If I go back and give my report… I’m not gonna lie to them again,” Orion said.

               “I’m not asking you to.  Nothing wrong with what we did out there,” Kento said.

               “That’s not what I mean.  If I tell them what we saw, what we found, what we learned…” Orion paused, letting out a long breath, “I’m not sure if anyone ought to know how to suck the Force out of someone and use it for themselves.  Bloodstalking…”

               Kento nodded, “You think they’d use it?” he asked.

               “I think somebody would.  Not my people, but… a thing that’s known… a thing like that,” he sighed, “I mean, we keep records.  Archives.  I just…” Orion couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought.  

               Kento smiled, “Maybe you’re right.”

               In silence, they looked out on the horizon and waited for the dawn.

Star Wars: Episode III: Duel of the Fates

Episode III: Duel of the Fates

War and the dreaded FORCE VIRUS have devastated the Jedi Order. Less than a thousand Jedi Knights remain.
The Army of the Republic, under the command of the Jedi, has beaten back all advances from the dastardly General Grievous.
Resolved to end the conflict and preserve the Jedi Order, Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi lead an attack against a Confederate outpost on the planet of Utapau…​

The Incom T-42 Dagger was the workhorse of the Republic Navy’s fighter corps. Its three laser cannons were devastating for close infantry support. Four large engines gave it the speed to elude and pursue Confederate droid fighters. The tandem cockpit allowed the pilot to focus on navigation and evasion while the gunner managed the weapon systems and targeting computer.

Anakin put his sleek snubfighter into a barrel roll. From the rear seat, Obi-Wan groaned. He did not like the view from the gunner’s seat.

“Do you have to do that?” the elder Jedi asked.

“Just checking the controls. Can’t be too careful,” Anakin said.

“I think you can,” Obi-Wan said, trying to keep his stomach from crawling up his spine.

“You should have waited for the Eta-2’s,” Anakin said.

“We didn’t have the time. And you should have let me fly,” Obi-Wan said.

“You hate flying,” Anakin said.

“Not as much as I hate flying with you!” Obi-Wan said.

“Tough luck. You lost the coin toss. You get the back seat. Bring up the lasers,” Anakin said.

“Blast that coin. It was better when you were still my Padawan,” Obi-Wan muttered. He brought up the lasers. Anakin could hear the tell-tale hum through the fuselage.

Behind them, the Dauntless repositioned to move from launching fighters to a more stable, higher orbit.

“Dauntless, this is Blade Squadron. Have you been able to raise Commander Cody?” Anakin asked.

“Negative, Blade Leader. Meteorology reports magnetic interference,” came a voice from the Dauntless.

“Copy that, Dauntless. We’ll just have to head downstairs and check in on him.”

“Think he’ll be happy to see us?” Obi-Wan said.

“We’re too close and we got here too early. Yularen’s lost his touch,” Anakin said.

Suddenly, three Confederate ships slammed out of hyperspace in front of them cutting off Republic forces from supporting the clonetroopers on the planet below.

“Whoa!” Anakin exclaimed.

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve lost the element of surprise,” Obi-Wan said.

“Blade Squad. Break off. We’ve got a welcoming committee,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan said from the rear seat, “So, what is your plan for dealing with the three large capital ships in our way?”

“Is there an answer I can give you that’d make you feel better?”

“Probably not,” Obi-Wan conceded.

“Then don’t worry about it,” Anakin said. He hit a button on his radio. “Blade Two, you picking up anything on scanners?”

“Negative, Blade Leader,” came the reply.

A blast of hot green laser fire cut across the cockpit, not very far in front of their faces.

“Where did that come from?” Anakin said.

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve been jammed,” Obi-Wan said.

“Blade Squadron, cycle your sensor equipment and scatter. Let’s deal with these pickets and then rendezvous at waypoint Besh,” Anakin said.

Anakin banked to the left and pulled the control stick hard, trying to find the source of the incoming fire.

Obi-Wan checked the sensors and gave him the call, “Uh, looks like a squadron of trikes coming in from above us.”

“How’d they get there?” Anakin said.

“Not the time,” Obi-Wan said.

He turned and swung around, finding the incoming formation quickly. The sensor display finished cycling and displayed an enlarged view of the enemy ship in wireframe. The image displayed an unusual fighter. It looked like a ball being gripped by a three-fingered hand.

“Oh, I love the trikes,” Anakin said.

“You just like them because they blow up when you hit them dead center,” Obi-Wan said.

“That’s their best feature!” Anakin said. “You got a lock on the leader?”

“Getting there,” Obi-Wan said.

“Blade Squadron, this is Blade Leader. Fire at will,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan stole a glance up from his targeting computer and looked directly at the back end of the droid fighter. The engines were blue-hot as the droid tried to escape.

Obi-Wan squeezed the trigger on his control yoke. Laser fire raked past the enemy ship. It was well to the right of the target.

“I should have left you back on the Dauntless,” Anakin said.

“Shut up,” Obi-Wan said.

“Why don’t we ask the droid to fly straight? Maybe you’ll have better luck,” Anakin said.

“Haven’t flown one of these before. I’ll get it.”

He took another shot. The impact was on the upper arm of the enemy fighter. The little droid ship bounced and spun out of control before recovering. Anakin stayed on its tail. Obi-Wan squeezed the trigger once more. The droid collapsed and exploded as the lasers hit dead center. The remnants of the enemy group continued to fire on the rest of Blade Squadron.

“Nice shot. Let’s be about it,” Anakin said.

He put the T-42 through a series of scissor switchbacks, trying to maneuver behind one of the droid tri-fighters. Around them, snubfighters, both Republic and Confederate, succumbed to fire.

“We’ve still got to get past the cruisers,” Obi-Wan said.

“Working on it. Blade three and five, break off. High speed pass over the cruiser on the left.”

“Copy Blade Leader,” came the reply.

“Blade Leader, this is Blade Seven, requesting help. I’ve lost my wingman and my gunner and I’ve got a trike on me, sir.”

Anakin checked the sensors and located the imperiled pilot. He turned to close the distance on Blade Seven.

“Seven, we’re coming to help. Just keep juking. Blade Twelve, your ship has the ion prototype, right?” Anakin said.

“Affirmative, Blade Leader.”

Anakin maneuvered behind Seven and the trike that was chasing him. He could see the blasted out canopy and the clone pilot in his brightly colored flightsuit doing all he could to outmaneuver the craft that was chasing him.

“I’ve almost got him,” Obi-Wan said.

“Don’t fire. Seven, cut your engines, turn and swing your nose hard to starboard,” Anakin said.

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Not now,” Anakin ordered. Obi-Wan looked up and saw the pilot follow Anakin’s orders precisely. Anakin gunned the engines of the T-42 and shot past the trike that Obi-Wan had been targeting.

Green lasers bracketed their cockpit. Obi-Wan looked to the right and saw the shields take a hit.

“Anakin, he’s behind us,” Obi-Wan said. “We can’t outrun him like this.”

“I’m aware. Twelve, get a lock on my bogey and follow me. Three, Five, how are you doing?”

“Making a good go of it General. I think we got their attention,” the pilot said.

Anakin smiled. Obi-Wan looked nervously over his shoulder to try to see the droid that was attempting to kill them.

“Keep them busy and give me a clear shot down the centerline.”

“Anakin, our guns aren’t going to do much against a cruiser,” Obi-Wan said.

“You’re absolutely right,” Anakin said. He had that smug confidence in his tone that Obi-Wan recognized from his own youth. Had the situation not been lethal, he would have rolled his eyes.

“Twelve, have you got him?” Anakin asked.

“I’m closing on your tail, Leader. Bogey in sight,” the pilot said.

“Is he still back there?” Anakin asked.

The ship shuddered as incoming fire struck the shields. A warning siren went off in the cockpit.

“Never mind,” Anakin said. Obi-Wan groaned. Ahead, Obi-Wan could see they were flying straight at the nearest of the cruisers. He knew it was useless, but he targeted the bridge of the large vessel.

“Do you want me to open fire?” Obi-Wan asked.

“No, our guns aren’t going to do much against a cruiser,” Anakin deadpanned. He then continued, “Twelve, we’re going to max throttle, the droid will too. Wait for max speed. On my count. Three… two…” Anakin pushed the throttles to full. Obi-Wan could see the droid easily accelerate to give chase. More fire came in. Anakin put the T-42 into a barrel roll. Obi-Wan suppressed the urge to make an unmanly noise.

“Now!” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan never saw the Tri-fighter get hit by the blue arc of an ion cannon blast. He never saw the little ship’s engines freeze and fail.

Anakin completed the roll and pulled up hard, narrowly missing the bridge of the Confederate cruiser.

With all of its electrical systems shorted out by the ion pulse, the little Tri-Fighter wasn’t so lucky. It had gone from being a sophisticated machine to a dead slug of weight. The kinetic energy that it imparted into the bridge of the Confederate cruiser was enough to devastate the massive vessel.

The pilots of Blade Squadron gave out a series of whoops that let the young Jedi know his plan had worked perfectly.

Obi-Wan looked out as Anakin swung the T-42 around. The Confederate ship was suffering from secondary explosions. About half of its guns had fallen silent.

“Blade Leader, she’s going down.”

“Copy that, Five. All fighters, leave the other two cruisers for the next wave. Let’s head down and see what we can do for the ground forces.

* * *

Image Credit: Paul Massey

Anakin could feel the thickening atmosphere wrap around the wings of the T-42.  It gave him a certain comfort to be in an atmosphere.  The tone of the engines shifted down a bit and his controls were more responsive.  This was flying and he loved it.

The other members of the squadron, those that had survived the furball in orbit, fell into formation around him.  He brought the little snubfighter down and skirted the treetops, heading for the last known coordinates that Cody had beamed up to the Dauntless.

Ahead of them, a roiling grey cloud, crackling with electrical energy, blocked a considerable portion of the horizon.

“Magnetic storm?” Obi-Wan said.

“Yeah.  It’s gonna play hell with our subsystems,” Anakin said.

“But they can handle it, right?”

“Sure.  As long as we don’t get a direct lightning strike or anything.”

“What if we do?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“I hate flying,” Obi-Wan repeated.

“Blade Squadron, look sharp, we’ve got to go through the storm,” Anakin said.

The formation streaked into the heavy clouds.  Within a few seconds, Obi-Wan lost sight of any of the other fighters. 

Anakin checked the sensors, “Should be clearing in a moment, then we’ll be able to see the base.”

There was a flash of white light.  Obi-Wan was blinded for a moment and let out a startled shout.  The lights in the cockpit went pitch black. 

“Oh, that’s not good.  Anakin?” he asked.

A few feet forward, Anakin was coming to grips with the fact that his favorite snubfighter was now a five-ton paperweight. 

Obi-Wan heard nothing through his headset.  He pulled it off and heard the muffled voice of his former Padawan through the air within the cockpit.

“We’re hit.  Dead stick.  It’s fine.  I’ll get us on the ground,” Anakin said.  His voice was as calm as Master Yoda’s.

Obi-Wan, bit back an obvious barb and decided to embrace his helplessness.  He took a moment to close his eyes and calm his mind.  When he opened them again, the dark grey clouds had turned black.

Anakin focused on keeping the ship in the air.  Without propulsion he would need to find a landing site quickly.  As the T-42 emerged from the darkness of the magnetic storm he took his bearings.  They were still upright and had some altitude. 

Ahead was a colossal tower of stone, more vertical than a mountain, but still a natural formation.  It rose from the rolling hills of grasslands that surrounded it like a monument to ancient gods.  At the base of the tower was a field of sharp boulders dotted with weapon emplacements.  A vivid light show of lasers and explosions lit the terrain that spread out before him. 

“What the…?” Anakin started.

Between his position and the incredible stone pillar was a scorched battlefield.  A division of the clone army was marching on the tower, trying to cross the open ground between the stormfront and the labyrinth of boulders.  The battlefield was strewn with the wreckage of landing ships and tanks.  Little fires dotted the landscape and a litany of blasted droid parts marked the Confederate territory.  Anakin could see that the clone troopers were more or less in command of the field, but were under the heavy guns of the Confederate positions. 

A smattering of bodies littered the area.  He could see the white armor of the clones where they had fallen.  The snubfighter sank lower in the sky.  She was still gliding, but soon, like the dead clones, her corpse would come to a final resting place on this wretched landscape. 

Anakin stopped his survey and began searching for a bare patch of ground to land his shell-shocked T-42. 

The controls of the T-42 still had some physical connection for just this situation.  He pulled back lightly on the stick as he angled the nose around.  There, ahead and to his right, was a flat spot between two smoking craters.  The clones had yet to reach that position, but it was closer to their lines than it was to the Confederate guns beyond the boulder field.

He pulled the toggle switch to flatten the wings, but nothing happened.  That system had been killed by the magnetic pulse.  He pulled his feet up a bit and braced for impact, trying to keep the nose of his little fighter level.  He yelled to Obi-Wan to hang on.  There wasn’t much else to do.

The Incom T-42 Dagger known as Blade One pancaked into the surface of Utapau.  It took only a few seconds for it to become a one-hundred-thousand credit lawn ornament as it came to its final resting place.  The port-side S-foil snapped away roughly, leaving a jagged, sparking remnant on the fuselage.  The cracked engines caught fire when the fuel tanks ripped open.  Adding fire to the sheer amount of kinetic energy, the T-42 left an impressive trail of hot orange flames across the surface, marking its path through the dust with a pair of fuel-soaked skidmarks.  

Anakin bumped his helmet on the cockpit canopy as the ship bounced off the ground and slammed in again.  In the rear seat, Obi-Wan had a white-knuckle grip on the straps of his flight harness and managed to avoid any serious injury. 

When the flash of pain subsided, Anakin’s senses came back to him.  He was deafened by the sound of the cannons.  He was blinded by the lasers that were darting back and forth around and above him.  He choked on the acrid air that surrounded him.  The dust and smoke were stifling and burned his throat and lungs.  Numbly, he pushed the canopy open and saw where his helmet had left a star-pattern crack in the transparisteel. 

He felt an ache in his wrist, where his artificial hand’s connections had been strained.  He would need some attention before he’d be ready for another round with Maul.  Hopefully, he’d be well enough to take out some battle droids and get vengeance for the loss of his shiny red and white starfighter. 

Exhausted from the dogfight in orbit, the tension filled trip through the storm, and the high-speed uncontrolled crash; Anakin fell back in his seat as the grime of the battlefield began to stain his face.  Some groaning behind him told him that Obi-Wan was alive, but not in much better shape.  It had been a long day already and it was really just beginning.

Before he could begin the process of abandoning his ship, there was a black gauntlet gripping his arm.  He seized briefly, gripped with a touch of panic and reached for his lightsaber.  A moment later, he saw the source of this attack.

A Republic Commando team had descended on the crashed Dagger and was carrying out search and rescue.  The painted armor and bulky shoulder pads were distinctive and instantly set them apart from their rank and file brethren.  Anakin allowed himself a moment of relief that he didn’t have to immediately start hacking up droids. 

“General Skywalker, General Kenobi, meet Gamma Squad.  We’ll escort you back to the command line, sirs,” said the clone.  One pair of Commandos helped lift Anakin out of his seat.  The other pair did the same for Obi-Wan.  A plasma shell exploded not fifty meters away.  Anakin flinched and the clones put themselves between him and danger.

“Keep your heads low and move fast.  Double time!” the lead commando said.  The little pack of six began to scurry towards the clone trooper lines at the far end of the field.  Through the haze that the Confederate artillery had picked up, Anakin could see Commander Cody directing troop movements from a makeshift command post.  The rescue team stayed by their side until they were close enough for a civilized conversation.

By this point, the cobwebs of shock had been shaken off and Obi-Wan, being the senior Jedi, took stock of the situation.

“Cody, how goes it?”

“I’ve got a brigade pinned down by their artillery and we can’t stop their guns because they’re protected by that boulder field.”  Cody aimed a finger up to the base of the stone tower to emphasize his point.  Anakin followed the line of his pointing and saw the jagged mass of rocks that provided such natural defenses.  The small ones were the size of a house, some of the larger ones would rival a stadium.

On the field, he could see the big AT-TE’s firing their cannons as the plodded towards the tower.  “Our artillery?” Obi-Wan asked, calmly.

“Still on their feet, but it’ll take days to blast away that much rock.  And they can’t walk up that boulder field.” Cody said.

“Air support?” Obi-Wan asked.

“The Laarti’s did all they could, but most went down trying to ferry more troopers past the storm.  I’ve only got a couple left.  Your T-42’s are giving them hell,” Cody said, waving an open hand at the five remaining T-42’s that had survived this long.  Obi-Wan saw one of the fighters strafe the gun emplacements.  The laser fire had little effect.

Image Credit: Clinton Felker

“We’ve got to get you a clear path,” Obi-Wan said, shouting a bit to make sure he was heard over the cacophony of the guns.

“How do you plan to do that?” Cody asked.

“The same way I do everything else,” Obi-Wan said.  His trademark smirk had returned.  He stepped away and walked forward, facing the Confederate base and the gargantuan stone tower.  Anakin fell into step with him.

“You want some help?” Anakin asked.

“I’ll need it,” Obi-Wan said.

“This was never my favorite training exercise,” Anakin said.

“Now do you see why I had you practice?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan put an open hand out and closed his eyes.  Anakin followed suit.

The younger Jedi felt the calm and confidence radiating from his former Master.  Obi-Wan was a beacon of serenity in the midst of this chaos.  Anakin could almost feel his energy reaching out, grabbing several of the large boulders that must be more than a kilometer away.  Anakin stole a glance long enough to see a handful of the rocks rise from the dusty soil and float away until they were out of the path up the hill.  When they were no longer in the way, they simply dropped out of the sky just as the T-42 had, in an uncontrolled surrender to gravity. 

Anakin could see that many more efforts would need to be made before a path was clear.  He reached out on his own.  It had no effect.  Obi-Wan let out a long breath then lifted another batch of stones.  Anakin winced in frustration.

“Take your time,” Obi-Wan said.

The younger Jedi tried to clear his head.  At the center of this maelstrom, it was difficult to find serenity.  Not for the first time, Anakin envied Obi-Wan’s ability to quiet his mind.  He began to reach out again, but quickly stopped as he took in the screams of an unlucky clonetrooper.  He shook his head and closed his eyes again.  Stretching an arm and an open hand, he focused on his distant target. 

Opening his eyes, across the field he could see a small collection of rocks hovering above the others.  He scattered them with a ragged Force push.  The stones landed far from the path that Obi-Wan was carving though the terrain.  It was clear to Anakin he lacked the fine control that his old Master displayed, but he was able to hold his own with the great Jedi.  

Beside him, Obi-Wan smiled, “See, you can do it.”

Anakin nodded and tried again. 

Within moments, an untidy, but traversable lane of bare dirt was visible cutting up the hill, winding through the boulder field.  Where it met the colossal stone, Anakin could see a hardened bunker. 

Obi-Wan fell to his knees.  Anakin moved to pick him up.

The elder Jedi turned to Cody, “There’s your path.  Take the hill.”

“Absolutely, sir,” Cody said.  Then he spoke to his troops.  “All positions, converge on the path.  Sweep Jeeps, clear the way for the Enforcers.”

From the left, Anakin saw some of the fast moving Infantry Support Platforms begin to head for the gap in the rocks.

“You got one of those back here, Cody?” Anakin asked, pointing at the ISP’s.

“You want a ride?” Cody said.

“Yeah, it beats walking,” Anakin said.

“I’m coming too,” Obi-Wan said, struggling to get to his feet.

One of the platforms came to a hovering stop next to the command post.  Two clones were already in the seats, so Anakin stood on the outrigger and grabbed the center rail to support himself.

With their high-ground advantage quickly becoming moot, the Confederates deployed battle droids and began firing at the incoming vehicles.  Cody held the infantry back a bit to allow the AT-TE’s to soften the position.  Anakin was not so easily restrained.

A Confederate laser cannon managed to find the range and landed a shot on the front wedge of the platform he had been riding.  The blast flipped the vehicle forward and it bounced off the soil and tumbled a dozen meters into the air in a fatal flight of somersaults.  Anakin, being unsecured, instead managed to combat roll off the speeding platform before it was destroyed.  He came up on his feet with his lightsaber at the ready.

The bunker was less than a hundred meters away.  A swarm of battle droids fired down on him.

As he had learned years ago, Jedi are powerful, but none could survive the onslaught of an enemy with sufficient numbers.  Anakin looked up and saw droids converging on his position and remembered the lesson very clearly.  He took shelter beside the wreckage of the ISP that had brought him this far.  The smoldering metal was warm to the touch and mangled, but it would stop any blaster bolts coming in from his right.  He leveled his saber and swatted away a flurry of incoming fire.  At the core of the chaos, he found focus.  With an outstretched hand, he reached for the closest of the incoming droids…

And saw them obliterated in a torrent of fire.

Stunned, he took a moment and stared at his hand, unaware of this new and awe-inspiring ability.  Before he could try again, another set of droids to his left were destroyed in a sweeping explosion.  As he continued to block incoming shots, he turned and saw the culprit over his shoulder.

From the fuselage of the LAAT/i gunship, Obi-Wan Kenobi waved down at his former Padawan.  The missiles that had been fired would help get Anakin out of the little jam that he’d gotten himself into.  Obi-Wan tried to contemplate how often he’d saved Anakin from his own exuberance, but realized that no answer would satisfy him.

The gunship swept in low and hovered.  Anakin did a double jump to grab Obi-Wan’s outstretched arm.  The older Jedi hauled him aboard with a self-satisfied laugh.

“You done showing off?” Anakin said.

“Not hardly,” Obi-Wan replied.  “Get us to the tower,” Kenobi said, addressing the gunship’s pilot. 

The Low Altitude Assault Transport/infantry, known affectionately as a “Larty” was the backbone of the Clone Army’s ground operations.  Obi-Wan reveled in the sight of the ship’s guns clearing the way for the ground assault.  He was determined for the troopers to find an open door at the top of the hill and now he was on his way to arrange it.

Below and ahead, he was able to see his target for the first time.  The entrance to the Confederate’s headquarters was a large door, built into the side of the hill under the stone tower.  The gunship came in for a landing.  Anakin looked back down the valley and saw the clonetroopers and their vehicles still struggling to ascend the slope.  They were rolling back the droids, but it was slow going.

The two Jedi stepped out of the gunship and Obi-Wan faced the locked door.  Anakin kept his gaze down the hill.

“Should we go back and help?” Anakin said, sweeping his arm to indicate the ensuing battle taking place behind them.

“If we can get to Grievous, we can shut down every droid on this planet,” Obi-Wan said.  “He’s behind this door and that’s where we need to be.”

A few battle droids were withdrawing from the frenzy below to try to protect their newly-exposed command center.  Anakin’s attention was split.

“You want me to guard or cut?” he asked Obi-Wan.

“Up here with me,” Obi-Wan said, igniting his blade and thrusting it right into the door, around the massive central lock. 

Anakin joined his old Master on the other side of the frame and together they began a slow, methodical cut into the durasteel barrier.  The barrier sizzled and crackled as the white hot lightsabers cut through the military-grade armor. 

Completing the clockwise cuts, the Jedi backed away slowly, waving away the air that had become stiflingly hot from the energy expended by their sabers.  Extending a hand, they shoved the door, knocking it down with the power of the Force.

The cacophonous boom of the half-meter thick barrier hitting the floor echoed down the long, dark corridor that laid within. 

A pair of green-striped battle droids, no doubt guards of some sort, leveled blasters at the two Jedi.  The one on the left began to fire.  The one on the right had time to yell, “Republic forces have entered the base.  Republic forces have entered…” before being cut down by Kenobi’s saber.

A moment later, alarms sounded through the hallway.

Anakin and Obi-Wan began to run into the interior of the base.  The dim running lights on the ceiling were supplemented by the glow of their cyan lightsabers.  The illumination was barely enough to keep a quick pace, but time was running out. 

After a few dozen paces, the corridor split.  One branch went right, the other left.  Anakin looked at Obi-Wan and shrugged. 

“If you find the control room, shut down the droids,” Obi-Wan said.

“If you find Grievous, shut him down permanently,” Anakin said.

Anakin went left, Obi-Wan went right.  The alarms kept blaring.

*             *             *

Commander Cody watched his troops ascending the slope and gave orders directing the artillery fire.  His men were making good progress, but without the Jedi around, the casualties could begin to become unacceptable.

He turned and signaled to the leader of Gamma Squad, the commando unit which had rescued the downed Jedi when they came screaming in.  In an instant the soldier was at his side.  His three companions formed a triangular screen behind him.

“Dev, see if you can get your boys around the line and into the base.  I want to get Kenobi and Skywalker some help in there.  No need to blast every droid in this valley if they can cut off Grievous’s head.”

The commando snapped a salute and gave a clipped, “Aye, sir.  Gamma Squad, let’s move out.”

Cody observed the team commandeer an ISP and two swoop bikes.  They drove off as though they intended to go around the tower rather than to it.  He turned and went back to issuing artillery orders.  When it came to commando squads, it was best to tell them what you wanted and not bother asking how they would go about it.

*             *             *

Of the small patrols that Obi-Wan encountered, two were hacked to pieces before they knew he was there.  Three were able to get off a few shots before he rendered them limb from limb.  One he managed to move past without them even being aware of his presence.  Every time he dealt with another patrol, he moved in the direction they had approached him from.  Soon, he found himself staring at the door to the droid control center.

Through a window in the hatch, he was able to see a collection of battle droids at various consoles, no doubt reporting on the progress of the battle outside.  He kicked himself for not bringing along some explosives, but he’d never had a problem improvising before. 

The control center’s security was mostly electronic, with the idea that the base’s defenses would mostly be secured by the massive army of droids currently engaging with the clones.  With their private sanctum within reach, Obi-Wan gave a few sharp cuts to the door and slid aside one half with the Force, entering confidently as the gathered droids in the room turned to examine this new variable in their programming. 

Despite his best hopes, there was no big red button to push, no sign of a central structure that would bring down the droid army.  Instead, he faced the raised blasters of two dozen droids and their simultaneous fire.

Twirling his saber behind him, he dove back the way he had come.  He took a few retreating steps down the hall before the command center droids emerged to chase him down.

*             *             *

Anakin could see light ahead of him and doubled his pace.  He wasn’t sure what was at the end of this long passage, but the light grew brighter and he took it as a good sign. 

Expecting to meet a locked gate of some kind, he was pleased to find the path open as he entered a hangar bay with assorted Confederate vehicles. 

Crossing the catwalk, he spotted General Grievous below, speaking to a droid and gesturing to a midnight-black starfighter.  The little ship was being readied by a small crew of droids, but the General seemed displeased with their progress.

Anakin wasted no time and hauled himself over the railing of the catwalk.  He landed on his feet and took a roll to displace the energy of the fall.  Popping up on his toes, he lit his saber and levelled it at the droid General who had caused him so much grief for the past three years.

“Going somewhere?” Anakin asked.

Grievous’s white cape fluttered in the currents of the hangar bay’s ventilation system.  He whirled and saw Skywalker standing between him and his escape craft. 

“Ah the little annoying one,” Grievous said.  If his metallic face had been capable of a smirk, he would have delivered one, but such things were not possible in this bizarre fusion of biological and mechanical systems. 

“Where’s your friend?  The one with the beard who causes so much trouble.  Have my droids done him in already?” Grievous continued.

“I’ll call for him if he’s needed,” Anakin said.

Grievous let out a hollow synthesized chuckle that bounced off the walls.  Quietly, the service droids began to backpedal.  The corps of Magnaguards closed in from all sides, but Grievous waved them back.

“You have your orders.  This one is all mine.”  The guards backed away respectfully. 

Anakin gave a flourish and saluted his opponent in the old style.  Grievous withdrew two lightsabers from his belt and lit them.  One green, one blue.  Anakin recognized the hilts.  They had belonged to friends of his.  He pushed back his anger.  This war had gone on too long.  He was ready to end it.

With a thrust of both arms, Grievous attacked.  Anakin blocked the double blow and spun away, trying to find a weakness in this most unusual opponent.

Maul had fought with a double-sided saber, but this was different.  He’d sparred against a few dual-wielders, but it had been a while.

Grievous didn’t give him time to think, continuing a furious assault with both blades.  The servos in his limbs meant that each blow was a powerful slam against Skywalker’s defenses.  It was clear the General planned to break his opponent with brute force.  Anakin felt a certain calm when he recognized the tactic.  At least this was a familiar concept. 

Anakin recalled the sparring duels of his younger days, when he had tried to hack away at the perfect defenses that Obi-Wan had put up.  He had received a lesson in the use of finesse against power.  A blow that misses its mark does far more damage to the attacker than the target.  With the memory at the forefront of his mind, he began to use quick footwork to simply avoid the blows as they came crashing down around him.

Grievous was kind enough to step into one rather harsh attack.  Anakin saw it coming, sidestepped and then used the Force to shove the abominable amalgamation on his back.  The young Jedi’s bladework was precise enough to slice through one of Grievous’s pilfered sabers.  The General stumbled to his clawed feet, let out an exasperated growl and retrieved two more weapons from his belt. 

Before Anakin could figure out how he intended to use three sabers with two arms, the answer became apparent.  The metallic upper limbs of Grievous split along their joints, giving rise to a four-armed configuration.  Three of those arms now brandished lightsabers.  The fourth gripped a heavy blaster. 

Grievous’s upper arms began a rapid whirring, beyond anything a biological arm was capable of.  The saber blades, again that familiar green and blue, now swung in arcs so fast that they appeared as circular shields.  With each step forward, Grievous left deep, scalding scratches in the floor.  He advanced on Anakin and the Jedi took a few retreating steps to reevaluate. 

*             *             *

Obi-Wan, oblivious to the fight taking place in that distant hangar bay, had to deal with a swarm of droids that followed him down the hallway.  His enemies were kind enough to fire on him with blasts that he gamely reflected back.  The tight spacing did much to nullify their numbers, but Obi-Wan didn’t have all day to fight it out.

One of the Super Battle Droids, the big blue monsters that had done so much damage on Geonosis stepped through the doorway.  The hulking brute barely fit in the passageway.  Obi-Wan saw an opportunity.

Reaching out with the Force, he gripped the large droid by the ankles and pulled hard.  The maneuver flipped the behemoth onto its back.  Kenobi was on top of it in an instant.  A single swipe of his cerulean blade split the droid in half. 

As he looked up to recover his position, more battle droids emerged to challenge him. 

Obi-Wan took a few steps in retreat once again and brought up his blade.

Suddenly, the corridor became a howling cylinder of blaster fire.  Behind him, the clones of Gamma Squad had taken up firing positions and began picking apart his attackers.  Obi-Wan guarded his rescuers against incoming shots and together they made quick work of the droids in the hall and within the command center. 

As they secured the exits, Obi-Wan took a look around this room with its vast bank of data arrays, lights, sensors and other accoutrements and began to look for the military equivalent of an off switch.

* * *

Grievous could make his escape now and Anakin wouldn’t be able to stop him.  He had to find a way to turn the fight around.  Further retreat would get him nothing except for a wall against his back.  He used the one advantage that this bio-mechanical beast would never have.  He reached out.

General Grievous’s lightsabers swirled and spun before him, creating a dazzling display.  He closed in on the young Jedi Knight and suddenly found himself half a meter off the floor.

Anakin’s abilities, honed from years spent on countless battlefields, now allowed him to possess this enemy. 

Grievous started to flail and Anakin took a tighter grip on his lightsaber.  He just needed to have enough fine control to turn him and end the leader of the droid armies once and for all.

Thrashing and swiping, Grievous abandoned his original plans and made use of the blaster in his fourth arm. 

Sizzling with energy, the incoming rapid-fire bolts were more than enough to break Anakin’s focus.  One struck him in the shoulder and he roared in pain.  The agony shooting through his nerves, he abandoned his delicate Force lift and hurled Grievous across the hangar bay like an unwanted toy. 

The wily bioloid scurried away, firing a few more shots at Anakin before sliding neatly into the cockpit of his small black starfighter.  Before the white hot pain subsided, Anakin struggled to fight past the mixture of anger and agony that wracked his body. 

As the haze cleared, he saw Greivous’s dark, sleek starfighter lift off and swivel towards the hangar bay door.  He snarled at the escaping enemy and angrily seized a cargo crate nearby, heaving it with raw Force energy.  The dull metal crate left a dent in the side of the vessel, but did not bring down the fighter.  Anakin shielded his eyes as the engines of the fighter lit up and blasted his face with warm air. 

He seethed as the ship absconded with his prey.  The war would not end today.

As the sound of the engines faded, Anakin turned, attempting to find a path back to meet up with Obi-Wan.  His comlink beeped.  He pulled it from his belt.

“Obi-Wan, he escaped,” Anakin said.

“That’s okay.  Are you all right?”

“He fled in a ship.  It was black.  Uh…” his mind fought to remember, “A Belbullab-22.”

“I’ll hail the Dauntless,” Obi-Wan said.  “I’ve shut down the droids.  The valley is secure.  Cody’s men should be safe now.”

“What about the other armies?” Anakin asked.

“We’ll worry about those tomorrow,” Obi-Wan said.

“We said that yesterday,” Anakin replied.

“Just find your way back here.  This is still a victory,” Obi-Wan said, by way of consolation.

Anakin nodded to no one in particular and sat down on a crate, catching his breath. 

*             *             *

Obi-Wan found a communications console and attempted to dial up the frequency that the Republic ships in orbit would be using.

“Kenobi to Dauntless.  Kenobi to Dauntless, do you copy?”

There was a long beat and then the speakers in the control center gave a burst of crackling static.  He heard the familiar voice of Admiral Yularen, “General Kenobi, this is the Dauntless.  Are you secure?”

“Yes, Admiral.  The droid armies of Utapau have been shut down.  But listen, General Grievous is escaping.  He’s in a Belbullab-22 type fighter.  Do you have anything like that on your screens, over?”

“General, we’re currently tracking more than twenty of those.”

* * *

As they broke through the upper layers of atmosphere, General Grievous looked all around him to see the flotilla of starfighters beating a hasty retreat from Utapau.  He joined the formation and took a look back at the planet which had housed his headquarters. 

He opened a radio channel to each of his Magnaguards who now piloted the two-dozen ships identical to his. 

“Disperse.  Rendezvous in the Mustafar system.  Excellent work,” Grievous said. 

Around him the convoy broke up, his ship taking one of many randomly selected pathways.  A few moments later, the General entered hyperspace, leaving the Republic forces far behind him.

*             *             *

Anakin and Obi-Wan walked out of the bunker side-by-side, swapping stories about their adventures within.

“Don’t blame yourself.  You did all you could.  There will be another day,” Obi-Wan said. 

The two men raised a hand to their eyes as they emerged.  The setting sun lent a beautiful light to the ugly scene that played out in the valley below.

The scorched and torn landscape was now a hive of slow activity.  Fires littered the ground, but the smoke and haze had begun to clear.  The guns were silenced and now clonetroopers had begun the work of processing the dormant battle droids that had been trying to kill them less than an hour ago. 

Systematically, the troopers had begun dismantling the droids, separating heads from torsos and blasters from arms.  The piles of discarded bodies had begun to dot the area.  It was a common sight after battles in this war.  Obi-Wan had never seen the remnants after a Republic defeat, but he quietly shuddered at the thought of Confederate battle droids disposing of the bodies of the soldiers he’d lead.  For the thousandth time, he resolved to end this war as quickly as possible.

Descending the hill, Obi-Wan and Anakin talked casually as they made their way back to the command post.  Anakin went through the moves he had used against Grievous and Obi-Wan spoke about his taking of the command center.

They found Commander Cody right where they had left him, now in command of a relaxed clean-up effort.  He gave a wave to his two Jedi superiors as they approached.

“So what happened to the plan?” Obi-Wan asked.

Cody groaned, “What a nightmare.  Gamma Squad was in the middle of running some sapper operations.  We needed another hour.  But then the Dauntless came in fast and loud.  Hell, General, you didn’t need sensors to see it.  You could just look up,” he said.

“Way too close,” Anakin agreed.

“It was a miscalculation,” Obi-Wan said.

“It was a disaster.  The base went on high alert.  All our little secret maneuvers got blown.  Then the storm was at our backs when we needed clear skies.  A beautiful plan turned into a meat grinder because some Navy navigator with a million-datary computer didn’t double-check his numbers,” Cody said.

“Sorry about that,” Obi-Wan said.

“Oh, it’s not your fault, sir,” Cody said, “But I tell you, if I find out that it was a clone at the Navigator’s station up there, I’m gonna have a word with his batch-master.”

“Still, a win is a win.  You and your troops did very good work today, Commander,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan looked around for a beat, and was about to ask Cody if he needed help with the logistics of getting the clones off planet.  Before he formed the words, a trooper approached and snapped to attention.

“Sir, unidentified incoming,” the trooper said.

“We don’t have a signal?” Anakin said.

“Magnetic storm is still making hash when we try to talk to orbit,” Cody said.

“You radioed up that we won, right?” Anakin said, looking at Obi-Wan.

“I did,” Obi-Wan confirmed.

“I’ve got the walkers on anti-air just to be safe,” Cody said.

“If the Confederates had anything left to throw at us, it’d be here already,” Anakin said.

“Give it a second,” Obi-Wan said.

The newly-arrived trooper put a hand to his ear.  Cody and the two Jedi allowed a pregnant pause as the fires began to smolder behind them.

After a moment, the trooper spoke once again, “Uh… copy… Sirs, looks like a diplomatic shuttle.  One of ours.”

“The Senate representative coming to negotiate a surrender,” Obi-Wan said.

In the distance, a shuttle appeared, escorted by a pair of the new Eta-2’s that the Dauntless had deployed.

“First comes the battle, then comes the politics,” Obi-Wan said.

“You know what they call it when the order is the other way around, right?”  Anakin said.

“Peace?” Obi-Wan said.

“That’s right,” Anakin said, giving a little laugh.

A moment passed as they watched the shuttle circle the field.  The triumvirate of Republic commanders walked over to where the shuttle would land.

“You know who they sent, right?” Anakin said.

“I have a strong suspicion,” Obi-Wan said.

“C’mon, you know who it’s gonna be.  Bet me,” Anakin said.  He held up a near-worthless coin from his pocket.

“You’re on your own,” Obi-Wan said.

“C’mon Cody, you’re always good for some action, bet me,” Anakin said.

“Negative, General,” Cody said. 

The little shuttle swiveled on its axis.  It settled on the landing pad with the lightest touch.  He smiled as the exit ramp lowered.  When the exhaust cleared, there she was.  As beautiful as the first time he’d seen her.

“Hello boys,” Padme said.

“Easy money,” Anakin said, smirking at Obi-Wan before running to greet her.

“Hey you,” he said, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into a big hug.

“Whoa, hey… hey yourself,” she said, playfully swatting his shoulder as he put her down. 

Obi-Wan kept a respectable distance, “Senator, very nice to see you again,” he said.

“Oh, come here you big space pirate,” she said, opening her arms to wrap the elder Jedi in an embrace.

“Pirate?” Obi-Wan said, attempting to look innocent.

“We heard all about you capturing that freighter convoy over Nar Shadaa last week.  My brother was chartreuse with envy.”

“Oh really?  Is Bail still raiding Separatist commerce ships with that band of brigands?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Oh yes.  Got quite the little privateer fleet actually.  My parents are considering disowning him.  It’s quite the scandal back home.  A prince of Alderaan with his own little military,” Padme said.

“He’s done good service keeping supplies away from the droid foundries,” Obi-Wan said.

“He’s still alive.  Which I’ll take as a victory,” Padme said.

“Speaking of victory…” Anakin said, waving an arm to the surroundings.

“Yes, yes, look at the mess you boys made,” Padme said with a grin.  She gave a mock huff and smiled, “I’ll be damned if I’m cleaning up after you.”

“We’ll be fine so long as you stay for the party,” Obi-Wan said.

“There’s a party?” Padme said.

“Well… we took out the last remaining position the Seppys had in the entire sector.  I’d say that calls for a little revelry,” Anakin said.

“Well, I suppose…”

With a clank, Owen emerged from the shuttle, wheeling a cart that was loaded down with bottles of ale. 

The big, affable pilot gave a shout that reached half the clonetroopers on the field. 

“Compliments of the Royal House of Alderaan.  Congrats on the victory, fellas!”

The troopers in the area looked to Commander Cody, who had been silently observing the new arrivals.  Cody walked over to the cart that Owen had pushed down the ramp.  Owen paused, unsure of what the clone commander would say.

Cody popped off his helmet and took one of the bottles out of the chilled bucket it sat in.  He popped the cap and tipped the proffered drink.  Every member of the Republic forces within earshot watched with rapt attention.

He drained the bottle and tossed the empty vessel onto a heap of broken battle droids.  Then he let out a satisfied whistle.

“Good stuff,” Cody pronounced.  “You got any more?”

Owen smiled at him, “Plenty.”

“Okay boys.  Job’s done.  Let’s party!” Cody said.

The cheers echoed off the stone tower and only grew louder.

*             *             *

As the local sun set on Utapau, the clonetroopers had made the most of this rare opportunity for carousing.  A few had formed teams and a game of Smashball had broken out.  Others had used the services of a fussy gold protocol droid that Padme had brought to find some locals who had musical talents.  A series of light melodies filled the valley.  Some clones sang old war songs.  Some drunk themselves to sleep.  Others simply sat back and enjoyed the calm.  

The Dauntless, by way of an apology for the inconvenient arrival, had sent down fresh rations for the troops.  The cool breeze of the valley carried the scents of roasted meat and vegetables.  The magnificent vista of the rock tower lent a natural, ancient tone to the celebrations.  One could easily imagine that soldiers had enjoyed victorious nights in much the same way for thousands of years.

Obi-Wan had eschewed the Alderaanian ale, but held a cup of a lighter local beverage as he walked around the encampment.  Under a cozy outcropping of rock, he spotted a campfire where Anakin, Owen and Padme gathered.

As he joined them, Owen was regaling the group with a story and Obi-Wan caught the tail end of it.  The laughter that greeted him was the warmest he’d felt in weeks. 

“That was the last time I ever gave her a flying lesson,” Owen said, sitting back down and opening a fresh bottle.

“Some teacher,” Padme scoffed, giving a faux-wounded look to Owen.  She turned to the strapping young man at her side, “Speaking of which, when are they gonna get you a Padawan?” Padme asked Anakin.

There was a pause.  Anakin and Obi-Wan shared a look and then burst into laughter.

“Oh dear.  It’s hard enough dealing with just one of him,” Obi-Wan said.

Owen chuckled.

“More Jedi in the image of Anakin Skywalker would surely be a recipe for galactic chaos,” Obi-Wan ribbed.

“If only I’d had a different teacher,” Anakin said, giving a playful shove to his mentor’s shoulder.

“Hey, one thing I’ve always wondered about…” Owen said.

“What’s that?” Anakin prompted.

“The lightsaber,” Owen said.

“What about it?” Anakin said.  He pulled his out and turned it over in his hand.

“Yours are both blue, right?”

Obi-Wan nodded.  Anakin handed his to Owen, who carefully took it. 

“Go ahead,” Anakin said.

Owen grinned and lit the saber.  The azure blade came to life and he marveled at its raw energy.  He walked over to the rock wall they sat before and carved an O into the side.  When it was done he stood and admired his handiwork.  Padme gave a light clap after he retracted the saber.

“I’ve heard there are some green ones,” Owen said, handing Anakin’s saber back.

“They come in many colors,” Obi-Wan confirmed.

“How do you decide?” Padme asked.

“We really don’t,” Anakin said, sipping his ale.

“The Force guides us,” Obi-Wan said, anchoring the thought with a sip of his own drink.

“I spent a day wandering the caves of Ilum searching for the kyber crystal that called to me.  It’s a journey.  You find something about yourself along the way,” Anakin said.  “Didn’t know what color it would be until I finished building the thing.”

“What about you, Obi-Wan?” Padme asked.

“Went headlong into a lake of ice water in the middle of a cavern.  I thought I was going to freeze to death.  One of my classmates pulled me out of the water.  From where he’d been standing, he showed me a path where I could have just walked around,” Obi-Wan said, shuddering at the memory of the awful cold.

“And what did you learn?” Padme asked.

“Whether a journey is simple or unbearable can greatly depend on your point of view,” Obi-Wan said.  “Such was my last day at the academy… back when there was an academy.”  

Padme saw him wince.  She looked over and saw the pain in Anakin’s eyes.  Desperate to make it stop, she chose a frontal assault.

“Okay, that’s enough of that.  Let’s talk about after the war,” Padme said, trying to keep the good time going.

“After the war…” the men echoed, the words carrying a reverence all their own.

“Everyone’s favorite topic these days,” Owen said.

“Obi-Wan, what’s your plan?” Padme asked.

“I thought I might teach,” Obi-Wan said.

“Yeah?”

“The academy will have to be restaffed.  I’m considering resigning my council position and asking for a post as an instructor.”

“You’d move to Ilum, even with the cold?” Padme asked.

“There are worse places in the galaxy, believe me,” Obi-Wan said.

Padme tilted her head and turned to Anakin, “What about you, flyboy?”

“I think I’d like to take his seat on the council,” Anakin said, smiling and jutting a chin in Obi-Wan’s direction.

“Not this again,” Obi-Wan said.

“Well, if you’re not using it…” Anakin said.

“How many times does the council have to tell you no?” Obi-Wan asked.

“It’s gonna be a few more times,” Padme said, answering for Anakin.

“I have no doubt,” Obi-Wan agreed. 

“I’ll earn my seat,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan put up both hands in a shrugging surrender.

Anakin continued, “I feel like the war has honed a lot of my skills.  Sharpened the edges.  With some more time and training, I’ll be ready to lead.  Help shape the order for whatever comes next.”

“They’d be lucky to have you,” Owen said, taking another swig of ale.

“How about you, Owen?” Padme said, “I assume you don’t want to be my chauffer forever.”

“I’m taking all the hazard pay I never got to spend, and I’m buying a nightclub in the Serata district on Corsucant.  I’m gonna have a band playing every night.  I’m gonna have Twi’lek girls dancing and Starfire Ale on tap and I’ll shoot anyone who comes through the door trying to get me back into a uniform.”

He laughed and held out a bottle.  Anakin tapped it with his own and shared the mirth. 

“How about you, Senator?” Obi-Wan said, nodding towards Padme.

“The Jedi aren’t the only thing that needs to be strengthened.  I want to restore the Senate to its former glory.  Get rid of the corruption.  Take back some of the emergency powers that the Chancellor has assumed.  He’s run this war well, but he’ll need to be reined in a bit when all this is over.”

“Best of luck with that,” Obi-Wan said, putting an emphasis on the last word.  “I imagine my students would be more easy to wrangle than your senators.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Padme said, “But it needs to be done.”

“Speaking of needs,” Obi-Wan said, rising from his seat by the fire.

“Bedtime?” Anakin asked, not getting up.

Obi-Wan nodded and sighed, “Long day.  There’ll be at least one more long day before this war is over.”

“I tried to stop him,” Anakin said.

“You did fine,” Obi-Wan said, dismissive of Anakin’s wounded pride, “Next time it’ll be the end of him.” Obi-Wan yawned and stretched his back.  He gave a mild bow to Padme, “Milady.”

“Master Jedi,” she said, returning the playful formality with a grin.

“Pleasant dreams for all of you,” Obi-Wan said, then turned, eager to find a place to bed down for the night.

As the flickering campfire light illuminated his path away, he padded off, at peace with the events of the day.  For a moment, he did not notice the footsteps that trailed him.  When Padme appeared at his elbow, he almost jumped in surprise.

“Is everything all right?” Obi-Wan asked.

“That’s what I was going to ask,” Padme replied.

“Why would…” he started.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he replied.

“The virus…” she said, letting the thought hang.

“We’re both fine.  With our exposure, if it was going to be lethal, we’d be dead by now,” Obi-Wan said.

“But there were effects, yes?” Padme asked.

“I’m not as strong as I once was.  I’m not as fast as I once was.  And I’m more tired than I’ve ever been.  Now, is that the virus, or the war?  Your guess is as good as mine, Princess,” Obi-Wan said.

“How about him?” Padme asked, nodding back towards Anakin by the fire.

“If I had his energy and strength, I’d have no complaints,” Obi-Wan said, lending a smile to this grim conversation.

“I worry about you both,” she said.

“And we worry over you,” Obi-Wan echoed.  “But no matter what happens, we’ll have each other,” he said.

She nodded, “Sleep well, Obi-Wan.”

Again he flashed the smile that made her heart ache, “And you, Princess of Alderaan.”

* * *​

The heavy metallic clanking of Grievous’s clawed feet echoed across the duracrete floors of the base on Mustafar.  This entire planet, a seething cauldron of lava, sulphur and rock, was perhaps the only place in the galaxy where the raw fury under the surface matched the anger that coursed through his synapses. 

Utapau, despite his best efforts, had fallen.  An entire droid army was quickly being scrapped.  He’d lost his foothold in the Mid-Rim and had been forced to relocate the sycophantic talking heads of the Confederate leadership to this last bastion in a far-flung corner of the Outer Rim Territories.

Sidious, for all his maneuverings, had truly left him in a bind.  The Republic might be sluggish, but they were anything but toothless.  As long as there were Jedi, Grievous would be fighting uphill battles. 

Disgusted by the politics, he stomped past the chambers where the various heads of the corporations were prevaricating and panicking.  Such affairs held no interest for him.  His mind and his programming had but one goal: win the war.  He would not find a solution to that problem listening to Wat Tambor and company.  Instead, he went to his private sanctum and activated the holoprojector. 

A moment later, a pair of glowing blue holograms appeared before him.  Seated in a sumptuous chair was the shadowed visage of Darth Sidious.  At his right-hand was the ever-present assassin, Darth Maul.  Grievous did not tremble at the sight of the Sith Lords.  On the contrary, he wanted some answers and solutions from them at this tenuous time.

He made no formal bow or plea.  Programming did not concern itself with such frivolities.  Instead, he simply made his report.

“Lord Sidious, the installation on Utapau has been lost.  The Republic forces were engaged just as you had ordered, but their numbers were much greater than we had been expecting.”

All that could truly be seen of Sidious was his crooked mouth.  Its corners turned up at the report.  Grievous’s anger rose by a measurable level.

“The installation and its defenders were of no concern to the war effort,” said the Sith Master.

“The battle did not result in a victory.  Now we are reeling from the retreat to the Outer Rim,” Grievous said.

“General, you must understand.  The Republic’s victory was a necessary feint in order to further draw out their forces.”

“Perhaps you could elaborate, my lord,” Grievous said.

“In their pursuit of your forces through the Mid-Rim, the Republic has all but abandoned the Core Worlds.  The loss of Utapau was not a defeat; it was the opening of a tactical opportunity.  It is now up to you to seize the initiative and strike at the heart of the Republic.”

“Absolutely, Lord Sidious,” Grievous said.

“You will have the full support of Lord Maul.  With your combined power, the attack will be unstoppable,” Sidious said.  Off his shoulder, Maul gave an acknowledging nod towards Grievous.

“All will be prepared, my Lord,” Grievous said.

*             *             *

Lightyears away, Maul ended the transmission and the meeting.  He resisted the urge to sigh and instead stepped off the transmission pad.

Sidious did not need his powers to sense the unrest within his apprentice.

“Speak, Lord Maul.”

“My Master, you know I would never question your plans,” Maul began.

“Yet you do so,” Sidious said.

“My desire for revenge is becoming too strong to resist.  While Kenobi lives, his every breath insults me.”

“Unleashing your fury is inherent to my plans, Lord Maul.  When Kenobi responds to Grievous’s attack, you will confront him and have your vengeance. “

“At last,” Maul said.

* * *

For Jedi, possession was forbidden.  A Jedi’s lightsaber was their one true belonging.  The order was expected and able to provide whatever else was needed.  Over the years, some small compromises had occurred.  A few Jedi kept modest collections from their travels.  Coins, plants, or other trinkets that were obtained along the way.  Occasionally a droid was permitted.  A century ago, a Falleen Master named Saris had kept a pet gizka.  The descendants of that animal now populated the Room of a Thousand Fountains. 

But, generally, the life of a Jedi was austere, especially in terms of comfort.  The most notable exception to this rule was to be found within the chambers of the Jedi Council.

The dozen chairs that ringed the windowed hall were designed specifically for their occupants.  Obi-Wan found the whole thing to be a bit silly, but he could not deny the pleasantness of the end result.  As he took his seat he shifted a bit.  The padding had not been used enough to feel broken in.  He had been given this chair less than a year ago.  He wondered whether he would ever truly feel comfortable sitting in it.

The early light of morning lit the chamber.  Outside the windows, the Capitol Sector and the city beyond were bathed in a warm orange glow.  Around him, the other council members began to file in and sit down.  The twelve seats had only eight occupants this day.  Two members of the council were involved in combat operations. Two others had succumbed to the Force Virus in recent months.  The ranks of Jedi Knights had been devastated and the council, strong though its members were, had suffered losses that could not be easily replaced.

Obi-Wan had a fervent hope that one of the empty seats might find a new occupant this day.

“Master Kenobi, would you give us your report on the battle at Utapau?” Mace Windu asked.

Obi-Wan nodded but did not rise.  It was not expected of him as he was already a council member.

“The Separatists were engaged by ground forces outside their stronghold.  Due to some miscommunication between the Navy and the clone commanders on the ground, the operation had to be accelerated.  The clones performed very well, as we have seen them do on so many occasions.  General Grievous managed to elude capture, but the drone armies on Utapau have been destroyed.”

“It’s now clear that our prosecution of the war must extend into the Outer Rim,” said Master Koon.  His breathing mask imbued the words with a resonance that a human speaker might otherwise lack.

There was a low murmur of agreement around the room.

“Masters, it is at this time I’d like to bring forward Anakin Skywalker to speak about his encounter with General Grievous,” Obi-Wan said.

An unease rippled through the room.  Obi-Wan was sympathetic.  Anakin had spoken many times in this room and conflict often followed his words. 

Master Windu unfolded a hand and brought the room to a pause, “We would be glad to hear from Jedi Skywalker at this time,” he said.

Without available acolytes to summon guests, Obi-Wan took it upon himself to go to the door and gesture for Anakin to make his entrance.  Anakin, in his rich brown robe, stood at the center of the room and made a slow turn to acknowledge each of the half-dozen Masters who were present.

“Anakin, tell us about your engagement with General Grievous,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin nodded and took a moment to collect his thoughts.  “After we infiltrated the base, Obi-Wan and I split up to find a way to shut down the droids and to stop Grievous.  I located him in a hangar bay and saw that he was attempting to flee.”

“Did you call for Obi-Wan to come and assist?” Master Windu said.

“Given the size of the base, I didn’t think that would be possible.  Time was short,” Anakin said.

He continued, not waiting for a response, “I moved in on Grievous and fought him to a standstill.  Since his last contact with our forces, he’s been augmented with a new limb system that allows him to use up to four weapons at the same time.”

The members looked furtively back and forth amongst themselves. 

“Any Jedi who attempt to engage him should be made aware of this capability.  As we have seen before, he wields the sabers of fallen Jedi and he is methodical and powerful in his attacks.  I was able to fight him to a draw, and next time his escape will be prevented.”

“Bold words, young Skywalker,” Master Windu said.  “You have performed a great service to the Republic.  And while the mission is not yet complete, we thank you for your actions on Utapau.”

“Masters, in light of Anakin’s valiant efforts against Grievous, I’d like to sponsor him as he renews his request for a seat on this council,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin turned slightly and nodded thankfully in Obi-Wan’s direction.

Again a silent tension filled the chamber.  Obi-Wan didn’t need to count heads to know what was about to happen next.

Mace Windu, as the leader of the council, spoke for the room, “Young Skywalker.  While we gratefully acknowledge your valor and strength in the field, we do not grant you the title of Jedi Master.”

Anakin was crestfallen.  His muscles tensed and his anger rose in his chest.  Had Obi-Wan the ability, he would have stopped whatever was to come next.

“Masters, respectfully, is this not a time to lead with strength?  We are at war with a powerful enemy.  I have led forces under my command to victories on more than a dozen worlds.  Can any of you claim as many victories?  Are there other Jedi who are so accomplished?  Have I not served the needs of the Republic and the Order?  All I ask is for a voice in rebuilding this order that I have dedicated my life to serving.”

Windu’s hand closed into a resolved clench.  He spoke with a tone that bordered on icy, “Jedi Skywalker, prowess on the battlefield is not the only requirement for the rank of Master.  Indeed, war itself is contrary to our highest ideals.”

“I didn’t start this war.  I’m simply trying to end it,” Anakin said.

“Your victories have given you no insight into the living Force or the needs of the Order.  The power you have is great, but it is also raw and untamed.  Your courage has allowed you to attain the rank of Jedi Knight, but your pride blinds you to the will of the Force.”

Obi-Wan, sensing the rising tension in the room, made an effort to intercede and quench the growing fire.  

“Master Windu, please understand.  Anakin and I have spent almost half of our lives together.  He has assets that are still hidden under a veneer of youth.  As he grows, so will his insight.  And who among us can claim to have his strength or skill?”

Windu turned to Obi-Wan, breaking Anakin’s gaze.

“Master Kenobi, long ago you swore to Qui-Gon that you would train Anakin as a Jedi, and you have.  You fulfilled your obligations to his memory.  Nothing in those obligations required this Council to grant Anakin more status than we see fit.  Are you blind to his arrogance?  Can you not see his hubris?  Such qualities cannot take root in this room.  One day Skywalker may be ready, but until then, he will not have a seat on this council,” Windu said. 

The other Masters nodded in agreement. 

Anakin knew well enough when a challenge was over.  He turned to address Obi-Wan directly, “Service without equality.  I seem to have traded one owner for another.”

Anakin cleared his throat and took as defiant a pose as he could.  He addressed the room as a whole.

“Since this Council only sees me as a blunt instrument, I will take my leave to begin the final operations of this war.  Perhaps Grievous’s head will be proof enough of my usefulness to the Order.  If that’s not enough I can clean the shelves and sweep up after I’m done.  Thank you for your time, Masters.  May the Force be with you.” Anakin gave a low bow, more than enough to demonstrate his facetiousness.  With a turn of his heel, he left the chamber with a strut.

*             *             *

Anakin took the turbolift down to the atrium, eager to leave the temple by the fastest possible route.  His comlink beeped, but he ignored it.  He was not in a state to speak to anyone at the moment.  He needed to get out of here.  To leave the building, possibly even leave the planet.  He always felt better in a cockpit, so he headed down to the hangar. 

The staff droids took little notice of him as he commandeered an Eta-2 fighter.  It was not uncommon for a Jedi to leave in a hurry.  As he settled in to the tight little cabin, he heard the radio crackle to life.  A droid voice asked him for his destination.  He ignored the hail.  A moment later, the little fighter lifted off and he gunned the engines, staying clear of the traffic lanes and heading out into the open air above the Capitol district.

His comlink beeped again and he checked the display.  It was Padme calling.  He couldn’t bring himself to ignore her, so he plugged the comlink into the fighter’s display panel.  Her face came up on the screen.

“Anakin?” she asked.

“What do you need, Padme?” he was unable to keep a seething frustration out of his voice.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Just had a bad meeting with the Council,” he said.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, very diplomatically, he thought.

“What did you need?” he repeated.

“I needed to discuss something with you,” she said.

“Can it wait?” he asked, barely keeping his tone.

“Clearly it needs to,” she said. 

He read her eyes.  He was transparent to her.  Jedi were required to control their emotions.  Senators were required to read them.  Clearly she was better at her job than he at his.  He could feel her evaluating everything about his state of mind.

He sighed.  She noticed.  He wished he hadn’t.

“My apologies, Senator.  Of course, I can always make time for you,” he said.

She rolled her brown eyes at him.  The look cut him more deeply than Maul’s blade, “I’m about to go into a meeting.  Could you come to my office in an hour?”

“Certainly.  I’ll join you there after your meeting.”

Her exasperated expression froze on the screen for a moment as she ended the call. 

Now alone again, he let out a frustrated groan, then said to himself, “Excellent, Anakin.  Who do you want to enrage next?”

* * *

Grievous impatiently checked the bridge chronometer once more.  By the mission clock, this rendezvous was more than five minutes behind schedule.  He stared out into the empty field of stars.  This bordered on the unprofessional, but Sith Lords were never subjected to petty complaints.

The Invisible Hand was the pride of the Confederacy’s fleet.  The flagship, once the floating headquarters of the Trade Federation’s shipping department, now housed the command center of General Grievous and the naval forces under his command. 

Flanking the ship were a flotilla of cruisers, destroyers and other assorted capital and corvette vessels that would protect her and pose a formidable threat to the Republic’s Home Defense Fleet. 

At her stern was the most critical vessel in this operation.  The Malevolence, a Subjugator class heavy-cruiser and the second largest ship at the Confederacy’s disposal, had terrorized whole civilizations during the course of this war.  The Malevolence Armada had decimated Republic forces on Nubia, had routed commerce lanes along the Inner Rim, and had destroyed an entire squadron of Republic frigates before they ever made their way out of the Corellian shipyards. 

But attrition had taken its toll.  With the losses her fleet had suffered amongst all the fighting, the Malevolence was now assigned to be the rearguard for the Invisible Hand.  One could not attack the core worlds without securing a line of retreat, and the Malevolence provided a great deal of security. 

Grievous looked out again and was about to signal to one of the bridge crew to open a communications channel, but before he could express the thought, a small ship emerged from hyperspace in front of the assembled fleet.

He didn’t need the announcement, but military regulations required it.  The off-putting voice of the Neimoidian at the sensor station cut into his digitized auditory sensors.

“General, new contact, bearing zero-one-zero-zero-five.  Contact classification: Infiltrator-class.  Contact designation: Scimitar.  Hailing frequencies open.”

Grievous spoke, addressing the little ship that had just arrived.

“Darth Maul, so kind of you to join us,” he said.

“Spare me, mechanic.  Your little expedition won’t suffer from a few moments delay,” Maul said. 

“You’re clear on your role in this operation?” Grievous asked.

Maul sneered.  “I’m here to do what you and your droids cannot.”

“Very well, take your position in the formation.”

Grievous watched as the Scimitar moved to the lead position. 

“All is ready,” confirmed the ship’s navigator.

“Order to all ships: make the jump to hyperspace,” Grievous said.

*             *             *

The red Eta-2 settled onto its pad in the Capitol landing bay.  Anakin hopped out and shook out his robes a bit, settling from the time he’d spent in the cockpit.  He tried to remember which level Padme’s office was on, but before he could, he was approached by a silver protocol droid.

“Jedi Skywalker?” the droid asked.

“Yes?” he said.

“Chancellor Palpatine has requested your presence in his office.”

“The Chancellor?” he said, surprised.

“Chancellor Palpatine is the head of state for the Galactic Republic,” the droid said.

“Yes, I know who he is,” Anakin said, “He wants to see me?”

“That is correct,” the droid said.

“Lead the way,” he told the droid.

* * *

Below the grand volume of the Senate Chamber sat the Office of the Supreme Chancellor.  Calling it opulent would be a great insult to the architect and interior designer.  The red carpeting was so plush it could have easily served as a comfortable bed for half the species in the Republic.  The ornate furniture looked as though it had been lifted from the grandest boardrooms of the Trade Federation.  The air was a perfect temperature and the views of the Coruscant skyline were beyond magnificent.  Anakin had been here on a few occasions, but was used to speaking to the Chancellor in less sumptuous surroundings. 

Anakin entered to find Palpatine at the far end of the office, staring out at the city beyond.  Anakin took a few steps in, then cleared his throat. 

Palpatine turned and greeted him with a politician’s smile.

“Anakin, my friend!” he said. 

“Sir,” Anakin said, stepping in, moving to meet him halfway.

“It’s good to see you well.  I’m told you had an encounter with General Grievous.  I wanted to thank you for your heroics,” Palpatine said.

Anakin shook the hand that Palpatine had offered.  His shoulders loosened.  This was not the Council.  He was quite comfortable in this company.

“Thank you, sir.  I’m glad to be back.  I’m sorry it’s not with Grievous’s mainframe,” he said.

Palpatine patted his shoulder and gave a polite chuckle, “Come, sit.  Let’s have a drink.  A hero of the Republic deserves a hero’s welcome.”

Anakin sank into the seat and let some genuine relief sink into his bones.  He felt an ease that he’d not experienced since the campfire on Utapau.  Palpatine’s charm might be political, but that didn’t make it less effective.

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” he said.

“Not at all.  You’ve served the Republic well in this war,” Palpatine said.  He moved to a holographic viewer that displayed a small model of the galaxy.  He found a hinge and Anakin watched the leader of the Republic bring out a pair of drinking glasses and a bottle of golden, viscous, liquid. 

He took a sip from the glass and marveled.  The drink, whatever it was, was as smooth as Alderaanian silk.  It warmed him to the core and he felt the ripples spread through his chest. 

“That’s impressive,” Anakin said, looking at his tumbler as he would a work of art.

“Starlight Brandy,” Palpatine said.  He laughed, “Don’t get too taken with it.  I have to have it flown in from Taris.  Horribly hard to come by, even for me.”  He gave a laugh.

“I thank you for sharing it,” Anakin said.

“Great deeds deserve great reward,” Palpatine said.

“Would that everyone thought as you do,” Anakin said, taking another sip and looking out at the city. 

“I’m afraid the Jedi Council can be terribly short-sighted when it comes to value and potential,” Palpatine said.

Anakin raised an eyebrow, “How did you know?”

“My boy, I think you’ll find there’s very little that happens in this galaxy to which I am not privy.”

“A spy in their midst, Chancellor?” Anakin asked.

“That would be most unnecessary.  The actions of the Jedi are remarkably predictable,” Palpatine’s lips curled into a smile, “excluding present company of course.”

Anakin tilted his head down in acknowledgement.

“Perhaps that’s part of the problem,” Anakin said.

“The council thinks you unpredictable,” Palpatine said.

“I am unpredictable,” Anakin said, pridefully.

“A good quality in a tactician,” Palpatine said.  “One our army has found most useful.  A pity the Jedi can’t respect your prowess on the battlefield.”

“We aren’t meant to be warriors,” Anakin said.

“Perhaps you are,” Palpatine said.

* * *

Clonetroopers that had survived combat wounds were typically not sent back to their original units.  MedStar surgeons were often able to rehabilitate wounded soldiers, but, with their combat effectiveness being lowered, surviving troops were sent to the 34^th Division of the Grand Army of the Republic.  The personnel of the 34^th were given rearguard assignments and could apply for front-line duty once every six months. 

The Republic corvette Peacemaker was assigned to patrol the high lanes of Coruscant orbit.  She was a modest ship, with a crew of twenty-four: six command crew and eighteen Republic troopers as gunners or to be used as a boarding unit in the event it became necessary.

The Peacemaker was hardly a prestige assignment and most of her crew were hard at work on plans to be sent elsewhere, but while they were on board, they were still required to be vigilant.

The ship’s chronometer, synced to Senate time, was approaching midday when Ensign Tavers was at the sensor station.

Tavers was just about to request to be relieved long enough to get some lunch when her computers pinged an alert.  Annoyed, she pulled up the data packet.

“That can’t be right,” she muttered.

Behind her, the captain took note, “Something you want to share with the class, Ensign?”

“Ma’am, I’ve got seven… make that seventeen new contacts.  Make it thirty-two.  Incoming, unscheduled, various classes.  Capital ship drives detected.  Computer is… oh no.  Confederate fleet incoming.  Bearing two-zero-eight, mark four-five-four.”

To her credit, Captain Kurr, a Nikto and a veteran of the Mid-Rim campaign, kept her cool despite the new threat.

“That’s close.  What’s their course?”

“Triple-zero, Captain.  They’re heading right for Coruscant.”

The Captain nodded and hit a button on her chair, “Battlestations.  All hands.  Prepare for live-action.”  Releasing the intercom button, she switched to the ship-to-ship channel, “Coruscant dispatch, this is the Peacemaker, we are…”

Unfortunately, the missile barrage from the Scimitar did not give her time to finish the report. 

Maul’s ship, finished with its first kill, cloaked itself again and headed for lower orbit.  In its wake, the Confederate fighter screens began clearing a path for the armada.  A straight shot all the way to Coruscant’s upper atmosphere. 

* * *

Padme discreetly checked her personal chronometer.  This little committee meeting had been intentionally dragged out by a pair of ludicrous motions from representatives of Mid Rim worlds that were looking to take advantage of the crisis.  If it went on much longer, which seemed likely, she would likely be late meeting Anakin back at her office.  Surely he’d wait for her, but she’d rather not test his patience when he had seemed so agitated before.

Owen, her ever present pilot and ad hoc bodyguard, had found a comfortable chair in which to plant himself.  She could see his eyes drooping and silently envied his lack of responsibility.  A nap would be a pleasant relief from the petty squabbling she had been witness to for the last half-hour. 

Anakin was obviously troubled, and the conversation to come would no doubt give him more to ponder.  She winced and took a sip of water.  So much of her life was spent trying to get something done while being distracted and delayed by men. 

An Ardennian senator named Nord gaveled the meeting to order with one of his four arms.  The machinations of the Senate were oiled by small meetings in small rooms.  It seemed to her that the more important the meeting, the fewer people it required. 

She thought about what her next meeting would be like.  She had to choose her words carefully with Anakin.  After some rehearsals in the mirror this morning, she felt as ready as she could be. 

“All in favor?” Senator Nord asked.

She dutifully raised a hand and said “Aye,” double-checking her latent memory to make sure that was the right thing to do.  By the time Nord called for the Nays, she had tuned out once again.

*             *             *

Grievous took hold of a grip on the ceiling of the bridge.  He wrapped his sharpened metallic fingers around a bar that was built in to the bulkhead.  In front of him, a glowing wave of orange plasma heated the ship as it plummeted through the upper atmosphere of Coruscant.

Little fires sprang up on the hull.  Grievous was unconcerned.  Nothing mattered now but the target.

“Report,” Grievous said.

“Outer hull integrity at thirty-seven percent.  Shield integrity at zero,” said one of the Neimoidians on his bridge. 

“Fighters report a clear path to ground zero,” came another report. 

“The Malevolence?” Grievous asked.

“Just established orbit.  The ship is preparing to accept incoming shuttles.”

Grievous’s view of the planet began to clear as the plasma cloud faded.  Now that the ship had broken through the upper atmosphere and slowed, the air was no longer heated to dangerous levels. 

“Lord Maul?” Grievous said over the radio.

Over the ship’s communications circuits Darth Maul replied, “I am heading to my target.  Radio silence from now on.”

Grievous looked ahead and spotted his target.  The mushroom dome of the Galactic Capitol was just to the left of the ship’s path.  He nodded to the droid at the navigation station.  Below he could see a squadron of four Coruscant Police gunships rising up from the surface, presumably to intercept this kilometer-long missile as it made its way to its hapless target. 

Whatever happened from here, the Invisible Hand had made her last flight.  There would be no turning back.  He braced for impact.

*             *             *

Anakin noted that the Chancellor’s skin seemed discolored and faded.  The wrinkles had become much more prominent since the last time they’d met.  Not every casualty of this war was from combat.  He sipped his drink and thought of ways to beat a tactical retreat.  As enjoyable as his current position was, Padme was expecting him any minute.

“Chancellor, you’ve been very kind.  I should really excuse myself.  I can’t take up so much of your time,” Anakin said.  He started to rise from his chair.

Palpatine put a hand over his, “Not at all.  I know who you’re here to see and she won’t be out of that committee meeting for at least another half-hour.” 

He gave a sheepish smile to the leader of the galaxy.

Palpatine downed the rest of his glass and moved over to the decanter. 

“Let us discuss the pursuit of Grievous into the Outer Rim.  Where should we focus…”

Palpatine paused.  A rumble vibrated through the office, through the floor, through the entire structure of the building.  The scream of starship engines drowned out everything else.  Palpatine turned to look out the sweeping picture window just in time to see a shadow eclipse the building.  It was far too late.

*             *             *

The Invisible Hand plowed into the Galactic Capitol Building.  Had the ship managed to hit squarely in the center, it’s likely the entire bulding would have been obliterated.  As it was, the eastern third was crushed.  No survivors would ever be found in that section.  In an instant, a third of the Galactic Senate, several hundred staff members, four Jedi and three Vice Admirals of the Republic Navy were killed.  Over seventy Senate Guards died without ever knowing that the building was under threat. 

The power of the crash was such that the Invisible Hand cracked in two.  The propulsion section, which still housed the ship’s power plant, was thrown away and tumbled, taking out half of a city block and crushing a nearby government office district.  The forward area, housing the bridge and the ship’s garrison of droid marines, became lodged in what was left of the Capitol building. 

The weight of the wreckage, along with the massive damage to the superstructure, collapsed the Capitol building onto its side.  The debris from both warship and structure fell, collapsing under their extraordinary and unsupported weight.  What was left of the building crumpled.  Several of the floors pancaked, trapping their occupants under tons of permacrete and transparisteel. 

When the shaking stopped and the echoes faded, the single element that was completely unaffected were the droids aboard the Invisible Hand.  With hardened casings and innards of electronics and clockwork, a violent crash had little affect on their ability to function. 

Grievous released his clawed robotic hand from the grip that he had held since the ship had entered the atmosphere.  Around him, the Neimoidians had perished, but his personal guard of droids was ready to go to work.

He kicked out a section of cracked glass that used to be over his head.  Looking out of the newly-created exit, he could see a hallway of the Capitol building, tilted at a bad angle and with small fires breaking out along the carpeting. 

Behind him a door opened.  A contingent of droid commandos made their way onto what remained of the bridge.

He pulled himself through the gap and entered the heart of the Republic’s government, what little remained of it.  The droids followed him.

A pair of stunned Ithorian staffers stumbled out of a nearby door and tumbled to the far wall.  They saw Grievous standing in the corridor, shrieked and ran in the other direction.  The leader of the droid armies chortled.

“Grab the Senators.  Kill the Jedi.”

*             *             *

Anakin put out a hand to steady himself.  The building’s tilt was troubling, but he found his footing quickly.  The Chancellor was not so lucky.  The crash had knocked him to the floor.  Anakin offered a hand to the old man.  Somehow, Palpatine had managed to keep a grip on that decanter of Starlight Brandy.  In all the confusion, not a drop had spilled. 

The young Jedi helped the old politician collect himself off the floor.  The great picture window now featured an angry, jagged crack.  The environmental control panel was sparking and smoke had started to come in through the vents.  The upper floors had blunted the attack, but even here at the core of the building, the situation was tenuous.  Anakin could hear screaming from the corridor.

“Chancellor?” he said, seeking information in any form now.

“I’m all right,” Palpatine said, brushing some dust off his robed shoulder.

“I need to see what’s happening.  Please remain here, sir,” Anakin said.

“Do you think that wise?” Palpatine asked.

“This room seems to be secure enough.  Let search and rescue come and collect you.”

Despite the dust and wreckage, Palpatine smiled, “I needn’t ask where you’re going.”

“I have to,” Anakin said.

He gave an amused dismissive shuffle of his hand, “Go, my boy.  And may the Force be with you.”

* * *

Grievous’s size served to fill the low hallways of the Capitol building.  At every intersection, he sent his droids down side corridors.  They would dispatch in small teams, and return shortly thereafter carrying hostages, some stunned, some struggling. 

Through his circuitry, he listened to the reports coming in, careful to note which species were being snatched.  He tuned one of his antennae to listen in to the Senate Security frequencies.  He could hear the panicked, floundering terror of the Senate Guards and plotted a path to his target. 

Blaster fire went back and forth as he stalked through the halls.  One round struck him in the lower left leg.  Grievous barely took notice.  He was looking for a very specific senator. 

As Grievous rounded another corner, two Jedi came into view.  He noted a Togruta female and a Klatoonian male who were helping senators and staffers out from under a collapsed conference room.  The two Jedi did not note his approach, so preoccupied were they with the victims and rubble.  His movements were catlike as he stealthily approached.  He drew two lightsabers from his belt. 

A scream from a Mimbanese senator ruined his plans.  Both Jedi turned to face him.  He went to work.  Splitting his neural processing functions and running two programs in parallel, using his left-side arms for the Togruta, and his right-side arms for the Klatoonian.

Both Jedi put up a scrap and his internal microprocessors were pushed to higher and higher degrees of calculation.  At ninety-eight percent, he found an opening with the Togruta fool who stood in his path.  The young Jedi was cut in half from shoulder to hip when she failed to properly block his overhand strike. 

The Klatoonian, in shock at the violent loss of his companion, let out a war-cry and savagely attacked the droid general. 

Before Grievous could shift his focus, the warrior created an opportunity and lopped off one of Grievous’s hands.  The metal hand and its clutched lightsaber skittered across the floor. 

Grievous took a moment to stare at the singed remnant of his limb.  His gaze then focused on the responsible Jedi.  Both were surprised for a beat.  The general wasted no time, grabbing the remaining Jedi by the collar with one good hand and punching him through the gut with the singed stump of his arm.

The shock on the Klatoonian’s face barely had time to register before the light faded from his eyes.  Grievous could see the stump of his arm had completely impaled the annoying Jedi.  His vengeance had been served red-hot.

Grievous picked up the lightsabers of the fallen Jedi, “More for the collection.”

*             *             *

Padme tried to shake off Owen’s grip for the third time.  She appreciated his protective instincts, but she felt more comfortable taking care of herself.  The holdout blaster that she kept on her ankle was now in her hand.  The crash had somehow spared the committee hearing room, but their exit had been cut off by a series of collapsed hallways.  The turbolifts were useless, so they had to forge a path through a maze of tilted, disjointed, rubble-filled corridors. 

“Owen, are you getting anything on comms?”

“No, milady.  The circuits are jammed,” Owen said.

“You mind letting go of my arm?” Padme said.

“Are we in a secure area?” Owen said.

Padme looked around at the flickering, sparking lights.  She heard a rumble reverberate through the walls.

“I’d say not,” Padme said, stamping out a small fire that had broken out.

“Then I’m not gonna get more than an arms length from you until we’re out of here,” Owen said.

“You know, your chivalry is really just annoying,” Padme said.

“You’d think you’d be used to it by now,” Owen said.

He pulled her up through a narrow choke point that had been created by a collapsed ceiling.

“Boys,” Padme said, sighing.  “When we get out of here, I’m firing you.”

“You’ve fired me five times since we first met,” Owen said.

“And I was justified every time,” Padme replied.

“You fired me because I refused to fly you through a blockade,” Owen said.

“And if you had, I’d have been able to negotiate a ceasefire on Dantooine,” Padme said.

“Or you’d have been scattered all over the Rishi Maze,” Owen said. 

“You’re fired,” Padme said.

“Heard that before,” Owen said.  He patted a spot of the floor with his foot, testing to see if it would collapse.  It did.  A massive section fell away.  The ceiling came down and a rather shocked looking Sullustan woman squealed as she landed on her back.

Owen, recovering from the surprise of the collapse, reached out and helped her up.  Padme checked the area behind them.

With neither of them speaking Sullustan, it took a moment to reassure the young woman that they did not pose a danger to her.  She pantomimed shooting and explosions with her hands and Padme and Owen assumed that she had been fleeing from an attacker when she dropped in.

“What do you think?” Owen said.

“They’re hunting for senators.  Probably the Chancellor too.  It’s the only reason to attack here.  Unless they’re taking the whole planet,” Padme said.

“What do we do?” Owen said.

“Follow her,” Padme said, pointing an open hand at the Sullustan.  “They live underground.  She knows tunnels better than we do.  She’s more likely to get us to safety than you and me wandering aimlessly.”

“Okay,” Owen said. 

Together, the two of them tried to use their body language to ask the young woman to lead them out.  It took a moment or two to explain their request, but soon she was guiding them through the collapsed structure.  Padme silently wondered where Anakin was.

*             *             *

The building rumbled again.  The corridor uprooted a few paces in front of him.  The path ahead banked up sharply and he looked for footholds before he started to climb.  Anakin was now thoroughly turned-around in this disaster area.  He had left the Chancellor in a secure room, but his attempts to reach Padme had landed him in a multi-dimensional labyrinth of chaos.

Get out.

The words echoed in his head again.  He could feel them as clearly as an instinct.  It was more than a matter of his personal safety.  Still, with the Chancellor secure behind him and Padme in danger ahead, there was nothing to be done but keep moving.

He knew he was nearer the center of the structure than most of the offices and conference rooms.  The problem was that the impact had wrenched the building somewhat on its central axis.  He couldn’t be sure of his way anymore. 

Get out and get away.

As he made his way to the top of the ramp formed by the collapsed room, there was a broken door, jammed while midway open.  The top half was firmly shut, the bottom half was cycling back and forth, like a deranged mechanical jaw.  He reached out with the Force to stop the motion.  He could hear the clicks and whirrs of machinery grinding to a halt.  The room fell silent.

He listened.  In the distance he could hear blaster fire.  There were screams that faded against the plush carpet and thick walls. 

He laid on the floor by the half open door and started to shimmy under it. 

He emerged in a darkened atrium that he realized led to the hangar bay where he had landed his Eta-2 less than an hour ago.  At the far end of the huge room was an open door.  Beyond it he could see flames.  The black acrid smoke blocked his view of the city beyond, but he could hear the warbling alarms of Capitol Police and Fire Brigades, presumably doing search and rescue. 

A few droids wandered around, quite beyond their programming.  He ignored them.  This was not where he wanted to be.  He began to look for a new path.

His comlink beeped as he searched.  He was shocked that a signal had gotten through this mess.

“Anakin!  Anakin, do you copy?”  Obi-Wan’s voice came from the device on his hip.  He took it in his hand.

“Obi-Wan.  I read you.  Where are you?”

“I’m in pursuit of the Chancellor, where are you?”

“Pursuit of the Chancellor?” Anakin asked.

“Yes, and I need your help!  Where are you?”

“I’m at the Capitol,” Anakin said. 

“What are you doing there?” Obi-Wan said.  Then quickly followed with, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.  I’m trying to find survivors,” he said, giving the truth a thin veil with which to cover itself.

“Leave that to the fire brigades.  We’ve got to get to the Chancellor!  Find a ship and lock on to my signal,” Obi-Wan said.

“Why are you chasing the Chancellor?” Anakin said.  “Isn’t he here somewhere?”

“He was taken.  Master Koon called it in a few minutes ago.  There was a ship.  It was cloaked.  They snatched him from the wreckage.  We don’t have time for this.  Get out and get away!”

“A cloaked ship?”

“It’s Maul, Anakin.  Maul has kidnapped the Chancellor.”

* * *

The little red Eta-2 fighter burst through the smoke that billowed around the hangar doors.  Anakin wiggled the wings a bit, in an effort to blow out any embers that might have barnacled themselves onto his starfighter.  He turned the ship in an arc and looked over to see the wreckage that he had just escaped. 

It was a staggering sight. 

A massive gash had been cut through one side of the structure.  Like a sliced fungus, it simply ended in midair.  What was left was listing badly and starting to fall.  Anakin could see the fires on almost every level.  An unfortunate soul fell from a high story, plummeting to the ground below.  Rescue craft with lights in every color were swarming, trying to reach the survivors. 

It turned his stomach to witness the savagery of Grievous’s tactics.  It was a scene of horror.  He gritted his teeth.  This could not go unpunished. 

He finished his circle in time to see a piece of the dome crumble and fall away.  It crushed a rescue ship that had landed at the base of the Capitol. 

“Padme,” he said.  He gripped the controls of the Eta-2 so tight that he thought they might break in his hands.

He plugged the comlink into the control panel. 

“R2, lock onto the Obi-Wan’s signal,” he said.

The little red R2 unit plugged in to the fighter hooted an acknowledgement.

“Somebody has to get to her,” Anakin said, sneaking a look back as he turned the ship to follow the line laid out by the droid.  A line that would lead to Obi-Wan.

He entered a sequence on the comlink and a moment later the golden face of a protocol droid came up onscreen.

“Hello, I am C-3PO.  Human-cyborg relations.  You’ve reached the auxiliary office of Senator Organa.  How may I direct your call?”

“Threepio?  Have you heard from Padme?” Anakin said.

“Jedi Skywalker, good to hear from you again, sir.  I haven’t seen you since…”

“No time, Threepio.  Have you heard from Padme since the attack started?”

“No, sir.  Senator Organa has not contacted this office since the attack began.”

“Is the office under attack?”

“No, sir.  The Senate Auxiliary Offices are under guard and secure.”

“Good, stay there.  Get a message to search and rescue.  Tell them the location of her last meeting.  Contact me when she’s been recovered.  Immediately.”

“Absolutely, sir.  And may I say…”

He ended the call and opened a radio channel to Obi-Wan.

“Obi-Wan, do you read?”

“I copy you, Anakin.  Where are you?”

“Check your six,” Anakin said. 

Ahead he could see Obi-Wan’s Aethersprite fighter.  He wagged his wings so that Obi-Wan might spot him amidst all the activity.  Off to the left, a squadron of T-42’s were also heading up to the fight in orbit.

“Good.  I tracked Maul’s ship.  The Separatists are withdrawing their droids.  They seem to all be converging on the capital ship in orbit.”

“I see it.  My ship is faster than yours.  I’m heading in.”

“Anakin, wait for me.  We can do it together.”

“I’ll see you inside,” Anakin said.  He pulled off his headset and fed more power to his engines.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan yelled, impotently as his former student had stopped listening.  He watched, helplessly, as Anakin’s fighter raced ahead, making straight for the Capitol ship at the center of the Confederate fleet.

Not for the first time, he marveled at Anakin’s skill in a cockpit.  He weaved and spun through droid fighters, cutting them to bits with his lasers.  He twirled and tumbled and snapped off precise fire that bewildered the circuits of the droids that were trying to kill him.

Obi-Wan watched as the little red fighter flung itself through the opening into the hangar bay.  His Aethersprite had a clear path to follow now, but it would take a few moments to reach Anakin.  Obi-Wan didn’t care to guess what trouble his old student would get himself into between now and then.

*             *             *

By the time Obi-Wan’s Aethersprite landed, there wasn’t much left of the Confederate defenses on the hangar deck. 

He came in with his lasers primed, ready to shoot at anything that would threaten himself or Anakin.  Instead, he found a litany of wrecked ships and droids and in the far corner, his former padawan, standing over the last of them with an ignited lightsaber.

He landed nearby, opened the canopy and hopped out.

“What took you so long?” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan just sighed.

“He’s in the observation deck, let’s go,” Anakin said, turning to walk to the turbolift.

“Are you ready?” Obi-Wan said as the doors shut.

“Yeah, I just had a practice round,” Anakin said, gesturing to the scrapped battle droids in the hangar deck.

“That was reckless,” Obi-Wan said.

“That was necessary,” Anakin said.

*             *             *

He’s tense, Obi-Wan thought as they rode together in silence.  This wasn’t merely the quiet before the storm.  He could feel Anakin’s energies barely contained under the surface.  This wasn’t the tension that Anakin had carried on Utapau or Geonosis or Cato Neimoidia.  This was different.  His old student always had a youthful excitement when stepping onto a battlefield, but today’s power was tinged.  It was a little darker.  A little uglier.

Ambition. 

As they rode the turbolift up, Anakin broke the silence.

“When we get up there, why don’t you let me handle this?” Anakin said.

“This won’t earn you a seat on the council, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Anakin said.

“Then why…?”

“Because you’ve tried to end him twice and he’s still here.  Maybe let someone else take a crack at it,” Anakin said.  Obi-Wan kept his gaze on the Sith, but could practically hear the smirk emanating from his former student. 

“Watch your hand,” Obi-Wan said.

“I’m just saying, it is technically my turn,” Anakin said.

“We will do this together,” Obi-Wan said.

They stepped out together.  The observation deck, designed to allow a commander to survey an entire fleet, was filled with a truly glorious view of the glittering gem that was Coruscant.  The light of the planet was intercut with flickering laser blasts from the defenders and attackers of the two fleets. 

The floor was open and free of obstacles.  At the far end, in the fleet commander’s chair sat Chancellor Palpatine.  His wrists were secured to the throne with electrical binders, though he seemed unharmed.  Obi-Wan and Anakin wasted no time moving to him.

“Master Jedi,” Palpatine said.  He looked annoyed, but otherwise calm. 

With a wave of his hand, Obi-Wan released the Chancellor from the restraints.

“Chancellor, are you all right?” Anakin asked. 

Palpatine shook his head, “Nothing to be gained in roughing up an old man.”  He nodded between the two Jedi to indicate a spot behind them.

Anakin and Obi-Wan turned.  Halfway between them and the turbolift doors they had entered through stood the silent, unmoving form of Darth Maul.

“I think I’ll wait here and watch the festivities, if it’s all the same to you,” Palpatine said.

“We’ll handle it,” Obi-Wan said.

The pair took a step forward and shrugged out of their cloaks.  Maul did the same, his black cloak fluttered away, pushed along by an outburst of Force energy.

Maul wore a thin black armored tunic.  His mechanical legs had been upgraded since their last encounter.  Obi-Wan guessed Durite with Electrum plating.  They were black as night and seemed to drink in the light that hit them.  At the edges, Obi-Wan could see serrated plates that were used as casing and as a last line of defense.  Cutting Maul in half had not made him any less dangerous.

He watched Maul withdraw his saberstaff and ignite both blades.  In a flash, the years disappeared and he was back on Alderaan, watching this saber ritual play out.  He could feel the pain, the anguish all at once.  Seeing the red blade skewer his old master.  Feeling the youthful fury unleashed. 

He thought of that moment every day.  He had to make a conscious effort not to enjoy the memory of slicing this opponent in half.  That was the closest he had come to the dark side. 

There was no need to speak.  The moment would lose something in words.  To Obi-Wan, this would be a fitting end to the war that would define his life.  The vista was grand.  The field was level and the greatest warriors of the two sides would square off in combat.

A lesser observer might note that it seemed a bit unfair to pit a single Sith against a pair of Jedi.  But the world of the Sith was built on betrayal.  The world of the Jedi was built on trust.  This would be a final test of ideology as much as bladesmanship. 

A blue hue entered the room.  At his side, Anakin’s blade had ignited.  The younger Jedi had begun to circle, trying to snare Maul between the two of them.  Obi-Wan followed suit, circling to his right.  Maul seemed unphased and stepped closer in, drawing the fight close.

A subtle look told Anakin all he needed.  He and Obi-Wan thrust at almost the same moment.  Maul was between their sabers until suddenly he wasn’t anymore.  Red crashed against blue and the fight began in earnest.  Maul sidestepped the snare and twirled his saber, knocking both Jedi back a step as they reeled in defense. 

Obi-Wan was caught off-guard and took a beat to find an opening.  Anakin’s patience was not equal to his old Master’s.  He lunged.  This was the moment and delay was as abhorrent an idea as defeat.

The movements were clear in his mind.  Anakin could see two or three steps ahead.  Attack and parry.  Feint and counter.  Everything he wanted was at the end of this fight.  The end of Maul.  The end of the war.  Glory, respect, vengeance, position.  All of it would be laid at his feet, along with the Sith’s corpse.

Maul’s focus was split, but he was every bit as dangerous.  He matched Anakin’s moves step for step.  Kenobi did his best to keep the odds stacked, but often as not, the two Jedi were hindered as much as helped by their counterpart. 

The Sith could adjust to each fighting style instantaneously.  Kenobi struck to disarm, to wound, to maneuver and defend.  Skywalker’s tactics spoke of lethal intent.  There was an odd intimacy in knowing that your opponent wanted your death as much as you sought his.  Maul respected the younger warrior’s clarity of purpose.  Kenobi, as always, was infuriating. 

Side-by-side the Jedi fought, thrusting together in an attack that Maul parried and spun away from.  He whirled and shoved Kenobi with the Force.  The elder Jedi smacked into Skywalker and the two of them staggered for a moment.  Maul seized the initiative and swung a metallic foot, attempting to do some damage to his off-balance foe.

Obi-Wan saw what was coming and rolled away.  Anakin, surprised by the collision, was not as lucky and caught the brunt of the kick in his shoulder.  Skywalker howled for a beat, a slash and a line of blood showed through the cut that had appeared in his Jedi robe. 

Skywalker seethed.  Maul smiled.

Anger was a powerful ally.  It brought out the best in Sith and the worst in their opposition.  Kenobi’s anger was contained.  His emotions controlled.  But this little upstart was anything but subtle.  With every vexing block and counter, Skywalker’s frustration grew.  Soon enough, the irritations would lead to a mistake.  The mistake would lead to his death.  His death would lead to Kenobi’s.  Maul appreciated the opportunity that had been presented here.  Revenge was at hand.

Obi-Wan struggled to find a way around Anakin.  The idea had been to attack together, but the inertia of the fight was not accommodating.  Maul was using Anakin as something of a shield, controlling the position of the fight. 

Anakin was not without his wits.  He ducked back, dodging an incoming blow that would have cut his throat.  He thrust forward and used Maul’s momentum to spin around, again trapping the Sith between himself and Obi-Wan. 

With all the strength of his artificial hand, Anakin reached out and gripped Maul’s saber, clamping down on it and using his energy to try to rip it out of the Zabrak’s tattooed hand.  Obi-Wan could see the move and noted the look of surprise on Maul’s face.

And in that moment, Obi-Wan saw the end to all of this madness.

He thrust his blade at Maul’s side.  The Sith jerked his body back, but his hands still held tight to the saberstaff, wrestling with Anakin for control of the crimson blades.  Obi-Wan dodged the weapon and twisted his wrist.  At the same moment, Anakin brought his own saber swinging down in a chop.

Each blade connected with one of Maul’s forearms.  The dark lord hadn’t the time to scream.  The shock of losing both hands in an instant was sudden and overwhelming.  Now off balance, he tumbled backwards, his mechanical legs slipping from under him and he landed on his back. 

Thin wisps of smoke emanated from what was left of his limbs.  Maul rolled and planted the stumps of his arms into the floor of the observation deck.  Before he could rise, an azure saberpoint arrived at his neck.

Anakin smiled as he used the Force to snatch Maul’s saber off of the floor.  He tossed it to Obi-Wan and looked down on the defeated, kneeling menace, using the threat of his saber to have Maul lift his chin.

Obi-Wan let out some panting breaths.  Amid all the somersaults and twisting of limbs and bodies, the elder Jedi had burned through much of his stamina.  Not for the first time, he envied Anakin’s youth. 

A few paces away, Chancellor Palpatine let out a satisfied laugh.  He stayed seated, out the window behind him, Republic fighters were still engaging the Confederate fleet.

“Excellent.  Now… kill him,” Palpatine said.

Maul turned to stare at the Chancellor with a look of horror.

Anakin turned to Obi-Wan.  Obi-Wan approached with his own lightsaber humming.  He leveled the tip at Maul’s chest.

The elder Jedi took a moment, catching his breath.  Anakin savored this victory.  Obi-Wan found his center.

A beat passed.  Maul’s eyes had lost all their fire.

Obi-Wan saw the tattooed face that had haunted his nightmares for more than a decade.  The terror that had filled his heart, now filled those eyes.  It was all he could do not to enjoy the turn.

“No.  He must stand trial,” Obi-Wan said.

“Trial?  For this savage?  Bureaucracy will see to it that he spends years languishing from court to court.  Corrupt officials will pull in every direction before anything gets done.”

Obi-Wan deactivated his saber.  Obi-Wan’s tone was level.  His anger was gone, “He’s helpless now.  Justice will be served.” 

“I wonder if you even believe that yourself, Master Jedi,” Palpatine said.  “Anakin, do what is necessary.  As you always have.”

Anakin looked up, then back at Maul.  He gave the thought an honest consideration.  “Chancellor, I…”

Palpatine continued, rising from his seat.  “Every breath he takes is a threat to the Republic.  The Confederates won’t stand idly by either.  No, they’ll spring him somehow, and he’ll come back with the fury of a thousand suns.  This war will rage on and consume us all.  Anakin, think of the Republic.  Think of your wife!”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed as he turned from the Chancellor to Anakin.  Having just found his center, he was now swept away in a wave of emotions.  Anger, shock, jealousy, indignation.  All of them swarmed for his attention.  He looked on his old student with new eyes.

“What?” Obi-Wan said.  His voice so shocked that it was barely above a whisper.

“Not the time,” Anakin said. 

“How could you…” Obi-Wan said.

“Not the time!” Anakin said, his teeth gritted. His eyes stayed fixed on Maul’s kneeling body.

Palpatine stepped forward, nearing the group, “Anakin, strike him down.  Do what must be done.  You have to save her.  Do it!”

Anakin looked down at Maul.  He saw the spark that had burned down the galaxy.  He saw the horrors of these years of battle.  He saw justice being delivered, and that he was the instrument of that justice.

Shocked, Obi-Wan looked at his former pupil, “Anakin, don’t do this.  Whatever you’ve done, you’re still my brother.  You’re still a Jedi!  This is not the way of a Jedi Master!”

Anakin turned and faced his mentor.  The weight of it all was too much to bear, “But I’ll never be a Jedi Master, will I?”

Anakin Skywalker made his choice.  He swept his left arm out, shoving Obi-Wan aside in a ripple of Force energy.  Stunned, Obi-Wan flew threw the air, landing in a heap ten paces away.  Skywalker raised his saber, aiming a blow at Maul’s neck.

Obi-Wan had spent a lifetime protecting Anakin from himself.  This moment was no different.  In desperation, he reached out with the Force and grabbed, not Anakin, but the lightsaber he held.  He wrenched it from the grip of his former Padawan and the emitter came right to his outstretched palm.

Anakin practically growled as the weapon flew away.  This had to be done and he would do it.  Nothing would stop him now.

He turned to Maul and reached out a hand, lifting up the shattered Sith with the power of the Force.  Maul gasped for air as his mechanized feet left the floor.  Anakin lifted him until he hung in the air, his feet and stumped arms flailing uselessly.

“Anakin!  Anakin!  No!” Obi-Wan shouted, trying to reach his friend through the anger.

Maul gasped and sputtered and his yellow eyes bulged.  With his last breath, the lesson of all Sith came to him: Betrayal is the way of the Dark Side.

The cold, lifeless corpse landed on the floor with a thud.  Anakin watched it for a moment, confirming the kill.  Then he turned away.

*             *             *

A stolen Confederate shuttle delivered the two Jedi and the Chancellor to the Jedi Temple.  Palpatine waited for his guards while Anakin and Obi-Wan rode the turbolift up the central spire.  Obi-Wan held back until they had some privacy, but as soon as the door closed, the dam burst.

“Padme,” Obi-Wan said.  It was not a question.

“Not now,” Anakin said.

“I’d say we’re short on time,” Obi-Wan said.

“Obi-Wan…”

“Anakin, I think it’s wonderful.  We all deserve some happiness.”

“Thank you,” Anakin said. 

Obi-Wan said aloud the question he’d asked himself a thousand times, “Do you think she’s worth it?”

“I know she is,” Anakin replied.

“Then that’s all that matters,” Obi-Wan said.

Silently they rode together.  The light shifted and their destination approached. 

“Anakin, whatever happens up there,” Obi-Wan said, looking up towards the top of the spire, “It won’t change my love for you.”

“I know,” Anakin said.

As they had done so often before, once again the two Jedi stepped into the Jedi Council chamber.  The other members of the Council were already seated.  Unlike this morning, two of the chairs for absent members were now occupied by their holograms.  This meeting required every living member of the council.  Obi-Wan gave a small bow to Master Windu at the center and took his seat.

Windu spoke first, as he always did, “Jedi Skywalker, we have received the report of Master Kenobi regarding your actions this day.  Do you wish to dispute his testimony?”

Anakin squared his shoulders, “No, Master Windu.  I’m sure Master Kenobi was truthful in his account.  However, I do have one thing to add.”

“Which is?” Master Gallia said.

He knelt down and placed Maul’s saber on the great seal of the Jedi Council.

“The actions I’ve taken this day have ended the threat of Darth Maul.  Everything I have done has been in service to the Republic,” Anakin said.

“It has been in service to your own glory,” Master Plo Koon said.

“And bloodlust,” said Master Shaak Ti.

Windu held up a hand for silence.

“Your actions may have served the Republic, but they are not the ways of a Jedi,” Windu said.

“Well…” Anakin said.

“And, as we have come to expect, you have caused more problems than you have solved,” Windu said.

“Have I?” Anakin said.

“When the war began, Count Dooku indicated that there was a secret Sith among the Galactic Senate.  The identity of that Dark Lord was known only to his apprentice, Darth Maul.  Darth Maul, despite being neutralized, is now unavailable for questioning.”  Windu spat out the words as if they left a bad taste.

Anakin did not respond.

“And there is the other matter,” said the Duros Master Cei Vookto.

Again Windu held up a hand, “Jedi Skywalker.  You have violated the core tenants of the Jedi Code.  You have betrayed the ideals of this Order.  You are not fit to claim the title of Jedi Knight.” 

Anakin said.  “I defended justice.”

“But you did not honor life,” Windu said.  “And to render an enemy helpless and then execute him is not acceptable to this council.”

With the Force, he snatched Maul’s saber off the floor and held it in a clenched fist, “I did what had to be done.  What none of you were able to do.”

“Meaningless victory.  Power, with no wisdom,” Plo Koon said.

Skywalker sneered.  He put Maul’s saber on his belt once again.  The council needed no special perception to recognize his scorn.

“Your wisdom will not end this war,” Anakin said.

“Anakin Skywalker, you are exiled.  You are a Jedi no longer,” Windu said.

Anakin stood silent for a beat, “Very well.”  He turned to go.

Windu’s voice boomed through the chamber, “Skywalker!  Your lightsaber.  Surrender it.”

Anakin turned.  He held the hilt of his saber in his hand.  His eyes locked on Master Windu’s.

“This lightsaber is mine.  If any among you care to take it from me, you are welcome to try.”

*             *             *

At the start of the war, Senate Security acquired a dozen LAAT/i’s from Rothana Heavy Engineering.  At some expense to the taxpayer, the gunships were outfitted with a carpeted, soundproofed interior and used for the safe, comfortable transportation of senators and other dignitaries around Coruscant. 

A special blue and gold variant had been purchased for the use of the Supreme Chancellor.  It was colloquially referred to as Republic One.  Anakin watched the semi-famous gunship settle on a pad in the Temple’s hangar bay.  A waiting Senate guard assisted the Supreme Chancellor aboard and Anakin followed him into the ship.

As the doors shut, both men took a seat and the pair of guards moved to the front, out of earshot.

“What will you do now?” Palpatine asked his young friend.

“I honestly don’t know.  I’ve never been on my own before,” Anakin said.  He gave a little shrug.

“Well, the Jedi may be done with you, but I’m not,” Palpatine said.

“What do you propose, Chancellor?”

“You are my greatest warrior.  There is no place for you but as the leader of the army,” Palpatine said.

“Chancellor, I…”

“Anakin Skywalker, I hereby nominate you as the Supreme Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic.”

Anakin was stunned.  Palpatine smiled and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll make sure the Senate lines up to confirm you.  After the events of today, there will be no objections,” Palpatine said.

“Are you sure?”

“My boy, I am the Senate,” Palpatine said with a laugh.

“I’m honored, Chancellor.  Truly,” Anakin said.

“The Republic needs you.  So do I,” Palpatine said.

Anakin sat back in his seat and pondered the weight of this news.

“This role will come with many responsibilities.  You’ll be in command of all Republic forces.  Including the Jedi,” Palpatine said.  His tone perfectly conveyed the smirk implied by his words. 

Anakin was too stunned to join him in his satisfaction. 

“There is still much to do, my friend,” Palpatine said.

With a gentle lurch, the ship arrived at the Senate Auxiliary Office Building.  The doors opened and the guards stepped out.  Anakin followed Palpatine and both were met with a flood of activity.

Hovering camera droids recorded the moment for Holonet news feeds.  A crush of reporters and senators and diplomats all vied for the attention of the most powerful man in the galaxy.  Palpatine, ever the politician, patted Anakin’s shoulder in a polite dismissal before addressing the gathered crowd.

“I’m grateful for the assistance of the Jedi and pleased to report that the Confederate leader Darth Maul has been killed in today’s attack.  I’ll take your questions now,” Palpatine said.

Anakin stepped out of the streams of lights and holograms, moving away while Chancellor Palpatine did what he did best.  He saw the oncoming twilight through the bay door.  Exhaustion hit him like a malfunctioning load lifter.

He sank into a chair by the exit, waiting for his new boss to finish speaking.  Before he could shut his eyes, he was approached by a golden-plated droid with glowing amber eyes. 

“Hello, sir.  I am C-3PO, human cyborg relations,” the droid said.

“I know who you are, Threepio.  What’s going on?  Did Padme ever call in?”

“No, sir.  But I have gained more information since last we spoke,” the droid said. 

Anakin’s eyes flashed, “What do you know, Threepio?”

“Senate Security confirmed an hour ago that Senator Organa was among the representatives captured by General Grievous in his attack on the Capitol.”

* * *

He flexed the claws on his new hand.  The work was precise, as anything done by a computer must be.  The welds would hold.  There were no flaws in the connection.  Grievous was pleased.

He rose from the repair station and marched towards the detention cells. 

It was perfect.  A long row of cells, lining both sides of the hall.  Each one holding someone valuable to the Republic.  The red ray shields allowed him to look into each one as he passed.  All of the dignitaries seemed to have varying looks of shock, fear, or depression.  His programming didn’t allow for sadism, so he took no satisfaction in their terror, but he paused at one cell on his left when he noticed something unusual.

The cell housed two humans; one male, one female.  He accessed the base’s internal servers and located their information.  They were Senator Padme Organa of Alderaan and her personal guard, Owen Lars.  The Confederate network had a wealth of files regarding the woman, she was important to the Jedi Skywalker, making her a prime target. 

What had caught Grievous’s attention was the fact that Organa seemed to be in physical distress.  Within the cell, she was at the rear, hunched over a waste disposal, vomiting.  Despite the tint of the ray shielding, he could see that she looked pallid. 

He addressed the guard that stood at the front of the cell, looking him in the eye, “What is wrong with that woman?”

Lars looked back at Organa, then at the general.

“She’s ill.  Staying in this cell is not doing her any good.  It’s hot in here.”

As he spoke, the woman rose from her position and walked to the front to join him, “General Grievous, your tactics are warcrimes.  If you surrender now, I can speak to the Republic and you may avoid execution after all this is over.”

“What a generous offer,” Grievous said, chortling a bit. 

“I’m serious,” Organa said.

“I’m sure you are,” Grievous said.

“General…”

Grievous held up his new hand to silence the woman, “My programming does not have a surrender command.  If your Republic is not swayed by the threat on your life, your value to me will quickly diminish.”

He walked away.  There was nothing more to say.

On the other side of the ray shields, Padme was too tired to send out an angry retort.  Owen handed her a cloth.  She wiped her mouth.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“I didn’t ask,” Owen said.

“You were about to,” she said.

“Well, they pay me to keep you safe.  Bang up job so far, don’t you think?” Owen said.

“This wasn’t your fault,” Padme said.

“Well…”

“There was an entire army of droids,” Padme said.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.  It must have been something I ate,” Padme said.

“What are we gonna do?” Owen said.

“We’re gonna get out of here is what we’re gonna do,” Padme said.

“You got a plan?” Owen said.

 “My plan is to start forming a plan.  Let’s take a look around, see what we can figure out,” Padme said. 

*             *             *

Padme’s annoying gold protocol droid did have one abiding, helpful feature.  He had kept the office in exemplary shape.  Anakin left the Chancellor behind to deal with the press and public.  Whatever his title, whatever his status, his new mission only had two objectives: find Padme, get her back.

The auxiliary office of Senator Organa was still as opulent as one would expect for an Alderaanian royal.  His feet sank into the carpeting and provided some relief from this day that seemingly had no end.  He sat at Padme’s curving white desk and used her datastation.  Threepio stood behind him helping with passcodes and shortcuts whenever an issue developed.

Anakin opened the file and began to study it.  He rubbed his eyes.  He’d been awake for so long now and he had no intention of sleeping until he’d made some progress.  He had to know where that mechanical monster had taken her.

He sighed, “The Navy logs don’t give enough information to get a good sense of their vector.  There’s got to be another way to find them.”

“What would you suggest?” Threepio asked.

“Padme has a backup comlink, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, sir.  The Senator has two comlinks.  One is her primary which is used for official government business and interactions with staff and the public,” Threepio said.

“And the other she uses for me…” Anakin said.

“Yes, sir.  The Senator felt that it was prudent to secure your communications to keep the secret of your relationship,” Threepio said, very matter-of-factly.

“Do you have the frequency of that comlink on file?” Anakin asked.

“Try that routing, sir.  That should allow you to access the Senator’s communication data,” Threepio said.

Two sets of logs came up.  Anakin brushed aside the overstuffed official data log and instead brought up the backup comlink’s records.

“This is the log for her secret comlink?”

“Yes, sir,” Threepio said.

“She wouldn’t use it for anything else, right?”

“No, sir,” Threepio said.

“Then she would probably know how to hide it,” Anakin said.

“Even from a droid, sir?”

“It’s possible,” Anakin said.  “Where’s the hailing frequency listed?”

“At the bottom of the call log, sir,” Threepio said.

Anakin began to scroll.  He saw his own name over and over, with a few pepperings of Owen’s name as well.  That made sense, Owen had been a witness for their wedding.  He was certainly privy to any of the Senator’s secrets.

Anakin watched the dates as the call logs scrolled by.  He noted the date a few weeks ago, when they had met in secret and privately declared the affection and love that had begun so long ago in that grand hall in Aldera City.  Despite his exhaustion, he managed to smile at the memory.

The call logs kept going.

He remembered the calls that had preceeded the wedding.  They had kept a furtive correspondence through live transmissions and secreted messages for the duration of the war.  But intermixed with the calls that she had placed to him, and he to her, Anakin found another name began to have a prominent place in the logs.  The farther back he scrolled, the more frequently the name came up.  Soon, it was the only name at all in the logs.

Obi-Wan Kenobi.

A flood of emotions came over him.  Betrayal was common for a Sith, but practically unheard of for a Jedi.  He simply was not equipped to handle the shock that this information conveyed.  Rage clenched his fist.  Anger locked his jaw.  His blood ran cold. 

Padme’s heart might belong to Anakin, but it seemed clear that he was not the first to possess it.

He looked away from the logs, the emotionless datapads kept scrolling down.  He could not bear to see that name repeated over and over, burning his chest as fiercely as a blaster bolt.  He looked around the room, trying to find any distraction.  His eyes set on a vase near the door.  A beautiful cerulean work of art that held a pair of beautiful flowers.  Padme had carried a bouquet of them on their wedding day.  She kept two in her office now as a subtle reminder of their love.

He stared at the vase.  He could feel the tension grinding the sinew in his body.

As he watched, the vase shattered, exploding like a supernova.  Dirt and flowers spilled out onto the luxurious deep blue carpet.  Threepio let out a howl of surprise.  Anakin took no notice.

He watched the black soil stream out of the largest shard, cascading to the floor like an ebon waterfall.  The destruction had given his anger an outlet.  He could focus once again.  He tried a deep breath.  The shock passed, but the anger remained. 

Threepio moved to start cleaning up the mess.  Realization came to Anakin and he felt guilty.  Standing, he moved to assist the protocol droid.  He had made the mess, after all.

“I’m not sure what happened,” Threepio said, “Oh dear, oh dear.”

“It’s not your fault, Threepio.  I’m sure Padme will understand.”

“Such a beautiful piece,” Threepio said, mourning the shattered vase.

“Threepio, what are these flowers?”

“Sir?”

Anakin held up the bloom that had fallen to the floor.  It had a beautiful intricate swirl.  The interior sparkled under deep red petals.

“They’re plom blooms, sir,” Threepio said.  “Lovely flowers.  They grow wild on Alderaan.  Quite an invasive species actually.  A source of some annoyance for farmers and Gungans.”

“Is that so?” Anakin asked.

“Quite.  The Gungans often have to burn out their roots with fire to keep them from using nutrients for local crops.  And even that doesn’t work much of the time.  Efforts to control them have led to some viscious wildfires in the past,” Threepio said.

Anakin smiled and shook his head slightly, “Padme chose an invasive species for her wedding bouquet.”

“Yes, sir.  The plant is known to be beautiful and fiercely stubborn,” Threepio said.

“So is the woman,” Anakin said.  “Plom blooms, you said they were called?”

That’s the name given to them by the settlers.  In Gunganese they’re known as ‘Vader’ which loosely translates to ‘conqueror of fire.’”

Anakin pocketed the flower.  The workstation began to beep.  He walked back to it.  The log had completed.  He saw the frequency of Padme’s comlink listed clearly.  He took note of the numbers. 

Though his muscles tensed in anger, he could not bring himself to fault Padme for her earlier passions.  Her heart was her own, and the past was the past.  If this old dalliance was ended, then he had no quarrel with her.  If not, then he would have some things to sort out.  The tension of the unknown was what haunted him.  They shared vows and a marriage, but was Padme truly his?  He was tormented by questions without answers.  Until he saw her again, he would have these demons haunting his every waking hour. 

Obi-Wan was another matter entirely.  How many times has his old master called him a brother?  How many times had they stood together, fought together, bled together?   Then he had sat in silent hypocrisy as the Jedi cast Anakin out. 

Without Anakin, Obi-Wan would have met the same fate as Qui-Gon, cut down by the same assassin with the same blade.  Obi-Wan had dealt with the same temptations, the same emotions and had judged Anakin, knowing fully what it was to love Padme and to want to kill Maul.  Jealousy had kept Obi-Wan silent as a tomb when Anakin was cast out.  A bitter taste filled Anakin’s mouth.  This would not stand.

Sunrise streamed in through the window.  The last time he’d seen a sunrise, he’d been a Jedi Knight.  In a day he’d traded in his old life of service.  In its place, he was now clothed with immense power. 

As the new day dawned, he resolved to put that power to use for his own ends.

* * *

The Jedi Temple served as more than just a refuge for the guardians of peace and justice in the Galactic Republic.  It was also a training center, archive, library, museum, hospital, workshop and research center.  Within the various levels of the truncated pyramid were rooms devoted to science, exploration, art, law, physical fitness and all of the various needs of an order whose members might be called upon to perform a near infinite variety of services. 

The thinning of the Jedi Order, through the attrition of the war and the Force Virus, meant that the majority of those rooms were now empty and silent.  A handful of Jedi were on various war assignments, most serving on flagships of the Republic Navy.  Those that were not on patrol now gathered in the room that had served as a center for the exploration of the galaxy’s uncharted territories. 

The Map Room was a circular chamber, lined with viewscreens and centered around a large holotank.  The computers encased in the walls held information on every known system and planet in the entire galaxy.  Using the navicomputers, a course could be plotted between any two coordinates.  The room itself was designed for explorers to coordinate their plans and routes before setting out to unknown regions.  As such, it was the perfect place to house a war conclave.

The members of the Jedi Council were gathered around the central holotank, forced to listen as the man they had exiled now commanded their attention and forces.  Master Windu, to his credit, seemed to take the situation in stride.  The other Jedi in the room, from Masters to Padawans, followed his example. 

Anakin commanded the room from the center, “Intelligence has now confirmed the location of the Confederate stronghold in the Mustafar system.  Senate Security has confirmed that General Grievous and his droids seized more than four dozen hostages.  The mission has three objectives.  Safe extraction of all hostages, neutralization of all Confederate forces, and the final surrender or destruction of General Grievous and the Confederate leadership.”

The holotank displayed a slowly rotating planet.  Environmental statistics scrolled by in various blocks.  Mustafar was a violent volcanic body.  The entire planet was still in the throes of geologic upheaval and as such was wildly unstable.  Vast lava oceans covered almost half of the planet.  Mountain ranges cracked in half along ridgelines, spewing molten rock into the sky.  The atmosphere was breathable, but barely.  Ash kept the surface in a near permanent twilight.  Projections showed that, in a few million years, the planet might be quite plesant, but for the moment, it was a boiling purgatory that would have to be conquered.

“A reconnaissance flight has indicated a structure here,” Anakin said, pointing to a large peak in the northern hemisphere.  “It’s one of the few relatively stable continents on the planet.  The base itself is built into the top of a large volcano.  The near limitless geothermal power is harnessed to keep all droids and weapons batteries fully primed at all times.  Grievous seems to have picked the perfect place to make his last stand.”

There was a murmur as the information was digested.

Anakin addressed the gathered leaders, “The plan is twofold.  Commando units will infiltrate the base in stealth gunships.  They will locate, secure and extract the hostages.  When the hostages are away, the Navy will commence an orbital bombardment to soften the defenses, followed by ground forces landing and securing the area, along with any Confederate leaders who are still alive.”

 “That plan seems to rely heavily on our Clone Commandos,” said Master Windu, “Are we confident that our gunships can deliver them to the base?  The atmosphere is volatile.”

“Lieutenant?” Anakin asked.

An unhelmeted Clone Commando stepped forward.  To see an unhelmeted clone was something of a rarity.  Anakin had seen hundreds of perfect copies of this man killed in all manner of horrific ways.  To see one in a quiet, peaceful space bordered on the unusual.

“If the gunships crash, my men should be able to ascend the mountain and continue the mission.  If we’re shot down on the way in, then I’m not sure it will matter.”

“I think it’s unlikely that the clones could locate and extract the hostages without alerting the droids.  When that happens, all available droids will be called in and the commandos and hostages will be cut off from any reinforcements,” Windu said.

Anakin sighed, “Backup units will be on standby in the upper atmosphere and ready to deploy within minutes.”

“Assuming they can avoid detection as well,” Windu countered. 

On the outer ring of observers, a hand was raised, “Commodore Tarkin, you have a question?” Anakin said.

Tarkin stepped forward to the holotank.  He zoomed in on the area surrounding the base, “A suggestion, if you’ll permit me, Commander Skywalker.  My Ultralaser project may be of some use here.”

Anakin bit his tongue.  Tarkin’s big lasers had been helpful on a few fronts, but only when Confederate forces were concentrated.  The weapon caused such destruction that it was almost useless to fire it against anything less than a legion of battledroids.  Despite this, Palpatine had encouraged the Navy to give Tarkin even more leeway in design.  His guns had only gotten bigger.

Anakin did not interrupt as Tarkin continued, “If we can target their power structures, specifically the geothermal plants themselves, or the transmission lines, we may be able to cut the power that feeds their weapons and sensors.  If we could blind them our ground forces would be at a considerable advantage.”

A carefully accented tone cut through the room, “That’s a small target, Commodore.  Do you think your lasers have achieved that level of accuracy?” asked a voice from the back of the room.  Captain Thrawn, the red-eyed, blue-skinned alien, stepped forward. 

Tarkin pondered this for a moment, “It’s possible.  Our accuracy currently has an inverse relationship to the power levels.  Therefore, a smaller blast would be more reliable, though it would obviously cause less damage.”

Anakin spoke, “The problem is the hostages.  An orbital strike, no matter how precise, would alert Grievous that we have no intention of negotiating.  Once he realizes that, there is no reason for him not to kill the hostages immediately.  I’m implementing a rule that no orbital strike from the Navy should commence until the hostages are extracted.”

“Or until there is no further hope for their safe return,” said Thrawn.  The cool detachment in his tone gave Anakin a chill.  He was reminded that no one in this room had as much to lose as he did.

“So the question remains: What is the best way to extract the hostages without alerting Confederate forces?” Windu said.

“What do you propose, Master Windu?” Anakin asked.

“Your plan does not seem to involve the Jedi in any way,” Master Windu said.

“I think it’s clear that the Jedi no longer have a place on the battlefield.  Jedi commanders can coordinate from orbit and provide support in the air,” Anakin said.

Windu met Anakin’s eyes, “The Army is a cannon.  What’s needed here is a lightsaber.  If Grievous will kill the hostages at the first sign of trouble, that first sign needs to be so overwhelming that it forces him to reconsider.”

Anakin squared his jaw.  It was irking that, despite casting him out of the Jedi Order, Mace Windu still felt the need to give him orders.

“Perhaps it would be better to lead with our finest warriors,” Anakin said, ejecting the last word precisely in Windu’s direction.  “Master Windu, you can take command of the ground forces.  Our remaining Jedi will be positioned with the surrounding units on the front lines.  Once the outcome of the Commando raid has been ascertained, the army will advance with the Jedi in the lead.”

Windu nodded, “The Jedi will always serve the Republic.”

“Wait, wait,” came a familiar voice, “If we’re sending everyone, who will be left to guard Coruscant and the Chancellor?” Obi-Wan asked.  He stood by the round table, his eyes moving from Windu to Anakin.

“Events have made it clear that Coruscant is not secure.  The Chancellor will be safer with the fleet.  I’ll guard him myself,” Anakin said.

A beat passed as the assorted Jedi and officers murmured to themselves.  A voice cut through the low tones, “Join you, I will,” Yoda said.

Silence filled the chamber.  The aged wizard used a cane to slowly descend the steps and enter the circular room.  Everyone there, Jedi and military alike, looked on as the greatest of the masters approached Anakin.  He held the top of his walking stick towards the former Jedi and smiled.

“Correct, young Skywalker is.  Safer with us, the Chancellor will be.  Protect him, I will,” Yoda said.

No one argued.  The Jedi and the Republic military did not suffer fools.

“Ready the fleet,” Anakin said.

*             *             *

It was always night on a starship bridge.  The air was always cool and, at most, the twilight only ever became hyperspace, never day.

Anakin stood at the rear of the command deck, watching in silence as the various officers, some clone and some born, went about their duties.  He had been on half a dozen bridges since the war began, but this was the first time he’d ever been in command of any of them. 

His new uniform felt odd.  He had traded the scratchy brown of a Jedi for the trim dark grey of a Republic officer.  The material was more comfortable, which counterintuitively made him less so.  He was used to the feel of his old robes.  After so long in the order, it felt almost obscene to wear something else.  Still, he found himself pleased with the image that reflected off of a darkened monitor.  Perhaps Padme would even find him handsome in black.

Thoughts of his beloved brought him back to the matter at hand.  The approach, the liberation, the battle, the victory… then everything else would be trivial.  The events of this day would secure his path for the rest of his life.  After the war, he and Padme could live any kind of life they wanted. 

Technically he was in command, but he left it to the naval officers to handle the internal tasks aboard the Dauntless.  He had told them where to go and what to do when they got there.  The war had taught him not to be overly specific when issuing orders. 

The fleet had paused at a juncture of two hyperspace routes to converge with Task Force Nexu that had been searching the Outer Rim for Confederate stragglers.  As the new arrivals joined the formation, Anakin stepped away to check on the Chancellor.  Palpatine’s stateroom, the most luxurious accomodations that this flagship had to offer, were only a few paces from the entrance to the bridge.

Anakin took note of Yoda in restive meditation on the floor of the hallway.  He sat, opposite Palpatine’s quarters, eyes shut but conscious.  His staff floated a few centimeters off the floor in front of him.  A lesser observer might think the Jedi Master had fallen asleep.  To anyone who knew the green wizard’s power though, it would be impossible not to think that he was aware of every movement on this great vessel. 

Anakin pushed the button to request entry.  A moment later the door slid open.  Palpatine sat in a comfortable ebony chair, a datapad in his hand as he greeted Anakin.

“Supreme Commander,” Palpatine said, not rising.

“Supreme Chancellor,” Anakin said, giving a slight bow.

“We may have to revisit these titles,” Palpatine said.  He gestured to a chair.  Anakin sat.

“A problem for another day,” Anakin said.

“One of many,” Palpatine said, putting the datapad down.  Again Anakin noted the withered, grey flesh of his hands. 

“What troubles you?”Anakin asked.

“When all this is over, we’ll have to look seriously at how we handle problems within the Republic.  We can never again allow small disputes to conflagrate into massive conflicts.  The failure of the Jedi can never be repeated,” Palpatine said.

“It’s a very large galaxy, Chancellor.  And there are very few Jedi.  The Jedi may need to be reinforced,” Anakin said.

“The Jedi may need to be replaced.”

The thought passed through Anakin and left a smile.

* * *

Rarely did the various Clone Commando squads get to interact with each other.  In the entire Grand Army of the Republic only twelve such units existed.  The special cloning process and training program was an added expense upon which the Senate did not often indulge. 

With the third, fifth and eighth divisions of the army now converging on the Mustafar system, it brought the dozen commando squads together for what was hoped to be the final operation of the war.  Three groups were assigned to liberate the hostages.  The rest would take part in the final assault.

The three LAAT/i gunships deployed from the Venator-class Triumph.  Approaching from the outer edges of the Mustafar system gave the commandos time to go over the plan.

Delta Squad was selected to take point in the hostage extraction.  RC-1138, known to his squadmates as “Boss” led the last-minute briefing.  A holographic scan of the Confederate base hovered in the center of the gunship’s interior.  The four soldiers gathered around closely.  “We’ll set down here, and deploy in diamond formation.  Gamma Squad will be a quarter-klick behind, providing cover.  We’ll breach here, at the base of this structure.  If intelligence has it right, this should be the detention compound.  Scorch, you’ll need a strong charge to get through the wall.”

“P for plenty, Boss,” Scorch said.

“That’s right.  After we’re inside, priority is getting the bigwigs out of the cells.  Gamma will load them onto the gunships.  It’ll be a little cramped, but they’ll squeeze ‘em in.  When the last of them are out, so are we.  Do not engage unless fired upon.  Mission success is extraction without alerting the clunkers.”

“I think they’re gonna notice the big hole we blow in their wall, Boss,” said Fixer, the team’s second-in-command.

“We’ll see.  Keep a clear visor and a ready trigger.  If we have to start shooting, it’s gonna get ugly fast.  Abort code is ‘Aiwha’.  If the plan goes to poodoo, that’s your call to Omega Squad up top.”

“Nothing goes according to plan,” Fixer said.

“That’s why they call us,” Scorch said.

As close as they were, conversation was unnecessary as they entered the atmosphere.  The three gunships sank into ashy clouds and immediately were hit with shards of volcanic glass and sulphur.  The LAAT/i shrugged off the hostile upper atmosphere with minimal damage, leaving Omega Squad behind to be on standby.

The gunship’s interior lights went from blue to red.  This was the signal from the pilots to strap in.  The troopers didn’t need the notice.  The gunship had started to sway and rock side to side. 

“We’re getting hit with a lot of ash.  It’s getting pretty choppy.  Two minutes out,” came the call from the cockpit.

Fixer leaned over and slid a panel aside, allowing him to look through the window.  Outside, it looked like they were descending into a flaming pit of tormented rock.  He’d fought on so many worlds now that mere terrain did not concern him anymore.

Then he spotted a large leathery wing, black as space itself, eclipsing the view of the lava fields below.

“Uh, Boss?” Fixer said.

“Go ahead, Fixer,” Boss said.

“Do you remember anything in the briefing about large fauna in the upper atmosphere?” Fixer said.

Boss tilted his helmet, “What are you…”

He never got to finish the sentence.  Three talons of the Mustafar firehawk cut into the gunship’s durasteel.  In an instant, the gunship was shredded.  A pair of the beasts ripped their novel prey into splinters and tossed the metallic wreckage away.  The prey had been quite unsatisfying.  Too hard a shell for such little meat.  They gave an angry shriek as they banked off in search of more tasty morsels.  Heading for cooler air, one of the avians angrily swatted the Omega Squad’s gunship with a massive wing.

The shock of the sudden impact delivered a concussion to the pilots in the last ship.  Alarms blared through the cockpit but could not be heeded.  In the rear of the ship, the men of Omega, unaware of what had attacked them, stumbled about, trying to get their bearings.  They were now helpless as the ship they rode plummeted, without power.  Autopilot attempted to steer to their final target coordinates.  The disabled gunship plunged through of dozens of kilometers in darkness and silence, augering in.

The final impact was at nearly the speed of sound.  The outlet of kinetic energy shattered the branch of the Confederate base that connected the command center to the detention facility. 

*             *             *

The walls rattled hard and then the interior was plunged into darkness.  Padme felt a warm hand clamp down on her upper arm.

“I’m fine, Owen,” she said.  A moment later, emergency lighting activated.  The cell was lit with a dim, blue light.

“What the hell was that?” Owen asked, getting his bearings as he and Padme looked around.

“I don’t know, but the cell door is down,” Padme said.  He turned to see that she was correct.  The red ray shielding had disappeared.  He took a step and reached out a tentative hand.  Nothing stopped him as he exited the cell.  Padme joined him.  They looked down the hall in either direction and noticed the other dignitaries from Coruscant stumbling out of their cells as well. 

Padme took over immediately. 

Her raised voice carried throughout the detention block, “Okay, people.  We need to stay together.  Any able-bodied fighters, come up here and take point with me.  If you’re old or slow, hang back and the rest of us will get you out of here safely.”

“Anakin to the rescue?” Owen asked under his breath.

“If this was him, we’d be seeing a lightsaber cutting through a door by now,” Padme said.

“That sounded more like a missile,” Owen said.

“We’re gonna have to rescue ourselves,” Padme said.

“Would you please stay behind me this time?” Owen asked.

“Depends on how fast you can move,” Padme said.

As the group came to a heavy split-door that blocked their path, one of the Senators approached, gently moving aside the group of his fellow escapees.  In the dim lighting of the low-powered prison block, he appeared much more of a hulking brute than she knew him to be.

“Senator Organa, if you would allow me,” he said.

With heavy footsteps, the Senator from Ojom came forward.  The four-armed Besalisk ran a bare hand over the smooth metal of the panel, then tapped the frame.  The clanking sound apparently gave him some information as he then closed one of his four hands into a fist and punched the door so hard that one half gave way and slid off its track.  The opening left between the split panels wasn’t large enough to get through, but with a few more massive blows, the exit was formed with enough space for the escapees, both large and small to slip through. 

Padme waited for the group and counted heads as they streamed through the gap, “Senator Bronick, let me know if you ever need help getting a bill passed.”

*             *             *

On the bridge, Anakin listened to the silence as the reports stopped coming in.

“Do we have telemetry on the gunships?” he asked the technician at the sensor station.

“Negative, sir.  We’ve lost all contact.”

He put a hand to his chin and frowned.  “Backup team?”

“Negative.”

Admiral Yularen interjected, “So, either its interference, hash, or…”

“Tactically, we have to assume all is lost,” Anakin said.

A beat passed as the group absorbed the revelation.  Anakin turned to Palpatine who stood at the rear.  He shook his head.  Palpatine nodded solemnly.

Anakin turned to the communications station.  “Launch all landing craft.  Order the gunships to assume guard positions.  Tight formations down to the surface.  We can’t afford to lose any units in the air.  Let’s be about it, people.  This ends today.”

A flurry of activity began.  Orders were put into computers and radios.  Pilots and soldiers and Jedi took their positions.  The flotilla of landing craft launched and took up formation, protected by the stronger combat ships.  The invasion of Mustafar had begun.

* * *

It was stuffy in the landing craft.  Obi-Wan knew several breathing techniques to draw more oxygen into his lungs and preserve it for longer.  But looking around at the battalion of clones standing in tight formation behind him, it felt wrong to take advantage of that training.  His men were in the same conditions and they didn’t have the benefit of his powers.

“Obi-Wan?” said a voice from behind him.  He turned and saw a Jedi approaching.  It was Tap-Nar-Pal, a young Cerean that he hadn’t seen in several months.

“Tap!  Good to see you,” Obi-Wan said.  The two embraced at the front of the landing craft.  The clones behind them took no notice.

“We’ve been partnered up.  I’ve been trying to find you,” Tap said.

“I’m glad you did.  Anakin had to…”

“I heard,” Tap said.

They both nodded.

“Where’s Ronhar?  Is he here?” Obi-Wan asked, inquiring about Ronhar Kim, Tap’s former Master.

Tap looked away and winced.

“I’m sorry.  Was it quick?”

“It was the virus.  It hit both of us a few months back.  I made it… barely.”

“Now he belongs to the Force,” Obi-Wan said, grimacing.

They stood in silence for a moment.

“So, you’ve been briefed on the plan?” Obi-Wan asked.

Tap-Nar-Pal nodded, “I came in with the task force.  I got the briefing.”

The ship lurched.  The lighting shifted from white to red.  They were in the atmosphere now.  Obi-Wan drew the saber hilt from his hip and gripped it tight.

“If we can get everyone off the landing craft without taking too many casualties, we’ll be halfway there,” Obi-Wan said.

“Defensive postures.  Work the rings, just like Master Drallig taught us,” Tap said.  A smile came over the younger Jedi’s long face as he hit a green lightsaber.

“Thirty seconds,” came a computerized voice over the ship’s intercom.

Both Jedi took a beat to center themselves.  When he had found his inner peace, Obi-Wan lit his saber for what he hoped would be the last time.  He could feel Tap-Nar-Pal at his side, ready to charge.

The landing ramp lowered and a blast of heat and dim orange light filled the space.  What lay beyond the ramp was a sight that Obi-Wan lacked the words to describe. 

The volcano fortress towered up to the low-hanging, black clouds.  Channels of lava crackled their way down at random angles.  The landscape before him was black pumice crusted with ash and baked dry from the intense heat.  Looking up, he could see the spires that were the structure of the Confederate base.  They were lit by a plume of lava bubbling up and angry red lightning streaking down from the clouds.  He was at the base of the mountain and his destination was at the summit.  The path before him was no place for anything living. 

He put up a wave of Force energy to shield himself and his soldiers from the heat that had invaded the landing craft, but it was a futile gesture, done out of instinct.  Before he could process the myriad of obstacles that littered the ground before him, a turret halfway up the mountain began to rain down fire on his position.

Heavy blasts of energy drilled into the rock a few dozen yards from the base of the ramp.  He began to run down, feeling the surge of his troops and his new partner coming with him.  He felt the stone underfoot and knew that he’d managed to make it off the landing craft.  He searched for any form of cover that some of the men could use.  Finding little, he ran ahead trying to close the distance between the enemy to something that could be handled with blaster rifles and lightsabers.

Screams and warcries filled the air as did the lasers and smoke.  The clones were trained for harsh environments and impossible battles and they were ready.  But the clones would die needlessly without some form of protection and his lightsaber would not be enough.

Reaching out with the Force, he projected a wave ahead, kicking up a few stones and deflecting some incoming fire.  A neuron fired in the Jedi’s brain as he reached through the Force to grab an outcropping of stone.  He lifted the heavy boulder and flopped it down about a hundred meters ahead.  Instantly, a detachment of soldiers made for the rock, not needing to be told of the tactical advantage. 

On his right hip, Tap-Nar-Pal decided to follow suit.  He reached for another boulder and Obi-Wan could see him close his eyes for an instant to focus.

The young Jedi then disappeared in a spray of laser fire and flesh.  He didn’t even have time to scream.

Obi-Wan gasped as he watched the young Cerean blasted through his torso by a Confederate gunner.  What was left of the body flung back, limp and dead, rolling down the mountain.  Clones began to step over the corpse, beginning their ascent. 

The boulder that Tap had been moving into position tumbled to the ground and began to roll back towards the troops it was meant to protect.  Obi-Wan was too stunned to react to the new obstacle.  Some clones managed to dive away from the ten-meter monolith that rolled through their ranks.  Others were not as lucky. 

The smell of blood and ozone filled the sky as Obi-Wan turned and continued his assault over the broken, scorching stone. 

*             *             *

Master Windu’s purple saber marked him as a target for Confederate gunner droids.  He strongly preferred it that way.  Any shot that was aimed for him was one that would be no threat to the clones or his fellow Jedi.  He welcomed any attention that would protect his troops. 

Windu saw another of the large three-treaded tanks rolling faster and faster down the mountain.  Unlike the last one, he was unable to stop it as it plowed into a block of clonetroopers and detonated, wiping out the entire column.  He winced.  Many more like that and he would not have much of an army to lead.

“Forward!” he called, rallying the stunned soldiers.  The three Jedi at his back spread out and followed a few steps behind.  At every position around the mountain, Jedi led the way. 

*             *             *

Padme and Owen took turns looking around corners to see if there were sentry droids guarding the hallways.  It was a careful process of pausing the group, crouching up to a new area, scouting, returning and reporting, but so far their escape had not been discovered.

They had made their way through a repair bay and Owen had gotten a hydrospanner as a cudgel in case they were discovered, but he knew it would be useless against a battle droid. 

Another locked door was ripped open by the big Besalisk, Bronick.  This time, Owen went first, trying to protect his employer from whatever might be on the other side.

He looked around into a dark chamber.  The emergency light did nothing to tell him what this area was for.  He fumbled around in the dark and tripped over something small.  A box or crate perhaps.  From the floor he listened carefully, but no sounds came.  Clearly he hadn’t been discovered yet. 

Attempting to avoid further injury, he crawled back to the shaft of light that had been made by the entrance pounded into existence by the lumbering Besalisk Bronick. 

“Is it clear?” Padme whispered. 

“I need more light,” Owen said.

A junior staffer handed him a small comlink that had a torch function.  He took the little hand-held light and looked around the dark room.

The first thing his light found was the stoic, steel face of a battle droid.

He jumped back in alarm.  Falling away from this new enemy, it took him a moment to realize that there was no danger.  The droid made no move to attack, raised no weapon in anger.  It just stood, silently, next to the wall. 

He scanned the light up and down and saw connections from the droid’s back into the wall itself.  He scanned to the right and saw another droid, and another, and another.  It took him a moment to understand.

“It’s a charging station,” he called out.  “Come on through, there’s no power, they’re shut down.”

In a moment, the group gathered within the chamber.  He saw Padme wince a bit as she slipped inside.  He moved to her and brought her away from the crowd.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Before you were…” he started.

“I’m fine now,” Padme said, dismissively.

He let the subject drop.  As Padme did a headcount, Owen pried a blaster rifle away from one of the dormant droids and tossed his purloined hydrospanner onto a workbench.

Padme grabbed a rifle for herself and a few of the more bold prisoners did likewise.  As she checked the power pack, she felt the walls shake yet again.  It dawned on Padme that the escape of the prisoners may no longer be a priority concern for Grievous and his droids.

“I think it’s safe to say we’re in a battle now,” Padme whispered.

“Agreed.  We’ve got to get clear of the crossfire.  Wherever the troops are, they’re sure to head here.  We need a ride out of here,” Owen said.

“What do you think about trying to get to the perimeter?  Maybe see if we can disrupt their defenses.” Padme said, hefting her new weapon.

“I think my job is to keep you from doing things like that,” Owen said.

“Wow, that must be awful for you,” Padme said.

“I quit.  There.  It’s over,” Owen said, checking his weapon as well.

“I’ll give you the down payment for your nightclub when we get back,” Padme said.

Owen sighed.  Padme smiled.  She put a hand on Bronick’s shoulder as she spoke to him.

“Take the others, try to find a transport, any way out of here.  The clones will be here soon.  They have to be close.”

“Certainly, milady, but are you not coming with us?” Senator Bronick asked.

“We’re going to go make some trouble,” Padme said.

“A lot of trouble.  Head the opposite direction,” Owen said, as he hefted another blaster rifle and slung it over his shoulder.

*             *             *

Master Shaak Ti had abandoned her cloak when it had snared on an outcropping.  She wore a brown tunic with a plastoid plate over the chest in lieu of any serious armor.  The men at her side were putting down a good field of fire against the droids that were entrenched further up the mountain.  Her particular spot on the battlefield was steeper than most others, but it also had better cover. 

She used her sapphire saber as an indicator, signaling with it to push her troops faster up the rocky terrain.

They had already neutralized one of the gun emplacements where the droids had dispensed so much death.  In the distance, she could see the top of the spires of the Confederate base.

It strengthened her resolve to get there first.

The men to her left crouched as a droid starfighter strafed their positions.  She saw large red blasts crater into the landscape, killing half a dozen of her troops in a flash.  She turned as the bolts grew nearer to her and swung her saber up. 

Reaching out with the Force, she gripped one of the angry red lasers in midair, bringing it to a stop.  Her troops were stunned to see the bolt of energy hover in space, writhing with potential energy.  With a wave of her hand, she flung the searing projectile back at the droid ship from whence it came.  The starfighter blew into shards and her troops continued their ascent.

She saw with grim satisfaction another of the pillboxes fall silent as her troops took the position.  She raised a fist in solidarity with the men who had taken out the droids, then was knocked down in a flash as the pillbox exploded.

With a white-hot blast blinding her and a ringing in her ears that would not be silenced, she was not able to note the large four-legged tanks that came clomping down the mountain.  The DSD-1 droids, a sphere of weaponry supported by four quick moving legs, shuttled down the slope.  They were supported by rolling droidekas that raked the ground with blaster fire.

“Spiders!” one of the men called out.  Master Ti was too stunned to respond.  She had been less than fifty meters from the booby-trap that had blown up the gun emplacement.  As she opened her eyes, she saw nothing but the smoky grey sky, lit with the fires of Mustafar and the energies of warfare.  She reached for her own head.  One of her montrals had been sheared away by flying shrapnel.  Green blood soaked her fingertips and the dry rock that she was laying on.  She suddenly felt very tired.  Despite the agony, she got to her knees, rising. 

The world went hazy.  Again she fell.  She barely felt the rock as she hit the ground again.  She abandoned the desire to reach the summit first.  A little time was what she needed now.  She would rise again.

A moment’s rest was all she needed now.  Just a moment.  Just a moment.

*             *             *

Climbing up a ladder in a cleaning access shaft had gotten Owen and Padme onto the roof.  From there, they were able to get a sense of what was happening.  Republic Eta-2’s fired on Vulture droids.  Confederate tanks rolled and walked down the steep mountainside, sometimes crushing waves of soldiers, sometimes getting blasted to bits themselves.  Clonetroopers died in droves and droids were scrapped even faster.  This world had become a mill, grinding meat, steel and energy into a sludge of horror.  Padme watched from a prone position at the edge of the roof, trying to get a sense of which way the tide was turning.

Owen pointed out flashes of color: blue, green, and more rarely, silver and purple; which marked the positions of Jedi Generals as they led the clones.  Padme watched one of the thin green lines swing and slice for a moment and got the sense that the Jedi were managing to roll the droids back up the hill.  She didn’t envy them the task, and seeing the long odds against them, she was resolved to help.

Padme pointed to the right at a small tower, rounded at the end of a parapet.  The rook housed an anti-air battery that was taking deadly aim at many of the gunships and fighters that the Republic had brought to bear.

“Let’s see what we can do.  Maybe they can get to us faster if we take it out.”

“Worth a shot,” Owen said, knowing nothing would stop Padme.  He would stay at her side, no matter what. 

They ducked low to keep out of sight as they ran along the roof of the structure.  Behind them was the command center.  Each of them cast a glance over a shoulder from time to time, expecting an attack, but none came.  The droids’ collective focus was now entirely on the battlefield. 

The pair of sentries that guarded the entrance to the anti-air tower were too busy firing from the parapet to notice the approach of the Senator and her guard. 

With a single shot from each of them, the droids fell.  Owen kicked his target and watched the droid tumble over the wall onto the cracked lava field below.  Padme was about to follow suit when she paused over the slumped collection of metal limbs.

“Owen, look,” Padme said. 

The sentry droid carried a thermal detonator.

Owen’s eyes lit up.

“Perfect,” he said, taking the grenade and using a booted foot to dispense with the dead droid. 

“They really haven’t figured out we’re loose, have they?” Padme asked.

“I think they’re about to figure it out,” Owen said.

* * *

With a snarl in each utterance, Grievous commanded the final defense of the war.  The Republic’s first strike had cut off all access to the detention block, which denied his ability to execute the hostages.  They hadn’t even tried a rescue, just had removed the hostages from the equation.  Once that was done, the Republic ground forces began a massive assault, surrounding his encircled droid positions.  Whoever was in command was a superb tactician. 

Grievous’s programming did not allow him to panic, but rage was a useful substitute.  Angrily he ordered fresh droids to deploy, keeping an eye on the dwindling number of his reserves on one of the central screens.  As the last battalion left its station to deploy against the clones, he fired a sharpened fist into the screen that told him his reserve units were depleted.

“Continue maximizing defensive efficiency,” he ordered.  “I’m going to go even the odds.”

The bioloid general clutched a pair of lightsabers as he marched out of the command center.  The heat from the lava troubled him not at all as he stood on the ramparts and chose his first target.

*             *             *

Padme watched from the far end of the parapet as Owen sprinted from the anti-air tower.  He had left one blaster rifle with her, taking the other with him as he entered the tower.  She had stayed behind at his insistence.  Truthfully, while she didn’t love leaving him with the dangerous task, she understood the need to cover their escape route.

Now she saw him running at breakneck speed for her position.  She could see he’d abandoned his rifle and was waving his arms in a gesture to move her away.  She trained her sights on the tower entrance, expecting a droid or two to be chasing him.  One emerged.  She blasted it before it could target him.

Then her vision was filled with the sight of the tower detonating.

She ducked behind the low wall and waited until the wafting debris had passed overhead.  When she looked back, the remains of the tower were a flaming ruin, jagged and useless.

Owen ran up, out of breath, stumbling.

“What happened?” Padme asked.

He wheezed for a moment, resting his hands on his thighs, “No droids… guarding…” he breathed deep, “the generator room.”

“So you blew it up,” Padme said.

“A little bit, yeah,” said Owen, nodding. “Is that enough trouble for you?”

*             *             *

“Obi-Wan, do you copy?” Anakin said.

“Yes, I hear you Anakin.  We’re engaged with the droids.  Heavy fire, heavy casualties.  Do you read, over?” Obi-Wan said.

“I’m sending a flight of gunships to pick you up.  Disengage, load up as many as you can.  You’re being rerouted,” Anakin said.

“To where?” Obi-Wan said, deflecting an incoming shot.  He had to yell so that he might hear himself over the roar of battle.

“The base lost an anti-air tower and a breach has opened up.  Your troops are the closest.  We’re sending you in.  Establish a position and we’ll use it as a way in.”

“Copy that,” Obi-Wan said.

Around him the assorted officers distributed orders and directed the ground forces.  Anakin didn’t need to observe too closely to know that they were performing well.  The Navy frigates were handling the few remaining Confederate ships.  Clone pilots were destroying droid Starfighters.  The situation in orbit was secure. 

Yoda stood at the front of the bridge, looking out onto the smoking, cracked horizon.  He rested in a meditative stance, resting on his walking stick.  Anakin could feel the rippling energies that spread out from Yoda’s diminuitive frame.  The Force allowed him to hone the focus of the bridge crew.   And Anakin could sense the tendrils of the Force that no doubt extended down to the battlefield.  Battle Meditation, it was called.

Despite Yoda’s assistance, the attrition of this day was devastating.  

Anakin stepped to the rear of the bridge, joining the Chancellor.  They stood side-by-side watching the destruction of both armies.  Clones and droids would litter the stones of Mustafar by the thousands.  Anakin had seen enough of war to know that there was little more that he could do from the bridge of this starship.  This battle would be ugly, but its outcome was now in the hands of the commanders in the field.

 “Chancellor, with your permission, I’d like to…”

“Go down there and get your wife, Anakin,” Palpatine said.  “This isn’t the Jedi Order.  Do what must be done.”

*             *             *

As a rule, droids didn’t run away.  Occasionally you’d see a tactical retreat, or a redeployment, but those were rare.  Droids, being unable to feel fear and uncomprehending of the concept of self-preservation didn’t run away from a fight.

Similarly, the clonetroopers had been genetically predisposed to stay calm and rational in the midst of a firefight.  Clones didn’t panic.  Clones didn’t have a goal beyond victory.

Such tendencies meant that any fight in close proximity quickly turned into a massacre for both sides. 

Master Windu was close enough now to know that one more push would lead his troops to the summit.  Another wave of battle droids was cascading down the hill, but the clones were picking them off quickly.  The line was supplemented by a contingent of super battle droids which laid down a field of fire that cut into the lines of clones and the droids that had gone before.  Clearly Grievous was making his last stand.

Windu looked up again and saw a pair of lights cutting through the smoke.  One blue, one green, the clear glowing lines of lightsabers.  He was sure that no Jedi were ahead of his position.  He realized that the moment had arrived.

Through the haze stepped the gleaming metallic foot of General Grievous.  The servos whirred as he came to face Windu directly.  The droids and clones seemed to have an inherent understanding of the situation and they fired on each other without taking any shots near the leaders.  Grievous levelled a saber at Windu.

“Welcome to Mustafar, General Windu,” Grievous said.  He stretched his arms wide.  One of them sprouted another arm.  Windu could see him ignite another saber.  Two blue, one green.  He stepped forward.

“Whoever dies here this day, you will certainly be among them,” Windu said.  “You’re too dangerous to be left alive.  But you can end this madness now.  Order your droids to stand down!”

Grievous chortled.  “After I take your lightsaber, I’ll use it to kill the last of your Jedi.”

Windu adopted a Vaapad stance and raised his lightsaber. 

In his youth, Windu had learned six forms of lightsaber combat from the instructors on Ilum.  As a fledgling Jedi Knight during the height of the Sith War, Windu had found the old forms wanting.  He saw many of his Jedi brethren slain on crimson sabers because their defensive techniques broke under the fury of the Dark Side. 

In response, Windu began to study the ways of Sith combat, to learn of weaknesses that could be exploited.  As his skills grew, Windu developed a seventh form of lightsaber combat, which his instructors regarded as too ferocious. 

Windu’s seventh form came to be known as Vaapad.  Shrouded in secrecy, he instructed only a handful of Jedi in its methods.  Using powerful attacks and overwhelming strength, Vaapad users touched the Dark Side with every fight.  The speed and brutality of the form was regarded as something of an outrage among the more aged Jedi of the time.  After the final battle on Korriban, Windu had been cautioned to abandon the use of such a dangerous method.  The feelings of hatred he had gained for the Sith tempted him towards the Dark Side that his enemy so loved.  In abandoning Vaapad, he had cleansed his soul.

Master Drallig at the Ilum Academy had refused to teach it for fear of corrupting younglings.  It was not committed to any text and had no entry in the Jedi Archives.  Even as the Clone Wars raged across the galaxy, Windu had resolved not to allow the seductive temptation to cloud his spirit.  He fought in the old styles and had survived the war with the teachings of Yoda and the great ancient Masters.

Now, as the fires of hell swarmed around him, Windu was resolved to give all he had to this final battle, even if it meant his soul.

He attacked Grievous with a ferocity that burned hotter than the magma under his feet.  The leader of the Jedi Council attacked with sweeping blows, cunning strikes.  His single, purple saber was suddenly everywhere at once.  Grievous’s pitiful defense mostly revolved around trying to put one of his weapons in the way.  Windu’s Vaapad strikes were simply stronger than the servos that powered his opponent. 

Even with the droid commander having the high ground, Windu found openings and forced the metal monster to backstep.  Windu’s whirlwind attacks transitioned perfectly into uppercutting swings.  Grievous’s programming searched the databases of saber strikes and found no matches for the incoming data.  When Windu sliced through the twin arms at Grievous’s left shoulder, the general’s central processing unit had only one directive remaining: escape.

Grievous, down to one arm and one weapon, scurried away in a rapid backtrack.  Needing to put distance and obstacles between himself and the harbinger of his doom, he used every available resource.

Windu’s hand went to shield his eyes as Grievous plunged a green lightsaber into the stone and a gash of superheated rock cut a swath between the two combatants.  As Windu watched, the crack in the stone opened wider and stretched out, putting a small chasm between the Jedi and the droid. 

Clonetroopers paused in their fire to observe the magma glow.  Bubbles formed on the surface and a stream rolled out.  Some drops caught Windu’s robe on fire and he shrugged it off and threw it away. 

Determined to give chase, Windu backstepped a few paces and prepared to leap over the gap of boiling rock.  As he took his first step forward, a blast impacted a few meters in front of him.  He stopped in his tracks and looked up. 

The blaster bolt had come from the sky.

Grievous radioed a Vulture squadron the coordinates for their target.  The command was sent with a high-priority override that deleted all other directives.  The Vulture droids’ entire existence now was committed to the destruction of that single target.

Windu looked up and saw what was to come.  He deflected a few of the incoming blaster strikes, but any Jedi could be overwhelmed.  He was surrounded by a barrage of blasts from above.  There was no escape.  His battlemind calmed.  He found the peace that Yoda had so often spoken of.

“All Jedi, this is Mace Windu.  For those who can: take the summit.  Everyone else: die well.  It’s been a…”

Three Vulture droid Starfighters slammed into the ground at a high velocity.  With guns blazing and fuel tanks full, they created a white-hot funeral pyre for the leader of the Jedi Order.  In a flash of light, Mace Windu returned to the Force.

*             *             *

Yoda winced as he felt the loss.  Master Windu’s death echoed in the Force and he could feel the heat and pain of that final moment as much as if he had been the target.  His walking stick fell to the deck of the bridge.  He put a hand on the railing to steady himself.  He had failed to preserve the peace.  He had failed to preserve life.  The Force would demand its justice.  This war had taken so much from the Jedi and he now understood that the debt had yet to be settled. 

He bore the agony in silence.  His eyes returned to the world where his beloved knights fought for all he held dear.

Deafened to his surroundings, he barely took notice of the excited call from the clone at the communications station.

“Sir, we have an incoming communication from an unidentified shuttle.  It’s ascending from the surface.  Identifying as Senator Bronick.  He claims to have the captured hostages on board and is requesting protection and permission to come aboard.”

Admiral Yularen slapped his palms together and gave a small shout of joy. 

“Excellent!  Have Thrawn deploy some T-42’s to escort them in,” the admiral said. 

Palpatine smiled as he listened to the new developments.  He quietly left the bridge.  Yularen took note and assumed that the Chancellor would be going to meet the senators as they arrived.

*             *             *

Obi-Wan’s troops moved through the burning wreckage of what was once a defensive tower.  He took the point position and tried to get his bearings.  Here at the summit, the air wasn’t as acrid, but the smoke from the explosion was stifling. 

He maneuvered the clones, trying to herd them towards the central structure of the base.  Grievous had to be there.  The end was near and he could sense it.

“Cody?” Obi-Wan called.  As the clones moved ahead, Commander Cody arrived at his hip.  He coughed and caught his breath.

“I’d appreciate it if you got a small team together to find the detention block.  The hostages…”

“General, we got word from orbit.  A shuttle made it off the surface.  Reports are that the hostages are being secured.”

Obi-Wan gave a tight smile, almost wincing, “Not all of them are away.  I can feel it.  Get a team together.”

Cody had been fighting this war long enough to know that it was ridiculous to question the instincts of a Jedi.

“I’ll take care of it, General,” Cody said.

*             *             *

With his few remaining biological components straining to function, Grievous managed to scramble all the way back to the command center.  Along the way he took note of the many breaches of his lines.  The tactical displays confirmed what he already knew.  This war was over.

With surrender not an option, he was left without a clear directive.  Lacking relevant data.  He consulted a higher authority for further input.

The hologram showed the darkened visage of his mysterious benefactor.  He tried to be deferential in his report of failure. 

“Lord Sidious, the Republic has turned our lines.  The droids are overrun.  The position cannot be held,” Grievous stated.

“A pathetic display, General.  You had so much at your disposal and now all is lost,” Sidious sneered.

“Lord Sidious, what would you have me do?” Grievous asked.

“Simple.  Die,” Palpatine said.  He pressed a button on his console, “Commodore Tarkin, fire.”

*             *             *

Anakin’s yellow Eta-2 flew passed a small Confederate shuttle that was departing from the surface.  He considered briefly chasing it down, but with the battle turning, his only concern now was securing Padme.

He found a small landing pad on the edge of the base.  It was attached to one of the few structures that wasn’t smoking or burning.  The canopy opened and he sprang out of the seat and used the Force to pull his saber into his hand.  Ahead he saw scrapped droids and dead clones.  The main structure was only a few hundred meters in front of him.  Once he was there he could…

A flash of green light crashed from the top of the sky.  In an instant, the world went white and his ears were filled with the sound of the universe collapsing. 

The orbital strike impacted the Confederate stronghold dead center.  The blast, directed from the lowest setting of the Ultralaser, obliterated the building and whatever droids remained within.  It lifted Skywalker off the ground and flung him backwards.  His flailing body crashed against the wing of his Eta-2.

The roiling of the rock underneath sent tremors through the entire planet.  Anakin’s first conscious thought as his senses came back to him was seeing the shattering of the ground all around him.  This planet was ready to crack, and so was he.

*             *             *

There was a pain in his side.  He saw spots and gasped for air.  His body was weak.  His strength was sapped.  This battle had gone on so long.  It felt so wonderful just to lie down.

Slowly it dawned on him, he was trapped under a large wall panel that had been blown away.  It took him a moment to remember.  The laser blast from the sky.  The base consumed in an explosion.  The bastards in orbit had decided to cut their losses.  The Republic had more clones, more bases, other strongholds, but he’d just witnessed the end of the Confederacy. 

The pain in his side came into focus.  He was bleeding.  A red stain that was growing on his tunic.  He diagnosed the source.  A shard of… something… he would never know for sure, had pierced his skin.  The wound would heal, with time and rest. 

Wounded, buried, exhausted, Obi-Wan did what he had always done.  He called upon the Force.

A bubble of energy spread out from his body.  It carried away the various debris that trapped him.  As the shockwave dispursed, his boots crunched down on top of a pile of rubble.  So much for being trapped. 

He was able to stanch the bleeding.  His face was caked with dust.  His head ached.  His skin was singed.  He was deafened by the crackle of a thousand fires.  He took a survey of the area. 

Ahead of him was a massive crater, at the center were small pieces of the structure he’d fought so hard to reach.  At his side were a slab of dead clones.  The armor that protected them was nothing compared to the defenses he naturally bore.

He looked down the ridgeline and realized that the Force was not all powerful.

In various reaches, he saw the bodies of Jedi strewn about the mountain.  In amongst the dead clones were a litany of Jedi corpses.  His heart ached.  The order was so few already.  Would they ever recover?  Would it even matter?

The devastation was not absolute.  A few stragglers were faltering aimlessly down the hill.  A few clones had survived behind cover, but generally, most of the warriors who had fought on this mountain would never leave it.  Being on his feet, he began to think beyond the moment.  There were still things to do.

*             *             *

Anakin’s steps were guided by instinct.  Directed by anger.  Led by regret.  So much of this nightmare could have been avoided.  It was no matter anymore.  All that mattered were what was ahead.  Padme, escape, peace.  He would see them all before he rested again. 

He held his saber at the ready, unlit, but in position.  He was the most recent arrival to this planet and he knew enough to be wary. 

The ground gave under his foot and he jumped back in pain.  The stone that had supported him slipped away and drowned in a bubble of magma.  The molten core of this place wanted out and he knew that time would not be an ally.  Everything here would shortly die in a river of flame. 

As he passed the burnt out remnants of a structure, he heard a wheezing.  It was a sign of life, which was a rarity to be sure on this mountain.  The Force told him that this was not Padme, but life was still worth something.

He summited a craggy peak of wreckage and looked down over the crest.  In the ash, he saw the architect of his anguish.

Grievous’s droidworks held together a semblance of life within his steel frame.  His biological components groaned, longing for death.  All programming functions had ended with the blast of the orbital strike, but subroutines kept his lungs functioning and gave power to his servos and gears.  Still, the blast had sapped him of whatever reserves had remained from the fight with Master Windu. 

His motors churned uselessly, lacking power.  Anakin could see the torso rising and falling in regular patterns as a moment passed.  One set of arms was gone.  One leg was separated from the main body.  Mechanical fluid soaked the dry stone under the droid. 

Anakin sneered, impatient at the pace that fate had chosen.  Grievous would die, surely, but Anakin would not wait. 

Without a word, without a second thought, he reached out and lifted the bioloid general off the ground.  The powerpack within apparently had enough charge left to flail a bit, stunned at any outside interaction. 

Anakin lifted Grievous up one final time, to show him the carnage he had wrought.  He wanted the last vision of his miserable existence to be the wreckage of his once proud army, and the ruins of his mighty citadel.

Using the Force, he delicately rotated the body to face him, showing the ruins of the base.  Instead, Grievous’s eyes cast downward, to his final tormentor.

“Sky…walker,” he coughed, barely able to get the word out.

Before he could say anything more, Anakin extended both hands towards the body and ripped Grievous in half, shredding his frame down the center. 

Thus ended the Clone Wars. 

*             *             *

Obi-Wan stumbled forward.  He hesitated to admit being lost, but the heat from ground zero beckoned him, in lieu of a beacon.  The smoldering crater was worth a look.  He could feel the heat from the molten lava on his face.  The air rippled ahead.  He wanted some proof of Grievous’s end.  He needed to know if any other Jedi survived.  There were so few goals left in his life.  He couldn’t bear to walk away from this one at such a point.

“Obi-Wan!” a voice shouted down at him.  He stopped dead in his tracks. 

Two figures, side-by-side in the middle distance.  A frumpy man trudged over the terrain, barely managing.  Alongside stood the most beautiful woman Obi-Wan had ever seen.

His heart lept.  So did his hand.  He raced ahead, desperate to reach her.

“Padme!” he shouted.  She sprinted for him.  She seemed all right.  Better than he.  Owen looked like toasted death.  No doubt he’d had a rough go of it.  Not for the first time, Obi-Wan admired his devotion to duty. 

His arms opened wide and she crashed into him at a full run.  Feeling her wrap around him was like going home.  She melted into his chest and he squeezed her, trying to make sure she wasn’t a pleasant vision from his dying mind.  Her skin on his told him all he knew. 

She held him close and kept the universe at bay for a moment.  Somehow, he found the strength to let her go.  Her feet came to the ground, but her hands held on to his tunic. 

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’ll live,” he said. 

“Anakin?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he told her.

“Did the others get out?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he repeated.

She looked back over her shoulder.  Owen swung a blaster rifle around, keeping an eye out for danger.

“Get away from here.  Away from this place.  Away from this planet.  They didn’t want survivors.  You should run,” Obi-Wan told her.

“What about you?” she asked.  He drowned in her eyes for a beat.

“I’ll be close behind.  I have to see if any can be saved,” he said, nodding out to the battleground.

 “Come with us,” she said.

“I can’t,” he said.

“Come with us,” she repeated.

“I’ll follow,” he said.

She nodded.  She pulled him in and kissed him.  Everything else faded, then returned.

“Padme,” he said.

She nodded.  “Find Anakin.  Find me.”

“Go.”

Her touch lingered as she stepped away.  Owen pointed her towards a shuttle with a cracked wing.  It was dicey, but Obi-Wan had a good feeling.  They would be able to make their escape. 

*             *             *

From a rampart, Anakin looked down on the scene.  It made his blood boil.  He could see his beloved, his wife, his purpose, embracing her lover.  Their fusion told him all he needed to know.  Whatever passion they shared still burned in her heart.  Her concealment was more than a coquettish game.  Padme would never be solely his. 

Obi-Wan had sinned against the Jedi Code just as he had.  That much could not be in dispute.  He considered ending it.  An ambush, cutting down the pair of them on his saber before they could hurt him anymore.  It was a thought that had some merit. 

With one blow, he could start anew.  The Chancellor had assured him a seat of power.  He could remake the galaxy and his own life.  But, despite his rage, he knew that nothing would fill the place in his heart that Padme had carved out. 

He saw her depart, fleeing into the shadows, doubtless looking for an escape.  Obi-Wan did not join her.  All the better.  There was a matter to discuss with him.

Calling upon the Force with a new fervor, he leapt from the rampart.  His feet slammed into the stone with such a blow that the echo boomed like a thunderbolt.

Obi-Wan turned to face him.  Anakin, despite the horrors, despite the indignities, felt a smile cross his face.  In losing everything that mattered he had gained what had eluded him all of his life: freedom.

He spoke, “I wasn’t sure why you betrayed me… until now.”

“Anakin, I don’t know what you saw, but…”

“How many more lies?!” Anakin asked.  His voice raised in righteous anger. 

Obi-Wan shut his mouth.

“You sat there in judgement.  After all you had done!  As they cast me out for a crime we shared.  Did you say a thing to stop it?  You stole my glory.  You stole my love.  And you did it all in the cloak of a friend.”

“Anakin, I…”

“Where did you send her?!” Anakin growled.

“I didn’t send her anywhere.  I told her to run.”

“The order is gone!  Windu and the others are dead.  She is all either of us have left.   I will burn this galaxy to ash before I ever let you take her from me.  You will tell me where you’ve sent her or I will strike you down.”

“Nothing I could do to you would compare to what you’ve done to yourself.  Look at you, Anakin.  You’ve destroyed everything you once held dear.  I betrayed you?  You betrayed us all!  I loved a woman, yes.  It was a weakness, yes.  But I didn’t abandon every one of my ideals!”

Obi-Wan gave him a look.  He remembered it well.  It was a look he had used since his first days of training, when the obvious answer had eluded Anakin.  The memory of that disappointed frown went to Anakin’s core.  There was a time he would have found it devastating.  That time had passed.

Anakin laughed, “It’s so clear now.  I understand.  I see now why you all kept me down.  Our old enemy: Fear.  They knew what I could become if I ever stopped listening to their lies.  Look at what I have done.  I ended Maul.  I ended Grievous.  I unleashed my anger and I ended the war.”

Obi-Wan scoffed, “Oh, you ended the war, did you?  Look around you, Anakin.  You’re standing in a sea of dead Jedi!”

“Jedi that will never stand in my way again!  With my anger, I found my strength.  Through my strength, I gained power.  Through power, I gained victory.  The Force set me free.  I’m done with you.  The Chancellor is done with you.  The galaxy is done with you.  But for all the lies, all the deceptions, I shall have my vengeance.”

Anakin lit his azure blade and levelled it at his former Master.

With endless regret, Obi-Wan brought his own to bear.  Nothing could stop what was to come. 

Anakin aimed a blow at Obi-Wan’s neck.  Kenobi countered with a diagonal block.  It felt so familiar.  The clash of sabers, the footwork.  All of it practiced endlessly over half a lifetime of brotherhood.  They knew each others forms and movements as one knows the feel of a homestead.  Attack, parry, riposte, counter.  Obi-Wan wondered if the motions would have been any different if they’d been blindfolded.  Anakin’s attacks were heavy, as always.  Obi-Wan’s defenses were precise and sweeping.  This would be a private war of attrition, and Obi-Wan was exhausted.

He swung high, trying to use Anakin’s tactics against him.  Anakin countered with a sharp cutting motion, ending the threat.

The first guard he’d taught him.

Obi-Wan pulled back and watched Anakin’s feet, trying to find a way out of this.  Anakin in a flash extended his saber in a fearsome rush.

The thrust that he’d used on Malastare.

Obi-Wan hadn’t the time to block so he’d simply dodged the incoming blade.  The hum of Anakin’s lightsaber was loud in his ear as he spun away.  The motion of his twirl allowed him to bring his own blade for Anakin’s side.

The parry that Anakin had invented on Corellia.

The crackle of the blades as Anakin countered the move.  That sweeping downward cut that he’d used on the assassin at the shipyard.  Obi-Wan had been impressed that night. 

The beautiful mastery of Form IV.

With a sweeping set of uppercutting slashes, Anakin twirled his saber, trying to take Obi-Wan with a slash through his heart.  Obi-Wan managed to lean out of the path of the blade, but stumbled, losing his balance.  He used a hand to steady himself on the ground, taking a three point stance and shoved Anakin back to buy time.  He winced.  The ground was hot.  He shook his hand, trying to cool it as he recovered his footwork.

Qui-Gon’s high defense posture.

Anakin took Qui-Gon’s high guard, the elbows up, knees bent, sword pointed at the sky.  Obi-Wan had passed on the lesson without ever thinking it would be used against him.  The Hawk-bat guard wasn’t often used by Jedi, but Qui-Gon had mastered it and Anakin had done the same to honor his memory.

The footwork that he’d perfected through years of practice….

Obi-Wan might have been proud had he not been fighting for his life.  Anakin had surpassed him in every way in lightsaber combat.  He moved between forms as easily as he breathed.  His blade was an instrument of his will.  And Obi-Wan noted that the blows had somehow become heavier than before.  The added power of the Dark Side channeled into Anakin’s arms. 

Obi-Wan considered surrendering to the inevitable.  He was running out of reasons to go on.

Three slashes, each one closer than the last put Obi-Wan back on his heels.  He tumbled over a rock, fell, rolled and popped up on his feet.  Even Anakin was surprised by the recovery.  Obi-Wan saw an opening and sent a hard thrust towards Anakin’s shoulder, slashing his oldest friend across the upper arm. 

Skywalker put his mechanical hand on the wound.  It was a shallow slash, but Obi-Wan could feel his pain through the Force.  Their connection might be frayed, but it could never disappear. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Anakin.”

“Then die.”

Anakin charged at him, a river of anger pushing him forward.  The attack could not be opposed but it could be deflected.  Obi-Wan ducked and reached out with the Force.  As Anakin slashed empty air, Obi-Wan used his own momentum against him.  The younger Jedi’s feet lost purchase and he landed in a heap a few feet away.  He was stunned by the impact on the hot rocks.  The ground was hot enough now to sear his cheek.

Obi-Wan turned his back, hoping against hope that he might avoid a fatal end to this fight.  Anakin roared as he picked himself up off the ground.  Getting to his feet, he charged at the retreating Obi-Wan, lifting his saber one last time to strike down his old Master.

Obi-Wan sighed, at peace with what had to be done.  There would be no end where both of them walked away.  The Force told him all he needed to know about the attack that was incoming.

At the critical moment he shifted his weight, moving backwards and turning his body slightly, bracing his feet. 

Anakin’s charge brought him hard into Obi-Wan’s shoulder.  The blow shocked the air out of Anakin’s lungs.  He gasped for oxygen as his arms flew out ahead of Obi-Wan.  For an instant, he was limp on the shoulder of his mentor.

Obi-Wan, with an ache in his heart, shifted his saber, tucking the blade between his arm and torso.  He drove the glowing weapon into Anakin’s chest.  He could feel the tip of his blade exit Anakin’s back.  As with all lightsaber wounds, there was no blood, but Obi-Wan felt a rush of sympathy for his former pupil.

To end the threat once and for all, he grabbed the lightsaber from Anakin’s hand.  The boy was in such pain that it fell easily from his grasp.  Obi-Wan rolled away from the position, swiping Anakin’s lit blade low, chopping Skywalker’s legs off just below the knee.

In a heap, Anakin landed once again on the pumiced stone of Mustafar.  For a moment, everything stopped.  The wheeze from his non-functioning lung robbed him of the air he needed to scream, but the silence was broken all the same. 

Despite the defeat, Anakin’s anger had not faded.  Obi-Wan turned to find his old Padawan using his hands, one mechanical, one flesh, to pull himself along the ground, desperate to strike a blow, any blow, against Obi-Wan.  The anger that lit his eyes seemed to melt the rock he crawled over.

Anakin grabbed an object from the small of his back.  Obi-Wan recognized it as the double-bladed lightsaber formerly carried by Darth Maul. 

In futility, he lit one of the blades and flung the handle at Obi-Wan.  The elder Jedi rolled his shoulder and watched the crimson missile fly past.  He took one last look at Anakin, who collapsed for the final time.

Around him, a roar rose up as the ground cracked yet again.  Jagged glowing red lines ripped through the bedrock in random places.  Mustafar was ready to claim her dead. 

He deactivated the lightsabers.  His own, and the one he had taught Anakin to build.  He put both on his belt at his hip.  The boy would have no more need of his. 

The incoherent cry of rage died in the thermals of the rippling atmosphere.  Obi-Wan could not face his old friend any longer.  Anakin Skywalker was dead.

No tears came.  All he could do was walk away. 

*             *             *

Yoda entered the stateroom slowly.  Palpatine’s summons had been his only distraction from the pain he felt at the loss of so many Jedi.

The Supreme Chancellor sat on a black leather chair.  Behind him, a screen showed the broiling surface of the planet below.  Palpatine sipped a drink and nodded to his newly arrived guest.  “Master Yoda, thank you for seeing me.  The time has come for us to discuss where to go from here.  The Republic has been saved, but your order is lost.  I fear that the Jedi are too few in number to have any significant presence.” 

Yoda rested on his walking stick, “Fallen, Jedi have.  Endure, the Force does.  Time…”

“Time is a luxury the Republic can no longer spare.  Safety and order must take precedence or another catastrophic conflict may yet engulf us all.  Steps must be taken to ensure stability.  To ensure that the Republic does not succumb to the same fate as the Jedi.”

Yoda frowned as he regarded the politician, letting the theatrics play out.  Palpatine continued.

“To that end, upon my return to Coruscant, I shall call for the creation of a strong, Galactic Empire.  With the extinction of the Jedi…”

“Extinct, the Jedi are not.”

“Oh, Master Yoda, look out at that world of death and ruin.  I would wager that there are no more Jedi left than there are Sith.”

“Know, you would, of Sith strength, Darth Sidious.”

A broad smile came over Palpatine’s face.  “Plagueis would be overjoyed to know you alone survived to see his final order carried out.”

“Gone, Plagueis is.”

“Know, you would, of that, Master Jedi.  I believe it was your blade that skewered him so long ago, was it not?  Back when your blood ran hotter?  Your knights slew every Sith that ever walked on Korriban.”

“Except one,” Yoda said.

“Except one,” Palpatine agreed.  “Plagueis was a calculating Master.  He had not the hubris of the Jedi.  He knew defeat may visit anyone.  So, before that ghastly, final battle, he sent one young apprentice away with a single, final order. 

“Revenge.”

Palpatine steepled his fingers and his grin broadened, “And through victory my chains are broken.” 

He paused for effect, the sly tongue of a politician, “Master Yoda, for your crimes against the Sith, for the destruction of my people, I sentence you… to live.  To bear witness to the final revenge of the Sith and take your last breath as a subject in my new empire.  Depart this vessel in peace, my friend.  I wish you a long life in the shadows.”

Yoda nodded, turning to leave the stateroom, “Wise, Plagueis was.  Remember his lesson, I will.”

Palpatine raised a brow at the departing wizard, “Which lesson is that, Master Jedi?”

“Defeat may visit anyone.”

*             *             *

They’d just barely made it past the blockade in this stolen enemy shuttle.  They had opted against trying to explain themselves to the Republic pickets and instead made a break for hyperspace.  Now, with the glow of starlight filling the cockpit, they were relatively safe.

Owen shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  It was designed for the thin frame of a droid and his size and flesh were not included in the engineering concerns. 

Padme came forward and sat in the chair next to his. 

“How’s it look?” he asked her.

“A water tank and some food, a couple days worth.  More if we ration it,” she replied.

“You think we’ll need to?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she sighed.  A hand went to her forehead.  She shuddered for a moment, then recovered, “We’re going to need a safe harbor.”

“Something tells me we can’t just fly back to Corsucant like nothing has happened,” Owen said.

“The Senate will want Palpatine to give up his war powers now.  I don’t think he’ll be very receptive,” Padme said.

“Well, half the galaxy will take your call.  Where do you want to go?”

“Bail,” Padme said.

“His little privateer band?” Owen said.

“It’s perfect.  He’s got resources and he’s family.  We’ll need both,” Padme said.

“You’re the boss,” Owen said, pressing a few buttons to let her access the communications equipment.

Padme pulled up the frequencies her brother used.  With all the havoc the men in her life had created, she wondered if joining her brother would bring more madness.  It was a risk she would have to take.

* * *

Obi-Wan settled into the tight seat of Anakin’s Eta-2 as the ship lifted off.  He made one pass over the battlefield.  The bubbling cauldron of lava at the summit began to overflow.  In random rivulets, lava dripped down the mountain.  Nothing would live on that peak for millennia.  He aimed for the stars and departed this wretched rock, never to return.

Frustration tightened his grip as he pushed the starfighter out of the atmosphere.  The tears finally came.  Slow and faltering, but he could hold them back no longer. 

In his mind, he heard a voice call out to him.  A being of endless empathy.  Yoda came to his thoughts.

“Young Kenobi, so glad am I, to see you well,” Yoda said.

“Master Yoda.  The battle.  Anakin.  We lost everything.  I lost… everything,” Obi-Wan said.

“Have you, indeed?” Yoda asked.

“Anakin has turned on us.  He attacked me.  I could feel the Dark Side within him.  I left him… I left him down there.  He was wounded and I…” the pain silenced him.  Tears streamed down his face now.

“Survived, you did, young Kenobi.  Needed, you are,” Yoda said.  “Revealed himself, the final Sith has.”

Obi-Wan’s muscles clenched.  Suddenly he knew.

“Palpatine?” he asked.

“Blinded was I.  A fool to fear weapons more than words,” Yoda said.

“What shall we do?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Slowly we have fallen.  Careful we must be, when rising again,” Yoda said.

“I don’t understand,” Obi-Wan replied.

“An ally of time, we must make.  Long is the path out of darkness,” Yoda said.

“And leave the galaxy to the Sith?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Patience we need now.  Rest, young Kenobi.  Done with you, the Force is not,” Yoda said.

Obi-Wan felt Yoda’s presence fade.  Unsure if he could still be heard, Obi-Wan spoke the only words he had left, “May the Force be with you.”

* * *

From his stateroom, Chancellor Palpatine watched as one of the sweeper teams combed through the wreckage of the battlefield.  The lead soldier was equipped with a camera that sent a live image to his room.  Most of what could be seen was death, heat and ruin, but Palpatine was not one to leave anything to chance.

He sipped another Starlight Brandy as the reports came in of the various Jedi who were confirmed dead.  His smile grew larger with each name he heard.  His mission fulfilled, his reward ready for the taking, he sank into the chair and enjoyed the moment.

“Sir, we have something,” the team leader said.

“Oh?” Palpatine called out, addressing the screen in front of him.

“It’s… Commander Skywalker!  He’s… oh no…”

Palpatine watched as the team leader approached Anakin’s body.  The skin was charred, burnt beyond recognition.  Had it not been for the uniform, it would have been impossible to identify.  The hair was burnt away.  The legs severed.  A hole through his chest and scarring on his face.  Somehow, the body moved slightly, causing the team to jump back in shock.

Palpatine leaned closer to see.  He radioed the team, “Captain, recover that body and have it secured in bacta immediately,” Palpatine said.

“Yes, sir.  Should we continue the search for other survivors?”

“Clearly there are no other survivors.  That body is now your highest priority.  Do you understand, Captain?”

“Yes, sir,” then to his team, “Let’s move out.”

Palpatine watched them load what was left of Skywalker’s body into a medical unit.  If any Jedi still drew breath, the volcanic fires of that planet would ensure that they died screaming.  This thought pleased Palpatine as he downed the last of his glass.

* * *

Following the assault on Aldera City at the outset of the Clone Wars, Bail Organa, Prince of Alderaan, had broken the most sacred covenant of the house of Organa and went to war.  While a decade previously his sister Padme had taken up arms to retake the city, that matter had been one of defense.  Bail had gone on the attack.

Absconding away from Aldera under the cover of darkness, he’d hijacked his own royal liner, sold it for a hefty profit and used the gains to outfit a Corellian blockade runner.  His loyal security guards had become his crew.

Using the ship and a small squadron of six N-1 starfighters, Organa had begun to raid Confederate commerce vessels, attempting to disrupt enemy supply lines.  For these actions, the Republic Senate had granted Bail Organa a letter of marque and reprisal, unleashing him upon the spacelanes as a hired corsair. 

From small beginnings, his fleet had grown.  Assistance from the people of the Republic was vital for its survival.  A delegation from the besieged oceans of Mon Calamari had provided an MC28 light carrier.  The Feeorin council had donated a squadron of Z-95 Headhunters.  A group of Klatoonian outlaws had joined him to volunteer as boarding parties, rather than face criminal justice.  In his darkest hour, the good citizens of the Tantive system sent supply ships laden with food and weapons.  Organa had renamed his flagship in their honor.

Amidst the toils of war, the young political idealist had become a grizzled military commander.  He’d traded a life of privilege for the sweat and sacrifice of a military command.  For the last four years, he’d been gathering vessels, fighters, and money.  And now reports had been coming in that the war that he’d devoted himself to was ended.

“Lieutenant, what do we have?” Bail asked as he made his way onto the bridge.

“Message on your personal line, sir,” the young lieutenant said.  “Identification as your sister.”  The gravelly voice always hit him strangely.  He had to remember that Lt. Ackbar’s voice was best heard underwater.

“Padme called?  Is she okay?” he asked.

“She asked for our coordinates and wants to rendezvous with the fleet,” Ackbar said.

“Yeah, yeah, send her our position,” Bail said.  “Put her through to the handset,” he ordered.

Ackbar nodded to a technician at the communications station.  Bail picked up the handset by his chair. 

“Padme?” he asked.

“Bail?  Yes, it’s me,” Padme said. 

“So good to hear from you!  Are you okay?” he asked.

“Not exactly.  We need safe harbor.”

“You’ve got it.  We’re sending coordinates to you now.  Do you need fighters to escort you in?” he asked.

“No, we can make it.  Navicomputer says we can get to you in a few hours,” Padme said.

“We’ll be ready,” Bail said.

“One more thing,” Padme said.

“Yeah?  What do you need?” Bail said.

“There are two Jedi I want you to find.  Let them know where to find me,” she said.

“Who are they?”

“Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she said.

*             *             *

Padme and Owen came through the docking port and Bail wrapped his sister in a great hug.  After the pleasantries were exchanged, Padme asked about her Jedi.

“Were you able to reach Obi-Wan and Anakin?” she asked.

“We reached Kenobi and he’s on his way.  We hailed the comlink frequency for Skywalker but got no reply,” Bail said.

Padme looked grim, “That’s not good.”

“What would you like to do?” Bail asked.

“I need to contact my office on Coruscant.  He might try to reach me through there,” Padme said.

“This way,” Bail said.

As they arrived in the communications room, a technician gave a mild salute and addressed the group.  “Commander, there’s an incoming transmission from Coruscant.”

“Republic Command is calling us?” Bail asked.

“No, sir.  This is the holonet.  It’s a galaxy-wide broadcast.”

“Put it on screen,” Bail said.

Padme and Owen stood by Bail as the transmission came up.  The view was of Palpatine speaking to the assembled body of the Senate in one of Coruscant’s great arenas.  At this point, the Chancellor was already mid-speech.

“The final battle of Mustafar came with a horrible cost.  The loss of the Jedi Order will be forever felt by the citizens of the galaxy.  In our grief, we must look to each other for strength.  We must become our own defense against those who would threaten peace and order.  Therefore, I hereby call for the formation of the first Galactic Empire!  An empire of law!  An empire of strength!  An empire that will preserve peace and order for millennia to come!”

Padme shut her eyes as she heard the throngs of Senators cheering. 

“Turn it off,” she said.

Bail nodded and the transmission cut out.

Padme turned to Owen, “There’s no going back.”

Owen nodded.

“I’m sorry about your nightclub,” she added.

A moment settled over the group as they pondered the end of the Republic.  Padme wiped a tear from her eyes before she spoke. 

“Bail, whatever you served before is gone,” Padme said.

“I serve justice and decency and freedom.  The Republic may die, but those things will not.  We’ll go on as we have,” Bail said.

She nodded, “Then I will join you.”

Bail smiled, filled with pride.  He hugged his sister close and turned to Owen, “Mister Lars, what say you?  Will you join us?”

Owen grimaced and shook his head, “No more uniforms.”

Padme watched him walk away.  A piece of her heart went with him.

*             *             *

In the hangar, Bail gave his final instructions to the agent that would retrieve Padme’s secrets. 

“The shuttle will drop you off on Batuu.  You’ll have to make your way to Coruscant by civilian travel.  You’ve been given the list of what needs to be recovered.  Once you have the data, get a message to Garm Bel Iblis and we’ll send coordinates where you’ll be retrieved.”

The agent gave a low whistle of surprise as he processed these orders.

“You’ve had much more difficult espionage missions before, but Coruscant will be on high alert during the transition.  I’m sending you because you’re the best.  But be very careful.  We cannot afford to lose you.”

Bail watched his best spy board the nondescript shuttle on two metallic legs.  Bail gave a wave to the pilot in the cockpit and watched the little vessel depart.

*             *             *

Obi-Wan felt a clank as the little Eta-2 settled onto a landing pad within the Tantive IV.  The larger ship had swallowed his little Starfighter into a small ventral bay.  He shut down the fighter as the bay filled with air.  Obi-Wan tried to center himself, wanting more than anything not to have the conversation that had to take place.

A door at the front of the room slid open and he climbed out of the cockpit.  Padme and Owen came in, accompanied by her brother Bail.  Padme at the center of the trio wasted no time on pleasantries. 

“Where is Anakin?”

“Padme,” Obi-Wan said.

“Palpatine is saying the Jedi have been wiped out.”

“That may be true,” Obi-Wan said.  Padme flinched.

“Did you find him?” she asked.  Her voice raised, taking an edge.

Obi-Wan nodded.

“What happened?” she asked again.

“Padme… he died.  He died… saving my life,” Obi-Wan said.

He watched her eyes as her heart broke.

“No.  No, that can’t be true,” she said.  The tears starting to come.

“Padme,” he said.

“No, no, no,” she said, starting to weep.  He opened his arms and she fell into them.  He tried to shield her from the weight of the universe collapsing in on her. 

*             *             *

The universe was milky blue.  Everything tingled.  A dim light came from below.  He could not see anything, but there seemed to be nothing to see.  In the darkness, voices were speaking.  He could not understand them.  Everything tingled.  He drifted off, letting the darkness take him again.  Sleep was safe.  There would be time for things later.

A shock rippled through his flesh.  Electric and sharp.  It came from everywhere at once.  He couldn’t pinpoint the source.  He screamed.  No sound came.  He realized that something was in his mouth.  He didn’t know what it was, but it was hard and cold.  The universe seemed to be attacking him.  The voices came back.  He still could not hear them.  Why would they not let him sleep?

A new force entered the universe.  It tugged his head towards where his feet used to be.  He remembered having feet.  Not anymore.  He remembered this force.  It was gravity.  It pulled him through the universe now.  He could not stop it.

A gush of blue liquid flooded the deck of the medical bay as the bacta tank emptied.  What was left of the body of Anakin Skywalker was carried out of the tank by the flow.  In a heap, the body landed with a heavy thud on the cold, grated deck. 

He screamed.  The sensations on his skin went from a mild tingle to a scorching burn.  Air had not touched his skin before.  His body was pale white.  The bacta had regrown what it could, but the shock of sensation on new nerve endings was nothing short of agony.  He flailed hard, trying to find a target for his pain and rage.  None presented itself.

A collection of droid arms scooped up his body.  Each one presented a new and agonizing burn on his new skin.  Anything that wasn’t bacta would create pain.  He screamed in anger now and used his mind to snap one of the offending arms in half.  As it withdrew, a new one came to take its place.  He relented to the inevitable and grunted and groaned as the metal limbs deposited his body on some platform that also tormented him.  He reached out with his senses, trying to find the source of his pain. 

The steel panel in the ceiling reflected the light.  He could see himself for the first time since he woke up.  His body only had one full limb.  A single arm remained.  His legs were little more than stumps.  His face was cracked.  Angry scars where the rocks had seared his body when he hit the ground.  He remembered the rocks.

There was a hole in his chest.  On the right side, through the lung.  He could see the table’s surface through the hole.  He realized that it was very hard to breathe.  He could taste smoke.

A medical droid hovered over him and injected something into his neck.  Whatever it was, it gave him what he wanted most.  Sleep.  He did not resist.

*             *             *

As he had for the past two weeks, Threepio dutifully stood at the reception desk and waited for anything to happen.  He heard the chime that announced the start of office hours.  For many days now, that chime had been his only interaction with any other system.  The Senator was still listed as missing and unaccounted for.  No reports had come in regarding her status.  Absent any orders, he simply waited for further instructions that never came.

The slightest noise was practically deafening after such an interminable silence.  He snapped to startled attention when the little astromech droid rolled in to the office.

“Hello, I am C-3PO, Human-cyborg relations.  This is the auxiliary office of Senator Padme Organa.  How may I serve you?”

The little blue droid hooted and chirped.  He understood perfectly.

“How nice to meet you, R2-D2.  How may I help you today?”

The astromech gave another series of clicks and whistles.  He was sure he had misheard.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Threepio said.

The droid repeated his last, with some added phrases.

“What mission?  What are you talking about?” Threepio asked.

The droid gave some more information that he found to be shocking.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to access that information without authorization.”

The droid sputtered a rather rude reply.

“And I’m supposed to just believe you have been sent by the Senator without proof?” Threepio said.

The little blue astromech activated a hologram.  On the desk, a small, perfect image of the Senator appeared and spoke.

“Threepio, it’s Padme.  I’ve been unavoidably delayed and I need your help.  Follow the instructions of this astromech.  Trust him completely and all will be well.  Thank you for your service.”

The blue light faded and Threepio’s internal sensors verified that the hologram was not a forgery.

“Oh, well, in that case, you can begin the download immediately,” the gold protocol droid said.

R2-D2 wheeled himself around the reception desk and Threepio stepped aside to present the appropriate data port.  The astromech droid plugged in to the system and began a download of the Senator’s most sensitive files.  Coupled with each download was a deletion command, wiping the system of dangerous data.  Within moments, R2-D2 became the sole repository for Padme Organa’s lists of anti-Palpatine senators, unofficial Republic freedom fighters, proposed post-war amendments to the Republic’s constitution, and backchannel diplomatic and fundraising sources.

With a final scan to make sure that all systems had been wiped and secured, R2-D2 concluded his espionage retrieval subroutine.  He then activated the next part of his programming.

An arm extended from the astromech’s body.  The restraining bolt, pulled by magnetic force, attached itself to Threepio’s back above the center wiring access.  The protocol droid never saw it coming. 

A beat passed.  The light in Threepio’s eyes faded out, then began to blink quickly.  A moment passed as the systems rebooted.  The droid came online and the lights were restored to full brightness.

“Hello, I am C-3PO.  Human-cyborg relations.  I am now active,” Threepio said.

R2 did a scan and found that the protocol droid had suffered no ill effects from the mind wipe.

“Who might you be?” Threepio asked.

R2 reintroduced himself.

“R2-D2, a pleasure to meet you.”

R2 gently informed him that they would be departing.

“Oh a journey.  How wonderful.  Where are we going?” Threepio asked.

A few clicks and whistles more.

“A starship.  That sounds quite exciting.” Threepio said.

R2-D2 began to roll towards the door.  Threepio dutifully followed, having no reason to do anything else.  Together the droids headed for the dockyards to make their way off Coruscant.

*             *             *

It had been a small blessing that the Tantive IV was vastly undercrewed.  While it meant that many of the ship’s systems were unattended, it also allowed for comfortable quarters for both crew and guests.

Padme sipped on a cup of infused tea and looked out at the trickles of starlight that streamed in.  All of those points of light were so grand and vast and yet from here, they gave barely enough light to see her saucer.  A light tone beeped from the door console.  She hit a button and the entrance slid open. 

She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.  Jedi perception often paled in comparison to a woman’s intuition. 

“Obi-Wan,” she said, not turning from the canvas of stars out her window.

“Padme,” he said, not quite sure of what else to say.

She turned and nodded to a chair.  He sat and so did she.  She’d managed to scrounge up some non-military gear in the ship’s stores and now sat in nightclothes that were comfortable if inelegant.

“I don’t need another apology,” she said.

“I know.  I didn’t come for that.”

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“I want to understand,” he said.

“Understand what?”

“Why you chose him and not me,” Obi-Wan said.

Padme sighed.  For all their focus on connection, Jedi were often such fools in the ways of interaction. 

“You wanted the order more than you wanted me,” Padme said.

“Anakin…” he began.

“Anakin chose me.  You chose the order.  It’s that simple.  I never stopped loving you, but Anakin never made me compete.  I never had to doubt his love,” she said.

A beat passed.  She could feel his turmoil.  He had no idea what to say.

“Padme,” he started.

She held up a hand and cut him off, “I’m not a consolation prize.  I can’t give you back what you lost.  And you can’t give me back what I’ve lost.”

A moment of silence fell over the two of them. 

“When did you…” Obi-Wan let the question hang.

“You remember when you rescued me from that derelict in the Noval system?”

“It was only a few weeks ago,” Obi-Wan said.

“It seems like a lifetime,” Padme said.  She looked away, like she could watch the time streaming by.

“I remember the night that followed,” Obi-Wan said bringing her back to reality.

She kept her tone level, “I married him as soon as I got back to Coruscant.”

Obi-Wan gave a barely perceptible nod, “I see.” 

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he said.

She took another sip.  The cup fell from her hand.  It hit the floor and smashed into an explosion of ceramic.  She barely noticed.

She looked at him.  Her face was pale.  Her head was swimming.

“Obi-Wan?… I don’t feel so…”

Padme’s voice was laced with a confusion that he knew well.  He’d heard it so many times in the last moments of dying Jedi.  He caught her as she fell from the chair.  He cradled her body before it hit the floor.  She was out before he could say a word.

He activated the nearest console, putting out a call to the entire ship, “I need a medical droid, now!”

*             *             *

“The lung is scorched.  Even the one we could save is barely functional.  The cybernetics seem to have stabilized the shock,” the droid said.

“Will he live?” came the reply.  The voice was husky, ancient, familiar. 

“The suit is functioning.  It will keep him alive, though further augmentations will be required,” the droid said.

 “Survival itself is sufficient.  He will have no use for comforts,” the man said. 

“With the compounds you prescribed, coupled with the armor, he will be extremely formidable.  Very little will threaten him, save the functioning of the suit itself.  Would you like us to remove him from stasis, Emperor?” the droid said.

“Proceed.”

Red light filled his eyes.  His vision was enhanced now.  He had arms again.  And legs.  He could even move them a bit.  They didn’t respond as he would want, but they did respond.  His head was encased in a helmet that controlled all inputs.  Sensor probes penetrated his skin in many areas.  He could feel them pricking various places on his body.  The wretched pain that had consumed his previous consciousness was now dulled.  He could feel an armored glove on his remaining hand.  He took a breath.  The smoky taste in his mouth was gone, replaced with an antiseptic tinge.  The armor hissed and whirred as air moved into his frame.  He could hear the ominous exchange of oxygen.

He took a step, his first in the new body.  The legs were awkward, but he could get used to them.  He shuffled forward and something failed to cooperate.  He fell to a knee.  The black armor protected him.  He didn’t feel a thing.

A moment to breathe.  The mask kept the air flowing.  Flow was comforting.  He could feel blood in the stumps of his limbs.  He could feel air in his chest.  He could feel the Force. 

He was alive.

He swung his chin up.  Through the lenses that filtered his world, he saw an old man in a long black robe standing before him.  The man seemed skeptical, almost displeased.  The elder spoke, each word ejected into the void with a patient precision. 

“From this moment forward, you are a stone.  Unbreakable.  Immovable… and resolute.  Anakin Skywalker is dead.  The Jedi who cast him out are but ash.  Where the Jedi betrayed you, the Sith have given you life.  Through the power of the Dark Side you have been forged into an instrument of vengeance.  Embrace your new destiny as a Dark Lord of the Sith.  Rise, my apprentice, and speak your name unto me.”

It came back to him in a flood.  The power, the pain, the betrayals.  He remembered everything.  Instantly he understood.  Anakin Skywalker was dead.  This new life that flowed within him would serve something greater than the Jedi.  His anger swelled.  Wrath surged through his veins.  He felt the room around him tremble with the hatred he now controlled.  The Dark Side would sustain him.  Forged in fire and powerful beyond measure.  He rose from his bended knee and spoke his name with a new voice.

“Vader.”

The countenance under the hood turned from contempt to satisfaction.

“So be it, Darth Vader.”

* * *

Everything is fine.

Padme woke up in the medical bay.  The sterile walls were oddly soothing.  Designed to be, she thought.  She stirred.  It was cold.  There was a blanket around her midsection.  She debated getting up at all.  Whatever was going on now clearly was getting on without her.

All is well.

A few noises disturbed her rest.  The low beeps of a medical scanner.  The light whirring of a droid.  She craned her neck to look past her feet.  There was a being.  Kallidahin, if she remembered correctly.  Must be one of Bail’s crew.  She’d worked with a couple of their representatives back on Coruscant.  They never spoke.  Every communication was telepathic.  That explained why she felt no danger, no panic. 

Scanning her own memory, she recalled speaking with Obi-Wan.  Then there was only blur and darkness. 

He is here.

She realized her thoughts leaked out like a sieve.  She was being cared for on a subconscious level.  She looked to her right and there he was.

Asleep in a chair, arms folded, beard in need of some maintenance.  She could tell from his face that she’d been asleep herself for quite some time.  He didn’t snore, but his breathing was ragged.  She could sense a change in him and in a moment, he was awake and alert.  Their eyes met and a small smile came to her lips.

“I figured it would be Owen,” she said.

“We’ve been here in shifts.  It was my turn,” Obi-Wan said.

She nodded, “How long?”

“Days,” he said.

“Do they know what it is?” she asked.

Obi-Wan winced. “Complications due to pregnancy,” he said.

Padme nodded.

“You knew?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said. 

She let him get there. 

“If the child is mine…”

“The child,” Padme said, cutting him off, “is my husband’s.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said.

She turned, faced the ceiling and let sleep take her once again.

*             *             *

The little pod entered the outer atmosphere and was surrounded by a fog that blocked the local sun.  The landing cycle began automatically.  With perfect, computerized precision, the little ship settled on to a patch of damp soil.  The hatch unfolded like a flower petal and Yoda stepped out onto the surface of his new home.

He felt the ground under his bare feet.  A dim hazy sunlight filtered in through the treetop canopy.  He felt the Force alive in this place.  This place of life.  This place of death.  This place of balance.

Home.

* * *​

* * *​

Obi-Wan had taken the lightsaber of Anakin Skywaler.  That was no matter.  That dead Jedi no longer had any meaning to him.  Vader would have a new weapon, forged with the Dark Side. 

The dark lord studied the components before him.

An emitter matrix, power pack, and field energizers had all been machined to his exacting specifications.  What was needed was a crystal.  The heart of any lightsaber. 

Sith were survivors.  They had managed to endure despite a determined effort by the Jedi to exterminate their entire lineage.  The sands of Korriban were littered with the remnants of dead Sith and their weapons, but he did not care to walk that tainted land in search of old relics.

Victory, not defeat, would be at the core of his lightsaber.  Training his thoughts, he lifted the silver hilt of the finest swordsman he had ever slain.  The double-sided blade of Darth Maul would never strike down another victim, but its core, like Vader himself, would have a new life and a new purpose.

The intricate power he wielded disassembled the saber handle, drawing the parts away from the center with precision and ease.  Before his black mask floated a single crimson crystal.  Maul was no more.  What had belonged to him was now Vader’s.  Casting aside the useless pieces of the dead Zabrak’s blade, Vader gripped the crystal with the Force, squeezing it into a perfect prism that would balance his weapon.

The pieces he had designed now lifted from the table, swirling in midair on channeled Force energy.  They orbited his black helm for a moment and coalesced before his eyes, surrounding and enveloping the scarlet gem.  The connections were seared with a surge of Force energy.  With the process concluded, the new lightsaber succumbed to gravity and fell into Vader’s open, gloved palm.

He activated the blade.  Searing red light filled his vision.  The weapon was flawless.  He twirled it through the practiced exercises.  Yes, this blade would serve his needs as he would serve the Emperor’s.  Full of power and absent mercy.  A true weapon of the Dark Side.

*             *             *

The glow of red from the console brought him devastation.  The test had come back several times with the same result.  He’d verified it independently.  The medical droids and staff had come to the same conclusion.

Despite all of his efforts, all of his powers, he was confronted with an enemy he could not defeat.  The sickness that ravaged her body had no cure, no real means of treatment.  With each breath, she shielded the life within her womb, but sacrificed her own vitality.  After all the agonies and trials, all the horrors of war, he would give anything to be back on the battlefield.  A death in combat was infinitely better than the cruel fate of watching her die in slow motion.   

He had to tell her.  All that was left was the future.

Weary and defeated, he walked into her room.  Since the first attack, there had been others.  She stayed near a bed much of the time now.  For her own safety, she was rarely alone.  Owen kept a near-constant vigil, even when she slept.  Obi-Wan was not surprised to find the two of them together, but it was a rare joy to see her up and sitting, sipping tea, just as she had before this nightmare had begun.

Owen looked at him with a grim countenance.  These days he was less than a friend, less than an enemy.  Despite appearances, he was no fool.  He knew that Obi-Wan had been less than pure in his actions.  Even if Padme chose not to, he blamed Obi-Wan for the death of Anakin Skywalker, the paragon of hope that had led him to break free of a miserable life on a miserable desert world. 

Owen Lars was a man of loyalty, but that loyalty would never be owed to Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Padme, despite her condition, welcomed him with a glad smile and kind eyes.  Their disputes, such as they were, had softened over the past months.  Today was a good day for her.  He considered suppressing his new knowledge, but there had been enough secrets. 

Had Owen not been present, he might have tried to kiss her cheek or hand, instead, he took a chair between them.  Her position allowed her to stretch her bumped belly and she seemed comfortable enough.  Owen’s posture reflected tension.  Obi-Wan resolved to be careful with his words.

Time passed as they shared war stories.  Padme enjoyed the nostalgia and laughed at some of the more ridiculous exploits.  As the tea drained and the ship’s internal clock dimmed the lights a bit, she confronted Obi-Wan rather than forcing him to confront her.

“Obi-Wan, you’re troubled.  It can only be about me.  Say what you need to say,” she said.

He gave a wistful smile and once again marveled at her perception.

“We know what it is,” Obi-Wan said.

She blinked, then braced herself with a brave face.  Owen leaned in.

“Go ahead,” she said.

“It’s the Force virus,” he said.

She blanched in surprise, “But I don’t feel the Force.”

“But the child inside your belly surely will,” he said.

Padme nodded, “I understand.  Can anything be done?”

“Not without sacrificing the child.”

Padme’s mouth tightened with resolve, “Then nothing can be done.”

A solemn moment passed as the men allowed her to process.

“Will it kill me?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan said, “We’ve never seen anything like this before.”

She nodded.

“We’ll go on as we have,” Padme said, echoing her brother’s words.

Obi-Wan’s used all his focus to keep his voice from breaking, “If the worst should happen, I will watch over the child and keep him safe.” 

Padme reached for his hand and squeezed it.

On his left, Owen spoke.  “You’re all insane,” he muttered.

“What did you say, Owen?” Padme asked.

Owen’s hands clenched into fists “I said you’re both insane.”  He rose from his seat, “Padme, you’re part of a rebellion against the most powerful empire in history.  Obi-Wan, you know how to do everything, except how to be part of a family.  You really think either of you would make good parents?  Madness.  I’d sooner let the child of Anakin Skywalker be raised by a pack of Tusken Raiders!  Say what you will, but at least they’re loyal.  I’m sitting here talking to a queen and a wizard.  How in the hell am I the sanest person here?” 

His voice had gone up in volume.  He took a breath and lowered it once more.

“I will care for the child and keep him far away from all the craziness that destroyed his parents.  I’ll make sure none of the lunacies that have ruined your lives will ever ruin his.  Whatever happens to the child, I will not damn him to face a lifetime of war and power.  Go on.  Fight your big monsters.  Go chase down your glories, the both of you.  I’m done with this.” He pointed to Padme’s belly, “This child is innocent and as long as I draw a breath, he’ll stay that way.”

*             *             *

A tone sounded above him.  A beat passed and a nervous voice came over the ship’s intercom.

“Lord Vader to the bridge, please.  Lord Vader to the bridge.”

He strode out confidently.  His new legs were now as much a part of him as his old had been.  It had taken time, but he now had all the tools he needed to seize his destiny.

Stepping onto the bridge he saw the crew rigidly focusing on their stations.  This was to be expected.  No junior officer wanted to incur the wrath of the galaxxy’s newest Dark Lord.  The respect and fear went beyond the intimidation of the armor.  He answered only to the Emperor.  No other being held such a station.

“What is it?” he demanded.  His new voice sent shudders through the command crew.

“Lord Vader, we are approaching the outer perimeter.  Admiral Tarkin asked to see you, sir,” the young Captain said.

Tarkin stood at the front of the bridge, looking out on his latest project.  The shell was becoming recognizable for what would eventually be its overall shape.  While the bones of the structure were unimpressive, the size certainly was.  Vader, despite his reservations about the project, was pleased to see the progress that had already been made. 

“Admiral,” he said, approaching the uniformed Tarkin at the center of the window.

“Lord Vader, I’ll be departing momentarily to take command of this project.  I just wanted to express my thanks for the safe delivery of myself and my cargo.  On behalf of the Republic Special Weapons Group, we are in your debt, sir.”

“The Imperial Special Weapons Group, Admiral,” Vader said.  He allowed a vague unseen smile under his cold black mask.

“Yes, just so.  My apologies.  I will take my leave of your vessel now, with your permission, my Lord.”

“Proceed, Admiral.  The Empire’s new project will need your guidance.”

“Thank you, Lord Vader.”

He watched the high officer walk quickly and quietly off of his bridge.  Then turned once again to gaze at this monstrosity of a battle station that was being constructed.  He would monitor the project with great interest, but such things were best left in the hands of underlings. 

“Once the shuttles have departed, set your course for Coruscant,” he said to the ship’s captain.

“With pleasure,” the officer said.

* * *

Owen hefted the last of the supply boxes into the shuttle.

“I’m not so certain about this little arrangement,” Obi-Wan said.

“You think I’m happy about this?  You think this is what I wanted?” Owen said, frowning as he put down another crate.

“I think you’d be safer with more support,” Obi-Wan said.

“Not your support, Master Jedi,” Owen said.  He took a moment to rock the little floating egg that held the infant.  He put a finger to the child’s chin and shared a giggle with the baby.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Obi-Wan said.

“When I’m settled, I’ll send a message.  We’ll work out something so you can find me if there’s trouble,” Owen said.

“There’s always trouble,” Obi-Wan said.

“That’s why we’re doing this,” Owen agreed. 

Owen went to a power panel and began the startup sequence.

“What’s her prognosis?” Owen asked.

“Hours, maybe less,” Obi-Wan said.

“Bail is going to…?” Owen started.

“A funeral on Alderaan.  The new emperor is sure to take notice,” Obi-Wan said.

Owen sat down on a crate and sighed, “I wish I hadn’t yelled.”

“She understood.  She was fine with this plan.  She’s only thinking of the future now,” Obi-Wan said, trying to reassure him.

“You should go to her.  I’m ready.  And she needs as much comfort as she can get,” Owen said.

“She’ll have it,” Obi-Wan said.

Owen double-checked the harness for the egg-cradle and then held out a hand to Obi-Wan. 

“Whatever happens, I’ll take care of the boy,” Owen said.

“I hope you can find your happiness, Owen,” the Jedi said, shaking his hand.

“I hope you can find yours, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan let go of his hand and stepped back into the corridor.  He closed the hatch and heard the seals that indicated the little shuttle was on internal power.  The boy would be safe.  All he could do now was go to Padme.

He found her on the observation deck.  She was wrapped in a soft white robe and she stared out at a gorgeous field of stars.  The galaxy spread out before them like a shimmering river of light.

Obi-Wan came up from behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.  She jumped at the touch, not seeing him approach.  As soon as she turned, that beaming smile broke over her face.  The virus had been merciful enough not to take her smile, though it had drained her of so much else.

“Are they away?” she asked.

“In a moment,” he said.

“They’ll be safe?” she asked.

“You have my word,” he promised.

“Obi-Wan, these last months …thank you …for everything,” she said.

“At your service, Princess,” Obi-Wan said.

She held his hand.  Her grip was firm and he knew that it must be a trial for her.

“I’ve been very lucky to have loved two good men,” she said.  “I’ve had such a wonderful life.”

Obi-Wan tried to meet her eyes.  It was too much for him.  He stared out at the stars and so did she.

“Are you in any pain?” he asked.

“No.  But I can feel it,” she said.

Out the window, the little shuttle appeared, moving from right to left.  It rocked its wings back and forth, a pilot’s parting gesture.  Padme held up her free hand and gave the little ship a silent farewell. 

The engines grew brighter as the shuttle flew away.  She held it with her eyes.  It gave Obi-Wan the chance to take in her precious face, one last time.  In a flash of pseudomotion, it went to lightspeed and vanished.

“Obi-Wan?… Obi-Wan?…” she said.  He could hear the struggle in her voice.  The panic he’d heard in the last moments of so many Jedi.

“I’m here, Padme.  I’m here,” he said.

Her hand slipped as her grip faded.  She fell into his arms.  Starlight filled her eyes before the light behind them faded.  Obi-Wan cradled her as she passed.  Her body went limp and he fell to his knees, embracing her for the last time.

Star Wars: Episode II: The Clone Blitz

Episode II: The Clone Blitz

Turmoil has engulfed the Senate. Thousands of star systems have declared their intentions to break away from the Galactic Republic.
This Separatist movement, under the leadership of the mysterious Count Dooku, has made it difficult for the limited number of Jedi Knights to maintain peace and order in the galaxy.
Meanwhile, Darth Sidious has dispatched a deadly bounty hunter on a secret mission to the graveyard world of Korriban…​

The Firespray-31 Pursuit Special emerged from hyperspace.  The ship was an unusual configuration, favored by law-enforcement as an interceptor.  This one, stolen not long ago from the prison asteroid of Oovo IV, still sported the blue and yellow colors of the police force that guarded that sector of space.  The ship’s pilot brought the Firespray’s weapons systems up and listened for incoming transmissions.

As the vessel approached the target planet, a series of automated warnings came through the cockpit’s communications system.

“Attention unknown vessel.  This system is restricted.  Korriban is off-limits and quarantined by Senate decree 081590.  For your safety, please divert and reroute to coordinates…”

The vessel’s pilot wasted no time and fired his ion cannon at the sentry ship that mindlessly orbited, putting out the same rote message to any ship that wandered into this area of space. 

With the drone ships alerted to the intruder’s presence, the Firespray then unleashed a spread of proton torpedoes that blasted a hole through the shell of automated defenses around the planet. 

The ship then sank into the atmosphere of this stark, desert world.  Desolate and arid, the sands of Korriban were broken only here and there by rocks and canyons. 

As the ship cleared a vast plain, ahead there was a single pillar, black as night, which stood before a wall of rock.  The bounty hunter’s ship approached and landed at a respectful distance.  As the ship powered down, the hunter prepared for this expedition.

A mechanical, orange foot stepped out from the Firespray and onto the desert floor.  The hunter-killer droid carried a blaster rifle slung over its shoulder.  It scanned the horizon with two red photoreceptors sunken into a rounded head.  The droid carried a bank of sensors in a stumped snout that extended from its skull and drooped down to a sharp flat.  The slim frame of its chassis was designed for agile movement. 

The canyon winds pelted the droid with sand and grime and there was a steady tic-tic-tic of sound as the metal casing was attacked by tiny bits of silicon. 

The orange-brown dust of this planet harbored no life and no water.  Here at the foot of the Valley of the Dark Lords, the graves of the Sith leaders were the only structures that time and destruction had not yet conquered. 

The monuments to the dead, monuments to power, ego, and hatred, stretched far into the canyon beyond.  The hunter cared nothing for the grand carvings of stone, or for the relics and riches that the graves may contain.  There was only one reason for the hunter’s journey, and no reason to deviate from it.

The droid did not hurry.  The objective had waited on this rock for a very long time and a few moments more would be of no concern.  The droid bent a knee and withdrew a small sack from a storage compartment in the rear of its casing.  With precision, the droid pulled a handful of sand from the ground and deposited it in the sack, measuring precisely the amount required for the day’s work.  With that small task completed, the droid stored the pouch and turned to face the stone monolith.

HK-99 approached the obelisk that guarded the nearest tomb.  The ebon stone towered over the surroundings and had a single word inscribed at its base, in massive letters: PLAGUEIS. 

Hunter Killer droids did not know fear or trepidation.  HK-99 strode past the obelisk and walked under the stone arch that marked the entrance to the tomb of Darth Plagueis, the last of the great Sith Lords.  The harsh light of Korriban’s sun was cut off as the tomb’s interior led down a dark passage. 

HK-99 adjusted his photoreceptors for dim light and began a slow, plodding march down the stone corridor. 

Treasure hunters and Sith acolytes had raided the tombs in this Valley for centuries.  The relics they brought forth were traded for hard credits, or for power and stature among the Sith Lords.  The men, women, and genderless alien beings buried in these structures had sown terror and chaos throughout the galaxy.  When the last of the Sith fell on the battlefields of this barren world, the tombs finally knew a peaceful stillness that the Sith Lords themselves would have loathed.

HK-99 came to a pit in the corridor.  The dim light revealed little, but his radar scanning showed the base of the pit filled with stalagmites that would skewer any unsuspecting raiders that wanted the treasures of Darth Plagueis.  HK-99 fired his blaster rifle into the walls around the pit in a rapid spray, creating several holes in the side of the passage.  With lightning fast reflexes and perfect accuracy, HK-99 vaulted from the floor and used his newly blasted footholds to run along the outer wall before leaping again and landing, sure-footed on the other side of the pit.  This first obstacle was merely a nuisance. 

As the droid entered the next chamber, it surveyed a large room lit by a single shaft of light from the surface.  At the far end were three exits, undoubtedly meant to confound anyone who made it past the pit. 

The droid stepped forward and its right foot was immediately singed by the heat of a blaster bolt that rose from the floor.  The hunter-killer, startled by this development, then pulled back its foot and saw the bolt had left a clean hole through the appendage.  In a flesh-and-blood being, this would have been a source of pain, trauma, and would have certainly ended the mission. 

There was a reason that Sidious hadn’t sent a flesh-and-blood bounty hunter. 

Sidestepping the hole left by the offending blaster, HK-99 moved through the room.  As the droid maneuvered, more shots fired out of the floor.  The droid performed a delicate dance to dodge the incoming blaster fire and ended with a spinning jump that brought it to the end of the chamber. 

The proposition from Sidious had included a detailed description of the droid’s objective, but spoke little of the hurdles that would impede its progress.  Confronted with three doorways, most human hunters would have taken the central path, but a droid brain operated differently.  Scanning had revealed the left door before the other two, therefore that path was the first marked for exploration.  HK-99 took a brute force approach to computation and to killing. 

Entering the side passage, the sensor package revealed an excess of heat in the area.  The droid’s casing was not affected, but such heat could indicate the presence of a thermal trap of some sort.  Another beam of light penetrated this hallway.  Remembering the previous chamber, HK-99 reached into a concealed compartment, extracted an empty powerpack for the rifle on his back and threw it down the darkened hallway. 

When the empty piece of metal hit the shaft of light that ribboned the corridor, a grid of beams cut across the passage, making further advancement impossible.  HK-99 watched as the red beams swept back and forth over the length of the corridor in front of him.  The angry red lasers did not fade and did not stop their path back and forth through the hallway.  The grid blocked the passage of any being that was too small to fit through their spacing.  At the far end of the corridor was another grid of static lasers that would effectively sandwich any poor unfortunate that was caught in front of the moving set.  The droid observed the movement for a moment and watched the beams closest approach, still more than a meter away from the droid’s chassis. 

Impressed with this bit of booby-trapping, HK-99 withdrew to the previous chamber.  It tried the door at the center this time, the second of its three options.

Down a long, sloping ramp, HK-99 descended along the middle path.  After a long slope, the pathway bottomed out and widened.  The rectangular room was lined with black stone walls.  At the far end was a sarcophagus, carved with a visage that would have been terrifying to any biologic intruder.  At the foot of the casket was a pedestal.  On the pedestal was a small, glowing, red pyramid, marked with inlaid black runes.  A Sith holocron.

HK-99 approached the artifact carefully, still scanning for traps.  The droid sidestepped an obvious deadfall and narrowly avoided a series of energy beams that shot up through the floor.  The beams remained, casting a red glow over the room.  Approaching the altar, HK-99 withdrew the sack of sand from its rear casing.  The droid hefted the little bag and leaned over to observe the mission objective. 

From the various traps that had been prepared, it was obvious that the builders of this tomb would not suffer a raider to simply remove the artifact.  The sandbag, precisely weighted, would serve to replace the lost weight when the holocron was withdrawn.  HK-99’s programming allowed for perfect movements, calculated with the accuracy that only a computer could provide. 

With the sack in its right hand and a firm grip on the holocron with its left, HK-99 quickly swiped out the treasure for the dust and stepped away from the altar, prize held up for a moment to check for traps.  A biologic being would have likely taken a moment for pride or joy, but HK-99 felt neither.  Instead, with the objective in its hand, the droid stowed the holocron and spun on its heel back the way it had come.

The infinite silence of the tomb was broken suddenly by a loud rumble.  The pedestal crumbled to pieces, dashing the sand to the floor of the chamber.  Behind the sarcophagus, the stone wall fell away.  Beyond the pile of rubble was a massive creature.  HK-99 turned and scanned the beast with its photoreceptors.  The droid’s database identified this new variable as a Terentatek: a mutated rancor that lived on Force energy. 

The terentatek was bipedal, with claws the size of speeder bikes and a spiky head with a terrifying array of teeth.  For an instant, HK-99 wondered how the beast had survived life in this tomb, then the massive pile of corpses and bones at the new far end of the chamber provided an explanation.  Any further calculations were cut off by the massive roar that echoed through the chamber.  The terentatek was angry at this intrusion and now loped forward to end the irritant that had created a disturbance in its home.

Aiming a blaster rifle, HK-99 fired a series of shots that had little effect.  The terentatek was able to shrug off the energy discharge and several shots bounced off the claws and fangs, useless against that toughened bone.  HK-99 wasted no more time on analysis and ran as fast as its servos would allow.  The terentatek followed in hot pursuit.

The sloping ramp that served as an entrance to the chamber was now obviously meant to funnel any intruders back towards the beast that guarded this mausoleum.  The steepness of the climb gave the terentatek time to close the distance and when HK-99 reached the summit of the slope, the beast was ready to take a swipe. 

The claws of the terentatek’s right hand narrowly missed the HK unit as it retreated into the outer chamber.  Stumbling back, the droid activated one of the trap stones that then fired a blaster bolt through the floor.  Without a pause, the terentatek crashed through the doorway, continuing the chase.  HK-99 scrambled to its feet and ran ahead, dodging bolts of upshooting fire.  The beast roared again in anger and gave chase, shrugging off the red darts that sprang up to sting its feet. 

At the next turning, HK-99 made no attempt to look back.  Instead it continued sprinting towards the entrance to the tomb.  Darth Plagueis was to be commended for the measures that had been taken to preserve his secrets. 

Ahead was the pit that had first given a challenge to HK-99.  The holes blasted in the wall allowed him to cross the chasm as he had previously done, but the terentatek noted his solution and angrily pounded a fist against the side of the corridor.  The tremors from the beast’s drubbing shook the hunter-killer droid from its perch and it was only with a narrow hold of a few fingers that it avoided plummeting to the spikes below.

Pleased with the situation, the terentatek ran ahead towards the chasm and the trapped droid.  It took HK-99 a moment to restore itself to balance.  The droid then proceeded to use the blasted footholds as handholds and shimmied along the side of the pit until it reached the far edge.  From there, HK-99 stood and stared across the gap, the terentatek charging at him from the other side.

With single-minded purpose the great beast took a flying leap when it reached the end of the pit.  HK-99’s reflexes allowed it to whip out the blaster rifle and fire several shots at the oncoming monster.  The terentatek flailed a bit in midair and landed short of the other side, clinging to the edge of the abyss with its massive claws. 

Coldly, the hunter-killer droid chose to end this threat.  With the creature’s struggle against gravity, HK-99 would have the time to withdraw to his ship and escape, but hunter-killer droids were programmed to terminate opponents with extreme prejudice. 

A volley of blaster fire into the claws of the monster seemingly had little effect.  Switching tactics, HK-99 withdrew an item from a casing in its leg.  The hunter-killer droid then deactivated its audio sensors. 

The little metal sphere rolled smoothly towards the claws of the struggling beast.  The grenade came to a stop and then a single second went by before it detonated. 

Not with an explosion, but with a burst of sound.  HK-99 had finally found a use for the sonic grenades that he had acquired on a previous job.  The shrill shriek filled the corridor of the mausoleum and flooded the ears of the terentatek with a riot of sound.  The beast reacted as most bipedal creatures would when confronted with an overpowering cacophony.  It moved its hands to cover its ears.  In the flash of instinct, the beast abandoned its tentative grip on the side of the pit.

The terentatek slipped and fell into the void below.  The beast’s roars of anger turned into howls of desperation and were then followed by a wet, meaty crunch as the animal was impaled on the sharp spikes below. 

HK-99 did not waste time looking down at the scene.  The job was complete.  The droid, unhurried, reactivated its audio sensors and returned to its ship. 

Lifting off from the surface and clearing the sentry ships that continued their mindless patrol, HK-99 started the calculations for the jump to hyperspace.  As the computers chewed on the navigation data, the droid brought up a communications circuit.

The holographic image of a cloaked figure appeared on the ship’s projector.  HK-99 held the holocron up for inspection and spoke.

“Statement: This is HK-99.  The artifact has been extracted.  I am proceeding to the coordinates that you have provided.”

Darth Sidious’s face was hidden by the folds of his black robe, but his voice betrayed a touch of pleasure at this news. 

“Excellent work.  The funds will be transferred to your account shortly.  You will be met by a ship upon your arrival at the provided coordinates.  Make no attempt to open the device.”

“Redundant Assurance: I will take no action that may endanger the success of my mission.” HK-99 said.

The transmission concluded.  HK-99 looked at the empty projector and allowed itself a verbal indulgence.

“Exasperated observation: These meatbags are so obsessed with their toys and games.”

With a pulse of pseudo-motion, the blue-grey Firespray-31 Pursuit Special entered hyperspace. 

* * *

With the Separatist crisis nearing a point of criticality, even Master Yoda had returned from his undertakings in the Outer Rim to attend this latest meeting of the Jedi Council.  The warm radiance of a Coruscant afternoon bathed the rounded room and gave a soft glow to what was otherwise a grim discussion. 

Secretary Palpatine stood in the center of the ring of Jedi Masters.  He was dressed as any politician would be.  His arms were out and hands open, expressing a posture of serenity.  He had come to deliver bad news, but was resolved to do so with grace.

Having reiterated some of the inciting events, Palpatine came to the point, “With the recent assassination of Senator Prix and the bombing of the colony headquarters at Kanamit, the situation has become untenable.  It is clear that this emerging crisis has stretched the resources of the Jedi too far.” 

Master Windu replied, “The newest wave of activities is being investigated and Jedi are at work delivering justice wherever possible.”

“Of course, Master Windu.  The Senate is not placing any blame with the Jedi Order.  You cannot be expected to stave off the activities of such a large movement and handle your other duties at the same time.  Simply put, you need help.”

Palpatine paused for a moment.  He was reticent to be so blunt about this, but the Jedi were well-equipped to deal with emotions, “This morning, with the approval of the Supreme Chancellor, the Senate has authorized the activation of the Grand Army of the Republic.  The order has been sent to Kamino and the first brigade of clone troopers are currently being revived from cryosleep.”

A murmur of disturbance came over the Jedi Council.  The Masters exchanged looks and Palpatine needed no Force powers to sense their unrest. 

Unprompted, he continued his statement, “The Senate feels that the best way to avoid a larger conflict is to show the strength of the Republic.”

“Afraid, they are.  To action, they scurry, not to thought.” Master Yoda said.

“Well…” Palpatine began.

“A power, everything has.  Absorbed or deflected, this power can be.  Oppose it, why must we?”

“Respectfully, Master Yoda, we cannot allow the Republic to be split in two,” Palpatine answered.

“Another way, always there is.”

“You speak of Alderaan’s conference,” Palpatine said.

Master Windu answered, “The House of Organa is offering to host a meeting between the Republic and the Separatists to resolve this conflict peacefully.  The activation of the clone army will threaten those negotiations.”

“I disagree,” Palpatine said, pausing and trying to maintain an even tone, “As does the Senate.  The move will show that the Republic is prepared for any eventuality.  The Senate’s delegation will have more leverage if their statements can be backed by force.”

“The power of a threat can never be preferable to the offer of a friend,” said Master Gallia, from the side of the room.

Palpatine sighed, “Master Yoda, you walk in peace, but you carry a lightsaber.  You more than any Jedi must know there are times where you must stand and be unmoving.”

A silence came over the room.  The Council looked to Yoda for a response.  He offered none.

Palpatine gave a polite nod and continued, “At any rate, I did not come to debate this matter, merely to inform you of the actions of the Senate.  I trust that you will provide ample protection to our delegation to Alderaan.  You have my fervent hope this crisis will end at a conference table, not on a battlefield.  I thank you for your time.  May the Force be with you.”

* * *

The Senate hangar had the usual flurry of activity that preceded the launch of any flotilla.  The two large transports that would carry the Senators and their staffers to Alderaan were still being fueled and attended to.  As they stepped off of the elevator, Anakin Skywalker took a deep breath.

“Smells like the podracing garage back in Mos Espa,” he said.

“It’d need more eopie dung for that,” Obi-Wan said.

“Fair.  Still, nothing like the smell of starship fuel and ozone,” Anakin said.

“You and your flying.  Try not to drool over the Starfighters,” Obi-Wan said.

“No promises.  I’ve been wanting to see the new Aethersprites,” Anakin replied.

A beat passed as they looked around.  The hangar had several dozen vessels.  The pair of large transports stood at the center.  Along the walls were a random collection of single-seat Starfighters.  Various planets supplied vessels to the Republic over the years, mostly as thanks for various acts of service of the Senate Guards or Jedi.  Towards the rear of the hangar was a Republic Navy corvette that had a swarm of droids attempting repairs on the starboard wing. 

Obi-Wan and Anakin had arrived early to do some preflight checks.  Nothing seemed amiss in this area, but they made a slow patrol of the space, walking around, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“How are you feeling about this, Master?” Anakin said.

“Just another blue milk run,” Obi-Wan replied, using an old expression of Anakin’s.

“You think?”

“The Separatists are trying to persuade worlds, not destroy them.  It would be very bad form to start a shooting war on Alderaan.  That’s assuming they show up at all.  And from our side, Senators have a grand tradition of saying one thing and doing nothing.  I think that’s mostly what they’ll do on this trip as well.”

“I hope so,” Anakin said.

“What’s the matter?  You seem ill at ease,” Obi-Wan said.

“I’m just not sure I’m ready if things get dicey.  Don’t misunderstand, your training has been excellent, but I didn’t have the years of study at the academy.  I’m nervous about getting into a scrap with all of this going on.”

“The Force will guide you,” Obi-Wan said.

“That doesn’t calm my nerves,” Anakin replied.

Obi-Wan nodded, “It’s understandable, but look how far you’ve come already.  You’ve proven yourself as a flyer.  Your perception has always been impressive.  If you hadn’t pulled me out of that storefront on Outland Station, I’d have likely ended up a very good-looking stain on that gangster’s wall.”

“Still can’t win a sparring match though,” Anakin said.

“Is that what you’re worried about?  Your skills with a lightsaber?  That’s hardly what makes a Jedi, Anakin.”

“I know, but…”

“Look at Master Yoda.  He’s the greatest of us all and he never uses his saber.  I’ve seen him carry it for years and I don’t even know what color it is.  A Jedi’s strength flows from the Force, not from a lightsaber,” Obi-Wan said.

“That’s true.”

“You mustn’t worry about this.  It’s merely vanity dressed up as concern.”

“You may be right,” Anakin said.

 Obi-Wan took a look around the hangar.  There was nothing of concern here and a large open floor space.  His eyes lit up with an idea.

“However, if you’re looking for another lesson in saber training…” Obi-Wan said with a grin.

“We do have a spot of time…” Anakin said, returning the expression.

“Have at thee, young Skywalker,” Obi-Wan said with a laugh, taking a combat pose and activating his lightsaber.  He gave a salute and leveled the tip at Anakin, a defensive posture.

Anakin lit his saber and returned the salute.  The young Jedi took an aggressive stance and started to close the distance with his teacher.

“Watch your grip.  You clamp down on that thing so hard, it’s amazing you haven’t shattered it,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin loosened his fingers and took a swipe at his Master.

“There you are.  Let it flow,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin moved forward and Obi-Wan took a few backsteps, readying himself.  The younger Jedi swept with large motions and Obi-Wan moved ably to parry and dodge the incoming attacks.

“Tighter moves.  You don’t have to take my head off to win,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin nodded.  He took a beat and then gave a thrust to Obi-Wan’s core.  He was off-balance and Obi-Wan spun and knocked the saber away with his own, then gave a light shove that sent Anakin to the floor.  His saber skittered away before slicing into a corner of a toolbox.

Anakin gave a wry chuckle at his own embarrassment as he got to his feet.  Using the Force, he pulled the lightsaber into his right hand and came back at Obi-Wan. 

With an overhead slash, Anakin brought his blade down on Obi-Wan’s.  The teacher had seen the move coming, of course, but he was always impressed with the strength that Anakin could bring to an attack.

The blue sabers crackled for a moment as Anakin tried to leverage his stance against Obi-Wan’s.  The attempt was futile.

“Improve the position,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin stepped back, pulled his saber up and then leapt onto the wing of a nearby Delta-7 Aethersprite.  He took a playful swipe down at Obi-Wan who easily dodged out of the way.

“There you go.  Now you’ve got the high ground.  Do something with it,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin took a leap off the wing, saber up, coming right at Obi-Wan.  Obi-Wan leaned back, as if in retreat, but turned and somersaulted, landing his feet in Anakin’s chest, launching his young student away from him.

Anakin tumbled and landed unceremoniously with a dull thud on his back, stunned by the hangar floor.  He let out an oof of surprise and found himself staring into the sharp tip of Obi-Wan’s blue lightsaber.

“Nice move,” Anakin said with a smile.

“Well, I haven’t taught you everything.”

Obi-Wan deactivated the blade and offered his young charge a hand.  The student got to his feet again and collected himself.

“You two want to cut that out?  You’re scaring the droids,” said Master Kit Fisto, from behind Obi-Wan’s back.

Obi-Wan turned with a sheepish grin that matched Anakin’s expression. “Apologies, Master Fisto.  Just saw the opportunity for a short lesson.”

The green Nautolan nodded, looking around as more Jedi entered the hangar, “Skywalker, next time check your footwork.  If you came at me in a stance like that, I’d have you on your face before your saber lit up.”

“Thank you for the advice, Master Fisto,” Anakin said, turning a shade redder.

As Master Fisto walked away, from the far side of the hangar, the two Jedi shared a small, embarrassed laugh at what had transpired. 

As they concluded their mirth, a technician ran up to Obi-Wan and Anakin.  The human was a male with dark hair and a ruddy complexion.  Obi-Wan guessed that he was about Anakin’s age.  He carried a scruff of a beard and a bit of a belly, and was altogether unimposing.  Obi-Wan sensed no threat here, but could feel a wave of exuberation.

The man paused for a moment to catch his breath as he approached the pair.  He kept his eyes on Anakin and ignored the elder Jedi completely.

“Son of a Hutt, you’re Anakin Skywalker, aren’t you?” the man said.

“Uhh… yeah,” Anakin replied, surveying this new stranger, “Can I help you?”

“Oh, no.  Just… you’re Anakin Skywalker!  I saw you race the Boonta Eve Classic back on Tatooine years ago.  It was a big moment for me.  Inspired me to become a pilot and get off that rock.  It’s just great to meet you.  You saved me from that miserable planet.”

“Sounds like you saved yourself,” Obi-Wan said.

“Well, you were certainly a big part of it,” the man said.  He extended a hand to Anakin, “The name’s Owen Lars.  Such an honor to meet you.”

Anakin looked askance at Obi-Wan for a moment as he shook the man’s hand.  “Nice to meet you too, Owen.  What do you do here on Coruscant?”

“Oh, I’m a pilot for the Senate Air Service.  I’ll be at the helm of one of the transports,” he said, pointing back over his shoulder at one of the large craft that occupied the middle of the hangar.

Anakin raised an eyebrow, “Oh yeah?  Sounds like you did very well for yourself once you got off Tatooine.”

“I got very lucky.  But nothing compared to you.  Here you are a Jedi!  Say… are you gonna be flying one of the escort ships?”

“That’s the plan,” Obi-Wan said, leaning on the wing of a blue N-1 fighter.

“Oh wow, that’s wonderful.  I never thought I’d have a chance to fly with the great Anakin Skywalker,” Lars said.

“The great Anakin Skywalker?” Obi-Wan said, unable and unwilling to contain his smirk.

Again, Owen addressed Anakin for all his comments, “Your name is spoken of in hushed tones back on the home planet.  Every human kid in Mos Espa wants to do what you did.”

Anakin blushed, having never encountered adoration like this before.

“Well, that’s certainly nice to hear.  I’m glad you’ll be with us today, Owen.  Are you feeling good about the mission?”

“Sure.  We’re heading to Alderaan.  Always wanted to see that place,” Owen said.  “I hear it’s beautiful.”

“It certainly is,” Obi-Wan said idly.

“Are you going to be ready if something should happen out there?” Anakin said.

Owen Lars gave a small laugh, “Hey, it’s Alderaan.  Nothing bad ever happens on Alderaan.”

* * *

Image Credit: Mark Button​

Twelve of the Jedi Order’s finest pilots flew cover around the pair of transport ships as they made their way through the traffic of Low Coruscant Orbit.  The convoy, under the command of Master Saesee Tiin, prepared for the jump to lightspeed.

“Angel Flight, all wings report in,” Master Tiin ordered.

“Angel two, standing by,” said Master Fisto.

“Angel three, ready to go,” said Master Ronhar Kim.

“Angel four, reporting in,” said Obi-Wan.

“Angel five, reporting in,” echoed Anakin.

The rest of the Jedi gave their acknowledgements and then the dozen fighters and pair of transports made the jump to hyperspace.

Obi-Wan relaxed as the glow of starlight surrounded his bubble cockpit.

“Could I trouble you to set an alarm for me?” He said to the pink and white R2 unit in the chassis of his Aethersprite.

The little droid hooted in reply.  On his display, Obi-Wan saw a timer begin to count down.  He had several hours before the convoy emerged from hyperspace.

“Thank you kindly.  What’s your number?”

Again there was a low tone and Obi-Wan checked his screen.  The display read “R2-KT.”

“Well, it’s good to meet you, KT.  If you’ll take care of me, I’ll take care of you,” Obi-Wan said.

The chittering of the droid’s reply was lost to Obi-Wan as he drifted off to sleep. 

Suddenly a loud, shrill tone emitted from his R2 unit.  The mechanical scream shocked him into consciousness.  Ahead of him he saw a large, bulbous ship in his path.  The swirls of hyperspace were not to be found.

“Glad you could join us, Master,” Anakin said through the radio as Obi-Wan broke off from his collision course.

“All fighters, protect the transports.  We’ve been pulled from hyperspace.  Priority is the interdictor ship.  Destroy it, or make it run.  Move!” said Master Tiin. 

Obi-Wan brought the nose of his fighter around and spotted the ship in question.  Interdictor vessels were built to disrupt hyperspace lanes.  The use of an interdictor was an ambush tactic.  Today was no exception.  The large spheres that flanked the interdictor’s chassis were gravity projectors.  When the convoy’s navicomputers had sensed a large mass in their path, the automatic sequences had pulled the flotilla out of hyperspace.  Until the interdictor was no longer a factor, the group would be unable escape this system. 

Jedi who were trained tended to be very skilled pilots.  The Force allowed them to anticipate an enemy’s movement and to sense danger before it arrived.  The ships that formed this ambush closed in from all sides, a shell of attackers that surrounded the group.

“Droid fighters, incoming.  All directions.  Pick your targets and go.  Transports, bug out sunward.”

“Copy that, Angel Leader,” Owen said over the radio.

Obi-Wan switched his radio to a secondary channel, “Anakin, are you there?”

“Right with you, Master,” Anakin said.  Off to his right, Obi-Wan looked to see a little arrowhead-shaped fighter rock its wings back and forth.  Anakin waved at him from the cockpit.

Obi-Wan circled and set his targeting computer for a droid fighter that was closing in.  Anakin turned, following his lead. 

“I’ve got your wing, Master.  Go to work,” Anakin said.

The pair of Jedi fired on a pair of droids that were incoming.  Obi-Wan flew through an explosion and arced around.

“Nice shot, Angel Four,” Master Fisto said.

“Anyone have any idea who we’re fighting here?” Owen asked.

“Uhh..” Obi-Wan said.

“Unknown, but they’re obviously hostile,” Master Tiin said.

“What makes you say that?” Anakin asked as he juked his Aethersprite to avoid incoming fire.

“Cut the attitude, Angel Five,” Tiin replied.

A pair of Jedi Aethersprites made an attack run on the interdictor.  A few blasts of laser fire impacted near the engines.

“Don’t target those engines, Angel Flight.  We want the interdictor to run, not to be stranded,” Master Tiin said.

Obi-Wan turned to take a look at the command ship that was at the center of this swarm of fightercraft.

“They’re not Separatists,” said Galas, Master Fisto’s Selkath apprentice.

“How do you know?” Fisto asked his student.

“The markings are all wrong,” Galas responded.

“She’s right.  More likely this is a pirate gang of some sort,” said Master Kim.

“Anakin, you’re always reading those Starfighter manuals.  Can you tell us who this is?” Obi-Wan asked.  He looked out and saw Anakin’s ship maneuvering off his wing.  More laser fire came between them and they broke away from each other.

“Uhh…I think… whoa there… I think this is the Sabaoth Squadron.  The flagship looks like it might be the Reaver,” Anakin said.

“I concur,” Galas said.

“Talk fast, Angel Five,” Tiin said.

“They’re mercenaries.  Guns for hire.  They’ve set traps along the Perlemian Hyperspace Route before.  Their ships… uhh… that could work,” Anakin said.

“What could work?”

“Target the underside of the command ship.  The armor is much weaker underneath,” Anakin said.  Obi-Wan saw him maneuvering to get to the underside of the vessel and he followed his Padawan.

Anakin’s fighter sped along the underside of the command ship, firing lasers into turrets and creating chains of explosions.

“Angel Five, these guys are mercenaries?” Owen asked.

“Yeah.”

“And their only big ships are the command ship and the interdictor?”

“Yeah,” Anakin confirmed.

“What are you thinking, Transport Two?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Angel Leader, send some fighters to guard our flank.  Transport Two is making an attack run,” Owen said.

“Attack run?  You’ve got no weapons on that ship,” Tiin said.

“Yeah, but we’ve got mass,” Owen said.

“We can’t let you endanger the lives of your passengers, Transport Two.  Break off and head sunward,” Master Tiin said.

“Make me,” Owen replied.

Obi-Wan turned and saw Owen’s transport ship light its engines, making straight for the interdictor vessel.

Master Tiin’s sigh was audible over the radio, “Angel nine, angel ten, give them some cover.”

“Full speed,” Owen said to his Quarren copilot.  His microphone was open, so the fighters of Angel Flight heard him.

“Are you sure about this, Transport Two?” Tiin asked.

“Just like swoop jousting back home,” Owen said.  The interdictor was turning to address the incoming transport.

“Blast-boat, coming at you from mark ten.  Careful, they’ve got missile pods,” Anakin said.

“You gotta help me out, Angels,” Owen said.

“I’ve got it.  Roll to starboard on my mark,” Anakin instructed.

“Almost there,” Owen said.  Ahead of him, the interdictor vessel loomed.  The ship was making no move to challenge the transport.

Obi-Wan followed Anakin as he maneuvered to get behind the blast-boat.  The large attacker juked, but Anakin stayed on it.  A flash of light came from the opponent’s wings and two missiles shot away from the craft, rocketing towards Owen’s transport ship.

“Transport, roll right, now!” Anakin called.

The lumbering transport ship rolled lazily around its long axis.  Obi-Wan watched as the missiles passed within inches of the long, flat wings.  The ship’s rotation had put it perfectly edge on.  He was thankful that the big vessel lacked windows, because the passengers would have been terrified.

An explosion stole his focus as Anakin blasted the missile boat from behind.  The weapon pods slung underneath the wings detonated in a glorious explosion that the young Jedi broke off to avoid.

“Good shot, Skywalker!” Tiin said, rare praise from the Iktochi. 

Ahead of Obi-Wan’s ship, he could see Owen’s transport still bearing down for the interdictor.  “Run, you son of a Hutt,” Owen said, “Run!”

The Reaver began firing laser cannons at Owen’s transport, but the capital ship was too far away and the shots went wide.

A snippet of conversation from Owen’s cockpit came over the radio.  “Overload the damn engines.  Move!” Owen shouted.  Obi-Wan worried his bravery might be overtaking his sanity.

Obi-Wan stayed on Anakin’s wing as he blasted another fighter.  The rest of Angel Flight was starting to swarm the Reaver.

“Five seconds to impact,” said Owen’s Quarren copilot.

Anakin bit his lip as the crash neared.  He kept an eye on the interdictor ship.  It blurred for a moment and vanished, disappearing into hyperspace.

“Whoa!  There we go.  Run you little space pirates!” Owen said.

“Gravity wells are gone.  We can jump to hyperspace again,” Galas said.

A moment later, with much of its fighter cover gone, the Reaver jumped to hyperspace, leaving Angel Flight and the pair of transports alone in the system.

“All clear,” Master Tiin said. 

“Woohoo!” came over the radio.  Obi-Wan wasn’t sure which ship the cheer came from.

“Transport Two, that was a very dangerous maneuver,” Master Tiin said.

“Affirmative, Angel Leader,” Owen said.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help himself, “Transport Two, how did you know that would work?”

“You have any idea how expensive a gravity well generator is?  They’re mercenaries.  They don’t want to lose money on a job like this.”

“Quite a wager to risk your life on,” Master Kim said.

“Good thing I won,” Owen said.

Anakin chimed in, “All right.  Clearly the stress of life in the cockpit has gotten to Mister Lars.  I’m starting to think he is badly in need of a vacation.”

Obi-Wan smiled, “I know of a good place for that.”

“Roger that.  Angel Convoy, set your course for Alderaan.” 

Aldera City stood out like a shining white jewel in the middle of the vast green grasslands that surrounded the city.  From the air, the bright towers and wide boulevards gave the city a utopic look.  The Jedi could see revelers on the shores of the lake and pleasurecraft on the water.  A group of air yachts chased after the western horizon and a hovertrain entered the city from the north.  In the years since the Trade Federation invasion, the people of Alderaan had restored their capital to its former glory. 

“Beautiful, just beautiful,” Anakin said.

“That does not disappoint,” Galas said.

“Just look at the palace,” Master Kim said.

“The Alderaanians really know how to build a city,” Owen said.

“Did Aldera control give us a vector?” Obi-Wan asked.

“With our VIPs they cleared the lane for us.  They’ve asked us to put down on the Path of the Heroes, right in front of the palace,” Master Tiin said.

“Lovely,” Anakin said.

“How do you want to do this, Master Tiin?” Owen asked.

“Transports first.  Angels will fly cover until you’re down,” Tiin replied.

The Aethersprites circled the city as the transport ships landed on the wide avenue.  Anakin followed Obi-Wan and landed next to him.  The various ships disgorged their passengers and pilots.  As the Jedi gathered to escort the senators, Anakin found Obi-Wan scanning the rooftops and windows.

“I think we’re secure.  You sense something?” Anakin asked.

“No, but we can’t be too careful,” Obi-Wan said.

“It’s a little late to send another attack squadron after us,” Anakin said.

“Is it?”

Anakin let the thought drop.  He took a moment to look around as well.  He’d never seen a place so devoted to beauty.  Coruscant was massive, but this place was glorious.  Everywhere you looked you found touches of art, from the architecture to the street lamps.  The palace projected a benevolent energy.  The grand statues that lined the street towered over the landing party.  They had been made with great affection for the heroes of this planet. 

“They’ve got a sheet over that one,” Anakin said idly as they walked to the palace steps.  The senators took the center of the lane.  The Jedi flanked them as they converged.

“Might be repairing it,” Obi-Wan said, not really looking up.

“There she is,” Anakin said, nodding to the welcoming committee that was descending the palace steps to meet them. 

“Our old friend,” Obi-Wan said, smiling for the first time since they’d landed.

Padme waved at them from the cluster of officials and guards that approached.  As the two groups converged, Padme stepped away from the group and rushed to greet them.  She threw her arms around Obi-Wan and Anakin, wrapping the pair of them in a warm hug.

“My favorite Jedi!” she called, crashing into the startled men.

“Hello, Padme,” Anakin said.

“So good to see you,” Obi-Wan said.

She gave a joyous laugh and they joined in as she let them go.  Behind her, the delegations were exchanging formalities.

“Your majesty,” Obi-Wan said.

“Oh, not any longer.  My term of office ended last year.  Now I’m just another member of the court.”

“So… a princess?” Anakin asked. 

Padme waved her hand, “Don’t bother.  To you two, I’m Padme.  No titles.”

“These days, she’s very informal.  A princess of the people,” said a deep voice from behind them.

Padme smiled and turned to step aside for the new arrival.

“Obi-Wan, Anakin, meet my big brother, Bail Organa, Prince of Alderaan.”

“Welcome to Alderaan, gentlemen,” Bail said, shaking each of their hands.

“We’re very glad to have you,” Padme said.  She mouthed to Bail, “Be nice.”

“Something amiss, your highness?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Bail isn’t quite as committed to the Republic as you’d prefer,” Padme said.

“Oh, well, that’s okay,” Anakin said.

“Certainly,” Obi-Wan said.

“I’m just not as forgiving of its flaws as my sister is,” Bail said.  “The Senate has fallen to so much infighting that it has grown useless.”

“Not a fan of democracy?” Anakin asked.

“I’m a fan of independence,” Bail replied.

“Bail has always gone his own way,” Padme said.

“I’m just saying, the Separatists have a point,” Bail said.

“A sharp one.  We were ambushed by a mercenary squadron on the way here,” Obi-Wan said.

“That’s terrible!” Padme said.  “Did everyone get away safely?”

“It was close,” Anakin said.

“That is very troubling,” Bail said.  “I’m sorry to hear that.  Whatever our differences, we can’t be resorting to violence.”

“There have been other incidents,” Obi-Wan said.

“It’s hard to imagine Count Dooku ordering an assassination,” Bail said.

“I’d have to agree,” Obi-Wan said.  “He was a Jedi, after all.”

“Hopefully these talks will put an end to the violence,” Padme said.

“All for that,” Bail said.

“The delegation from the Confederacy won’t arrive until tomorrow,” Padme said.

“We’re having a banquet tonight,” Bail said.

“Please, you must join us.  Save me from having to listen to Senators all evening,” Padme said.

“We’ll be there,” Anakin said, flashing a wide smile.  Obi-Wan reluctantly nodded a small assent.

“Obi-Wan, come over here, I asked them to wait for you,” Padme said.  She got the attention of the new Alderaanian Queen and led the group past the Senate delegation, down to the bottom of the steps.

“What’s over here?  And who’s the ‘they’?” Obi-Wan said, following Padme.

“The people and I wanted to thank you for your service to us.  Without you, this city would be in ruins.  We will never forget what you and Qui-Gon did for us,” Padme said.  She nodded to a group next to the statue that was covered in a sheet.

A small cadre of locals pulled the sheet off the grand statue.  The massive cloth billowed and fell away revealing a grand statue of Qui-Gon Jinn.  Along with the other heroes of Alderaan, the deceased Jedi would now watch over Aldera City forever. 

The assorted officials gave a round of applause.  The citizens of Aldera City paused to join in the unveiling of the newest hero.  Padme smiled, pleased at the work of the artists she had commissioned.

Obi-Wan fought to keep his emotions off of his face.  It took all he had to put on a pained smile before Padme turned to look back at him.

*             *             *

As they entered the banquet hall, Anakin seemed chipper enough.  Obi-Wan’s plan for the evening was to fade into the background and let his young apprentice intercept any rogue conversations that might try to attack him. 

Anakin had grown up so much in his years with the Jedi and now he was exactly what Qui-Gon had wanted: a great asset to the Order.  He was masterful at the controls of a starship.  He was skilled in combat and adept at finding the truth.  Obi-Wan knew that he would excel at whatever task was in front of him, but Anakin’s harshest tests were surely ahead of him.

Obi-Wan had never been comfortable amongst the trappings of wealth and politics.  Truthfully, no Jedi should be at home in opulence.  The lifestyle demanded a selflessness that abhorred possession and power.  Still, a good meal was a good meal. 

Anakin was by his side as they entered, but the young man was soon accosted by a silver protocol droid with some delicious looking hors d’oeuvres.  With his wingman lost, Obi-Wan set his sights on the nearest friendly harbor he could find.

Padme was dressed for a regal affair.  She had a white dress that would generously be described as ridiculous.  The Alderaanians could never seem to do anything formal without going a touch over-the-top.  Obi-Wan found the attire of the hosts to be amusing, but pointless.  She was chatting in a gaggle of important people.  She had full command of her audience of five as she regaled them with a tale that Obi-Wan only caught the back half of.

“And so finally I say to the Ambassador, ‘Look, she’s not just a pirate, she’s the Pirate Queen!’”

The line produced a raucous bit of laughter from her little group.  She went on.

“The man turned white as a sheet thinking I was going to be offended.  I had to explain it to him after, ‘Queens do not bow to queens.’  Good man was in such a state.  He got a nice long vacation after that little adventure.”

Friendly sighs and nods came around as she finished her story.  Obi-Wan watched from the side as she held her little corner of the room.  There were so many adjectives for Padme, but captivating would surely be high on his list.

The former Queen of Alderaan spotted him trying not to be noticed.  Cooperative was not an adjective he had in mind for her.

“Everyone, this is my hero, my rescuer.  Obi-Wan Kenobi.  The great Jedi Knight and Hero of Alderaan.  Please make him feel at home tonight when you inevitably buttonhole him,” Padme said.  Her smile could have lit up Aldera City as she took Obi-Wan aside, dispersing the little crowd that she’d been holding court with.

“You saved me again.  The Pirate Queen story is the best one I have.  Can’t believe I threw it away like that before we even sat down for the first course.”

“Sounded like quite a yarn.  Is it true?”

“Oh, who can say?  Not all my true stories actually happened,” Padme said.  She walked him to the far side of the room.

“Interesting policy,” Obi-Wan said.

“Well, not all of us have a lightsaber when we get surrounded,” Padme said.

“In this room, I don’t think my saber will be much help,” Obi-Wan said.

“Let’s hope not,” Padme said. 

A beat passed and she waved to Anakin on the far side of the room.  Her other arm stayed wrapped around Obi-Wan’s.

“I’ve put you two across from me at the table.  The Queen had you across from the senator from Mon Cala.”

“Now you’ve rescued me,” Obi-Wan said.

“Not entirely.  There’s a little surprise at the end of this thing and I wanted you close to hand,” Padme said.

“Oh?”

“Don’t worry about it.  Try to enjoy the nerf steak,” Padme said.

“Certainly,” Obi-Wan said.

“How have you been since I saw you last?” she asked.

“It’s been… a great challenge, training Anakin,” he said.

“I imagine your first pupil would be,” she said.

“And you?”

“Relieved… in every sense of the word.  I paint.  I teach a few government classes.  Try to make sure the wealth that built this palace gets spread out amongst the people.  It always seems like the least I can do,” she said.

“The people seem to love you.  Or so I gathered on the way in,” Obi-Wan said.

“No matter what, I’ll still be the one who almost saw this world destroyed,” Padme said.

“Not exactly your fault,” Obi-Wan said.  “I seem to remember a Viceroy that had quite a bit to do with it.”

“Well, maybe if the courts ever sort him out I’ll feel better,” Padme said.

Another protocol droid, this one a golden color, passed and Padme took a proffered aperitif.  Obi-Wan politely declined.

“You don’t?” she asked.

“Never on duty,” he replied.

“This is duty?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

He frowned, “My memories of this palace are a bit more violent than yours.  Forgive me if I keep an eye on the door.”

“I’m teasing,” she said.  She gave his arm a reassuring pat and a big smile.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said.

“It’s nothing.  I just want you to enjoy yourself.  I’ve been looking forward to this,” she said.

With a trumpet call the Queen entered.  Per decorum, the guests took their assigned seats at the long banquet table.  Anakin and Padme shared some small talk over the salads.  Obi-Wan chimed in when required.  He’d managed to divert Padme into thinking that this was just unease about security.  In truth, his thoughts were much more tormenting.

Anakin had Padme’s attention and was using it to great success.  Obi-Wan half listened as he told her about their adventure tracking a pair of gunrunners in the Rishi Maze.  She was genuinely engaged as he told her about how they’d had to search for the ship in a thick nebula.  Obi-Wan focused on the food in front of him.

Despite the perfectly prepared nerf steak, he could still smell the past in this place.  The palace hadn’t changed much in the years since he’d been here last, and one thing that was exactly the same was the scent.  With every deep breath, he could return to that terrible day.  That shocked look on Qui-Gon’s face as the red blade skewered him.  The scream that he’d let out when he realized what had happened.  The rage that he felt when he sliced that Sith in half.  And that final, terrible moment when Qui-Gon had breathed his last. 

Whatever happened in the future, Alderaan would forever haunt Obi-Wan Kenobi.  He sat in the center of a gleaming white monument to his grandest failure.

Through the haze of his memories, a hand came up to grab him.  He flinched for a beat as he snapped back to reality and the banquet table.

The hand belonged to the Senator that occupied the chair next to him.  The poor man was simply asking him to pass the bread, and Obi-Wan was happy to oblige.  Across the table, Padme was still riveted by another of Anakin’s tales from the Outer Rim patrols.  Obi-Wan took the opportunity to slip away from the table.  He heard Padme’s quiet call after him, but once his feet began to move, he made it to the outer walkway before he paused. 

Behind him, the banquet hall did not seem to lack for his absence.  He looked out over the waist-high railing and saw the glittering lights of Aldera’s skyline.  This walkway seemed to connect a wing of the palace to the center and Obi-Wan took a moment to catch his breath and try to center himself.  He looked out and saw the statue of Qui-Gon they had erected.  The proud face and bold features had been perfectly captured.  From this height, he was almost at eye level with the great stone face. 

The memory came back with a vengeance.  He could feel Qui-Gon’s hand, cold as the void, clutching at his shoulder.  From behind him came the call he’d heard since he was just a boy. 

“Obi-Wan?” came the voice of his old Master.  His knees buckled at the shock.  A pathetic cry escaped his lips.

“Whoa there, Master.  Take it easy.  Are you all right?” said Anakin, his warm hand moved to Obi-Wan’s arm.  The Padawan reached out to steady his teacher.  Obi-Wan collected himself and dismissed the waking nightmare that had consumed him.

He found his legs again and Anakin helped to keep him steady for a beat.

“Oh, yes.  Thank you, Anakin.  Much better now.  My apologies,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Just wanted to make sure you were all right.  You tore out of there pretty fast,” Anakin said.

“Did I?” Obi-Wan asked, looking over Anakin’s shoulder at the light of the banquet hall that cut a channel across the terrace. 

“Padme noticed,” Anakin said, by way of an answer.

“I…” Obi-Wan started.  When the words didn’t come, he gripped the railing and shrugged.

“Qui-Gon?” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan just nodded, turning to look out at the city again.  Anakin put his elbows on the rail next to Obi-Wan’s.  For a moment, they shared the view in silence.  Anakin knew that his Master would speak when he was ready, not before.  They had shared a thousand silent moments in their years together.  This was simply the latest. 

Anakin could feel Obi-Wan settle.  His mind quieted.  He took a breath and let it out.

“I can’t go back in there,” Obi-Wan said.

“I know.”

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” Obi-Wan said.

“I know.”

“I put an end to that monster.  Why does it feel like this?”

“Because Qui-Gon isn’t here,” Anakin said.

“Oh, sure he is, look down there,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing towards the statue below.  They each let out a breath. 

“Pain,” Anakin said.

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin nodded towards the statue below, “He would have hated that, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes.  He would have thought it was so ostentatious,” Obi-Wan agreed.  “He’d have said something about duty and selflessness.”

“Sounds right,” Anakin said, nodding.  “Look, I can cover for you.  Why don’t you get some rest?  It’s been a long day.  People tried to kill us.  Go meditate or sleep or both.  Whatever you need to do.”

“You’re not going to tell me to be strong?” Obi-Wan said.

“It hasn’t been my experience you need to be told that,” Anakin said.  “And it’s a banquet, not a battle.  It’ll be fine.”

Obi-Wan lifted his arms off the rail and gave a last look back at the light of the hall.  “Anakin… thank you.”

“Sleep well, Master.”

Obi-Wan turned to head to the chambers that had been designated for the Republic delegation.  There was a room and a bed waiting for him and he would make good use of both.  Anakin watched him walk to the adjacent building and go inside.  He took a moment to take in the view. 

“Sure beats Mos Espa, doesn’t it?” said Owen as he came up behind Anakin.  He carried a glass with some liquid that Anakin couldn’t identify.

The Jedi wasn’t startled.  He’d sensed Owen’s approach since the man had left the banquet hall a few moments ago.

“Glorious,” Anakin said.

“You know what it reminds me of?” Owen asked.

“The Harvest Day celebrations,” Anakin said, smiling.

“Mmm.  When they’d put out the spotlights and the freighters would come in.  All those ships lighting up the skies,” Owen said.

“Watto always closed the shop early that day.  My mother and I would watch from the roof,” Anakin said.

“I used to beg my dad to pay for me to get a ride on one of the shuttles.  He never did, but it was still fun.”

“What did he do, your dad?” Anakin asked.

“He was a mechanic down at the docking bays.  I think that’s why I became I pilot.  I used to see him working on all these ships… the pilots would always seem so flashy.  You’d see them talking to the Twi’lek girls.  I saw those long legs and just knew I had to become a pilot.”

Anakin took a moment to reevaluate Owen.

“The Twi’lek girls had long legs too,” Owen said, breaking into a grin and taking another sip from his glass.  A moment passed before Anakin laughed.

“How’d you get out?” Anakin asked.

“I’d saved up a few hundred credits from odd jobs and things.  After your win, I took it to one of Gardulla’s gambling houses.  Put it all on one round of pazaak.  I had a plus one that got me to twenty on the last hand.  After I doubled up, I had enough cash to buy my way on to a freighter that was heading for the core worlds.  Kissed my mama goodbye and said so long to that dusty rock,” Owen said.

“That was some gamble,” Anakin said.  “What would you have done if you’d lost?”

Owen shrugged, “Life of crime?  Maybe tried to get in with the bounty hunters guild?  Moisture farming, maybe, if I wanted something quiet.  Tatooine doesn’t have much to offer.”

“You miss it?”

A look of mild disgust came over his face, “Not one bit.  I put in a transmission to the folks when I can.  Sometimes I send them some extra cash when I have it, but I don’t miss that sandpit for a single second,” Owen said.

Anakin let that thought hang.  Owen downed the last of his glass and put it down on the walkway.  He arched his back, yawned, and stretched.

“I’ve had enough fun.  I’m gonna turn in.  Thank the good folks of Alderaan for the steak and drinks if you go back in there.  When all this is over, I really should find out what it was I’ve been drinking all night.  Damned good stuff,” Owen said.  He walked in the same direction that Obi-Wan had gone.  Anakin noted a slight stagger in his step, but it was of no concern.

“Good night, Owen,” Anakin called.

“Good night, Master Jedi,” Owen said, laughing as he walked away.

Anakin took a look around.  He debated going to bed himself, but his youthful energy held him back.

“Anakin!  Where’s Obi-Wan?” came a voice from down the walkway.  It had the timbre of a full-volume whisper.  He turned and saw Padme beckoning him over. 

He swiveled on his heel and headed for her.  He hadn’t realized she was there.  He wondered if that was a problem.

“He went to bed.  He needed the rest,” Anakin said.

Padme’s look softened a bit, “Well, that’s understandable, but he’s left me in a bit of a bind here.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow, “Why is that?”

“Royal banquets always end with a dance.  I’ve got no partner,” Padme said.

“Sure you do,” Anakin said with a grin.

“Oh yeah?” she looked him up and down and found him acceptable.  “All right, flyboy.  Come on with you.”

She took him by the hand and led him back into the banquet hall.  The guests had moved away from the long table and droids were busy bussing the remaining plates.  Several guests had gathered around the open dance floor and a few of the court members were selecting partners.

Her soft hand in his was a new sensation, but certainly not an unpleasant one.  For a moment, he was back at Watto’s shop, regarding the pretty girl that had come in looking for parts.

She led him to an empty spot at the end of the dance floor.  She took a pose, keeping his hand and moving another to his arm.  Anakin put his free hand on her hip and set his feet.

“You know this one?” she asked, surprised.

“My mother believed in a well-rounded education.  We had dances back in Mos Espa too, Your Highness,” he said.  His smile finished the thought.

“Never underestimate a Jedi,” she said.

Before he could reply, the music started.  From the end of the hall, a Bith band put on a lovely performance with a beat that was dignified, but playful.  Padme had been prepared to drag Obi-Wan around the dance floor, though the thought was acceptable to her.  Instead, she found Anakin’s firm touch to be rather reassuring as he guided her through the steps.  The shy teenager she had met years ago was gone.  This young man had replaced him.  Anakin twirled her around the floor in time and sync with the other dancers.  She looked into his blue eyes and got lost.  The smile wasn’t half bad either.

He’d been quite the entertainer over dinner and this little finale did not disappoint in the slightest. 

She let out the slightest gasp when he dipped her.  The shift in gravity was a shock, but his eyes held her as steady as the hand at the small of her back.

When her feet touched the floor again, the music faded and the onlookers gave a smattering of applause.  It took her a moment to return from the air.  She found both of her hands had moved to the back of Anakin’s neck, interlaced fingers hanging on to him by instinct alone.

Before her eyes left his, she found her voice.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked.

*             *             *

Obi-Wan felt the world fall away as he drifted in the Force.  Somewhere in his mind, he knew that he was sitting on a rug in a comfortable room on Alderaan, but at the forefront of his thoughts, he was shrouded in a fog of energy and spirits that he could barely fathom.

His breathing was the only rhythm he could rely upon in this place.  Around him were swirls of chaotic energy.  He did his best to steady the ripples that he could touch and to avoid the ones that were too violent for his soul.  Above him were the light of the stars, but the fog rose up all around him, threatening to choke him if he lost his footing.

A voice called to him from ahead.  It began as no more than a whisper, but with every step he took, it grew louder.

The brogue called to him in the twilight.  The hypnotic voice of Qui-Gon Jinn echoed across the netherworld.  Obi-Wan swept his hands into the energy that surrounded him, trying to clear a path to look for his old Master.  The effort was futile, but far below, his feet carried him ever forward.

“All will be revealed, Obi-Wan.  Come forward,” Qui-Gon called to him.

Obi-Wan pushed harder, but the fog resisted him more.  He could feel himself stumble and as he caught himself and looked up, the fog had gone.  Qui-Gon stood before him, on a field of sand.  Beyond him were bodies, thousands.  The remnants of a battlefield that went on to infinity.  He could see lightsabers around many of the corpses.  Some were shattered, none were working.  Black smoke and an orange pillar of flame lit the world before him.  His old Master looked him in the eye.

“I have failed you, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said.  His eyes never wavered.

“No, the failure was mine.  If I hadn’t stepped away.  If I hadn’t…”

Qui-Gon put up a hand to stop him. 

“I taught you to serve, but not to endure.  I tried to keep this from you, but it has found you all the same.”

“What has?” Obi-Wan asked.

“The reckoning.”

Qui-Gon turned and walked out onto the battlefield.  His steps avoided the scattered bodies perfectly.  He walked straight away to the pillar of fire that gave light to this place.

Obi-Wan tried to follow him, but his feet would not move.  For every bit of energy he put forward, he was met with more resistance.  The effort exhausted him. 

He called for Qui-Gon to return, but nothing changed.  Wordlessly, his old Master walked into the pillar of fire.  Obi-Wan screamed again, as he had when the red blade had shattered his life, years ago.  The fire consumed Qui-Gon in an instant and grew brighter and more intense as it expanded.

The flames swept outward and upward.  Obi-Wan was helpless to watch the skeletons burn.  The inferno, not content with cleansing the sands, took to the sky.  Obi-Wan looked up and saw the galaxy in flames.  The fires swept the sky and the stars melted into the inferno. 

He looked ahead and could see the flames coming towards him, ready to make him the last of these burnt offerings.  The heat singed his beard and the light blinded him.  As the fires swept relentlessly towards him, he saw a face in the flames. 

At first he thought it was Qui-Gon, but as soon as he thought he saw him, the face had altered.  With only an instant, the face changed from Qui-Gon, to his Sith murderer, to Anakin.  Then suddenly it was Master Windu, then Count Dooku, Yoda, then Padme, again it was Qui-Gon and as the flames reached him, the face became Obi-Wan himself.

His scream brought him back to the world.  He hovered half a meter off the rug.  Around him, the few loose objects in the room orbited his body at great velocity, floating around him in a swirling whirlwind that whipped up the air.  Obi-Wan felt himself flail and fall.  The objects too lost their energy and floated for a moment before gravity pulled them back down in a clanking cacophony that startled him as much as his impact with the rug underneath him.

Exhausted, Obi-Wan fell back on the rug and gasped for air.  He put a hand to his face to make sure that it was undamaged.  The heat of the vision on his cheek.  He stared at the ceiling as he caught his breath.  He would lay there until dawn broke over Aldera City.

*             *             *

From one of the palace’s skywalks, Anakin and Obi-Wan observed the Separatists’ shuttle descend to the foot of the entrance steps and disgorge its passengers.  They paused in their patrol of the perimeter to watch Padme and the Alderaanians greet the delegation.

Anakin saw an older man, a reserved, gentlemanly type, in a formal uniform with a cape.  Anakin wasn’t sure, but he thought he could see a lightsaber dangling from the man’s belt.

“Is that him?” Anakin asked, jutting a chin towards the man at the front of the group.

Obi-Wan nodded, “Count Dooku of Serenno.”

“Doesn’t look fearsome,” Anakin said.

“Cross blades with him sometime, you’ll change your mind,” Obi-Wan said.

“How long has it been since you saw him last?”

“Since before I met you,” Obi-Wan said.  “But he makes an impression.”

They looked on from above as Padme and her welcoming committee introduced themselves to the visitors.  She led them into the palace and Obi-Wan and Anakin resumed their beat, guarding the peace talks from any outside interference. 

*             *             *

Padme and Bail led the cadre of Separatists into the meeting room.  The Republic group turned to greet their Confederate counterparts.  There was an uneasy silence as both sides regarded each other.  On the far side of the room, Padme saw one of the protocol droids, a gold one, shift position as it if was nervous.

Padme, ever the diplomat, stepped in to start a conversation, but before she could get anything out, Count Dooku spoke first.

“Greetings to you, senators of the Republic.  Before we begin, I was hoping to speak to one of the Jedi Masters who have accompanied you here.”

Senator Mothma, the young human from Chandrila, spoke for the Republic delegation.  “Count Dooku, as you well know, the Jedi are servants of the Republic, but they do not speak for Republic policy.  They are here to protect, not to participate.  Whatever you have to discuss should be with us, not with them.”

Dooku took a deferential step back and gestured to his companions, “Very well.  I meant no disrespect.  Perhaps when our business has concluded.  Allow me to present Wat Tambor, Foreman of the Techno Union.”

A Skakoan in a chromium plated suit stepped forward.  Only the top of his bulbous green head stuck out from the suit.  He spoke with a voice modulator as was required for any Skakoan in a standard atmosphere.  Their race was accustomed to a high atmospheric pressure.  The slightest puncture of that suit would result in a catastrophic detonation. 

The modulator gave a low warble before it found the proper tone.  “We have much to discuss.  At the outset, the Confederacy of Independent Systems wishes to claim an aggrieved status in these negotiations. “

Senator Sonora, the Republic Senator from Mon Cala, stepped forward, “I’m sorry, what?”

*             *             *

“Palace Control, this is Aldera Air Central.  We have an incoming ship.  It came in on a similar vector as the Separatist shuttle.  Do you have any information on this vessel?”

“Aldera Central, that’s a negative.  We do not.  Likely it’s late arriving Separatist personnel.  Staffers and the like.  You know how it is with the diplomats.  There’s always an entourage.”

“Roger that, Palace Control.  You okay with us routing them to you?”

“Yeah.  Do you have an identification code?”

“Negative, Palace.  They are not broadcasting on any channels.”

“Well, it’s a bit rude of them, but the Seppys do love their secrets.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with them coming in to the palace hangar?”

“We’ve got the room and we’ll let security know that they’re coming in quiet.  Let’s not start an interplanetary incident.  Especially with the big heads upstairs jawing at each other.”

“Copy that, Palace Control.”

The sleek grey vessel knifed down through the atmosphere and circled the city.  The doors of the Palace Hangar were wide open.  The vessel had a long fuselage and a pair of curved wingtips.  It glided to an empty landing pad.  At the top of the far wall, the technicians of Palace Control looked out onto the new arrival.

The young woman who had accepted the call from Aldera Central hit a switch on her console and hailed the ship.

“Hello and welcome to Aldera Palace.  We did not copy any identification codes from your vessel.  Can you transmit data for your codes and cargo, please?”

Empty silence came over the headset.

*             *             *

Senator Sonora was incensed.  Senator Mothma tried to put a hand on her shoulder to steady the aquatic Mon Cal, but there was no stopping her.

“Confederate assassins have attacked Republic diplomats on a dozen worlds!  One of your agents was responsible for the death of Senator Prix only a few weeks ago.  You bombed a colony that had barely established a working government!  The Republic has endured your provocations for long enough.  Our first priority is for you to cease your covert operations against Republic civilians.  Anything less will put us on a path to war.”

*             *             *

As they rounded the corner, Obi-Wan tried to put his focus elsewhere as Anakin recalled his adventures after the banquet.

“We rode this thing called a thranta.  It’s a fabulously big bird.  Do you know about them?  They apparently are pretty common on the plains here.”

Obi-Wan nodded and tried not to sigh, “I’ve heard of them, yes.”

Anakin beamed, “Padme said it was a gift from the Gungans.  If you thought this city was impressive in the daytime, you really have to see it at night.  She told me about what it was like to grow up here.  She’s very easy to talk to…”

*             *             *

“Attention, unidentified vessel.  This is Palace Hangar Control transmitting in the blind.  Do you copy?  We need you to acknowledge this signal.  Please identify yourself and transmit your cargo codes.”

*             *             *

San Hill, a Muun from the InterGalactic Banking Clan was responding in kind to the accusations that had been levelled. 

“What need have you for all this protection?  You have Jedi guardians patrolling the corridors and you’re hard at work on some ghastly army of cloned soldiers.  All we want is to go our own way, and yet you use every opportunity for violence,” Hill said.

“I don’t know what to say to that.  Respectfully, Executive Hill, I don’t have any information on any Republic attacks on your people.” Senator Mothma said, trying to bring down the tone and volume of the discussions.

“Republic privateers have wreaked havoc on our shipping!  We haven’t even been able to resupply our outposts in Rima Sector.  You’ve been smart enough not to use your Navy, but the cutthroat mercenaries who target us fly under Republic colors.”

Senator Buran of Duro cut in for the Republic’s defense, “We have directed no such attacks!  This is sheer madness!”

“Confederate vessels have been attacked!  We lost an entire supply convoy on its way to Ansion!  Those were civilian supplies going to a peaceful planet.  It’s unconscionable that you would set up ambushes for simple interplanetary commerce.  Those ships and their crews were defenseless.  Your pirates slaughtered them en masse!”

“Lies!”

*             *             *

“She took me over to this entertainment district on the far side of the city.  They have a theater house and opera performances, but we were too late to catch any of that.”

“Anakin…”

“We wound up playing a few games of sabacc at this gambling house in the lower level.  I thought they’d kick me out just because, you know, we can sense the cards at the table, but I made a point not to cheat.  I did point out some of the folks using skifters.  I think Padme rather enjoyed it.  I bet she doesn’t have a chance to get into much trouble these days…”

*             *             *

“Unidentified vessel.  This is your final warning.  Security agents are being deployed.  We have no wish for provocation but you must identify yourself immediately.”

*             *             *

“What do you mean you can’t claim responsibility?  There is no other explanation!” said Poggle the Lesser, Archduke of Geonosis, a Confederate stronghold.

“Your allegations are simply false,” said Senator Buran.

“We have reports that you are preparing to deploy a clone army.  There can be no doubt that the forces of corruption that led us to separate are now seeking retribution.  The Confederacy will defend itself against Republic attacks at every turn.”

“Perhaps such attacks will give a challenge to the droid armies of the Trade Federation under your command,” Sonora said.

Senator Buran, seated next to her, was starting to lose his cool.  “We are activating military assets to deal with the crises that you have created.  Kidnappings, murders, bombings, assassinations.  These are all tools in the so-called Confederacy’s repertoire.  Did you really think these transgressions would go unpunished?  And spare us these pieties about corruption and innocence.  Your movement is funded by megacorporations that are trying to avoid paying taxes and duties.”

Count Dooku sat at the center of the Separatist delegation’s side of the table.  He tried to tamp down the exchange.

“It seems clear to me that neither side has a complete understanding of the situation,” Dooku said.

*             *             *

 The security guards spread out and circled the slim, dark vessel that had refused to acknowledge any hails.  Captain Panaka, still the loyal servant of the Alderaanian crown, nodded to her lieutenants. 

“Draw down,” Panaka said.  She watched her men draw blasters and level them in the general direction of the ship. 

She keyed her headset and spoke quietly, “Control, let me have a channel please.”  A moment passed and she heard the tell-tale beep in her radio, “Unidentified vessel, this is Captain Panaka of the Alderaanian Royal Guards.  Please acknowledge this hail or we will be forced to commence a boarding action to secure your vessel.  Do you read, over?”

Panaka looked at the darkened windows at the top of the ship, where she assumed pilots, be they droid or biological, stared down at her.  The faint crackle of radio static did not change in the slightest.  She took her headset off and put it on a crate next to her.

“Okay, let’s go get them,” she said.  On her left a team of four guards flanked the vessel, moving underneath the belly, to what they assumed was the main hatch.

As the team moved under the wingtip, two weapon pods deployed, dropping down from the center of each wing.  Panaka started to cancel the boarding, but before she could get the words out, a pair of missiles launched from the pods.  One impacted the Palace Hangar control room, obliterating it instantly.  The second missile hit the crate beside Captain Panaka.  The second explosion destroyed the core of the Royal Guards in a torrent of fire. 

*             *             *

“What in blazes was that?” Senator Sonora asked, hearing a dull thwump and feeling the conference table shake.

Across the table, Wat Tambor’s eyes looked thoroughly perplexed.  The rest of his face was a mask.

*             *             *

Under the long nose of the vessel, a panel slid open and a rack unfolded, depositing a squadron of a dozen BX-series droid commandos.  This new model of battle droid was faster, smarter, and more agile.  These were especially designed to deal with more complex situations.  Droid commandos were more lethal and more expensive.  And they were worth every credit.

Armed with snub-nosed E-5 blaster rifles and razor sharp vibroswords, the droid commandos cut down the remaining Royal Guards that had not been instantly killed in the missile strike.  The fires from the explosions were spreading slowly.  Smoke and haze began to clear away. 

The main access ramp finally descended, bleeding off pneumatic pressure in a curtain of white fog on either side of the ramp.  A pair of mechanical legs emerged, with heavy metallic feet and sharpened leading edges.  The legs ended at the waist in a bio-mechanical convergence.  Above, the torso was protected by a black armored tunic.  The double-bladed weapon was carried in the right hand, but not yet activated.  The cold, yellow eyes peered out from under a crown of horns.  The angry red and black countenance surveyed the remnants of the Royal Guards. 

The droid commandos kept their weapons trained on the entrances to the hangar deck.  Maul looked around and noted the lack of any living soul, save himself.  He nodded his approval.

Darth Maul, Lord of the Sith, stepped on to the deck of the Palace Hangar, taking his first steps on this world in years. 

“We shall work.”

* * *​

In the burning wreckage of the control room, a young man had survived the missile attack.  Barely breathing, he’d been slammed against the far wall of the room after the initial explosion.  Debris had cut into his left arm and his face was scorched by fire and smeared with ash.  He crawled over the fragments of chairs and bodies, desperate to do the only thing which might be of any use.  He found the security station at the center of the room and pressed the large red button.

The last thing he heard was the alarms echoing from the marble hallways of the palace. 

*             *             *

Anakin was back on his feet after the rumble that had shaken the palace.  Obi-Wan looked around grimly, tense and watchful. 

“You think?” Anakin asked.

Their comlinks crackled to life, “All Jedi, secure the conference room,” said the voice of Kit Fisto.

A sea of confused chatter called out.  Obi-Wan and Anakin raced down the outer walkway, alarms deafened them as they ran. 

*             *             *

Maul took a soldier’s pace down the corridor that led to the main wing of the palace.  The droid commandos guarded his flanks. 

Occasionally, the odd guard or public servant opened a door or emerged from a hidden position and was quickly cut down by blaster fire. 

Since his reassembly, Maul had constructed a new lightsaber, with a crescent-shaped guard over one of the two sabers.  The red blades emerged as he entered the atrium at the far end of the hallway. 

Under the beautiful skylight that illuminated the palace atrium, Maul pointed a gloved finger towards the opposite corner of the massive chamber.  As he looked on, he saw the blast doors there begin to close.  Around the atrium, it was the same.  Blast doors began to seal shut in a vain attempt to stop the incursion.

*             *             *

Count Dooku had risen from his seat as the alarms went off.  As the assorted diplomats had begun to natter uselessly amongst themselves, he had reached out with the Force.  What he found sent a chill to his very core.

He offered only one word of advice to the gaggle of Senators and Confederates. 

“Scatter,” Dooku said, silencing the room with the single word.

A moment later, the four sets of blast doors, one at each corner of the conference hall, began to shut.  Dooku, with Jedi reflexes that had not faded with the years, ran for the nearest exit, took a running slide and skidded underneath the descending door as it slammed to the floor. 

*             *             *

Fifty meters away, Anakin and Obi-Wan spotted Dooku as he emerged from the conference hall.  The aged Force-wielder popped up with a youthful spring, turned to see the Jedi charging for his position, and took off in the other direction. 

“Save the Senators!  I’m going after Dooku!” Obi-Wan said, not breaking stride as he passed the sealed doorway to the conference hall.  Anakin pulled up, watching his Master give chase.  He badly wanted to follow Obi-Wan and support him in the ensuing fight, but he had his orders.  He took a look at the sealed blast doors, then stared up and down the walkway, trying to find an alternate route.

*             *             *

Though he could never admit it, Kit Fisto felt more alive than he had in years.  With his old friend, Master Tiin at his side, they faced down a platoon of commando droids.  His training allowed him to tamp down the fear for his own safety, the fear for the safety of the Senators.  The calm that washed over him focused through his arm.  His emerald blade deflected a flurry of bolts as he and Saesee made their way down the corridor. 

Internally, he kicked himself for choosing to guard the outer perimeter.  He could not imagine how such a large force had so easily eluded detection.  But that no longer mattered.  Not since his youth had he had such a clarity of purpose.  Defeat the droids, save the delegates, save the negotiations, save the Republic.  It was rare that a Jedi’s task was so cleanly laid bare.

From the line of fire ahead, two droids began to approach.  He watched as the incoming pair unsheathed their vibroswords and took a combat stance.  He remembered his last year on Ilum, where he’d practiced saber combat against duos of younglings who had wanted to try their luck against an older student.  Some of them were half his size and it had only seemed fair to take them on two at a time. 

A smile came to his face as their swords glowed red.  In sync they lifted their blades and swung.  He skirted the incoming blows and spun.  His lightsaber came close to lopping off the head of the droid on his right.  It only survived thanks to the quick response of its mate. 

He disengaged his blade, rolled and swung low.  Coming up from a knee, he drove his blade through the torso of the slower droid and shoved the metallic carcass aside with the Force.

As he blocked the blow of its partner, a sense of dread entered his mind.  Before he could see it clearly, he heard the pained cry of Saesee Tiin. 

Tiin had been deflecting so many shots from the front that he’d had nothing left to give focus to the rear.  A sneaky droid commando had taken advantage and put a blaster bolt into the back of the Jedi Master’s leg.

Eager to conclude this deadly business, Fisto reached out with the Force and gripped his attacker by the neck.  He flung the trapped droid at its mates.  The hail of metal and blaster fire ended and he rushed to Saesee’s side.

The wound was serious, but he would live.  Master Tiin would not be fighting more today.  Fisto winced as he helped up the Ikothi and tried to find a safe place to shelter him until hostilities had concluded. 

*             *             *

Dooku is damned fast for an old man, thought Obi-Wan as he pursued the fallen Jedi.  The elder man sprinted down a long flight of stairs that spiraled around a tower.  Obi-Wan was able to keep pace with him, but did little to close the distance.  At the base of the battlement, Dooku turned and made for one of the support ships that had escorted his delegation to Alderaan. 

The small fighter, a teardrop with a swiveling laser turret at the front, stood on spindly legs in the little outer courtyard.  Obi-Wan, halfway down the stairs, could see from his vantage that this was Dooku’s destination. 

He could not get in a position to cut off the fleeing nobleman.  His only option was to delay him.

“Dooku!” Obi-Wan called, stretching out the last syllable more than was necessary.  His voice bounced back and forth off the walls of the piazza.  The echoes reverberated and gave the aged Jedi below a moment of pause at the base of the stairs.

Dooku turned and saw Obi-Wan following him down the long winding staircase.  He reached out with the Force and sent a wave of energy towards his pursuer.  Obi-Wan, more than ready for such a mild attack, brushed off the ripple of energy with a wave of his hand.  He did not break stride down the stairway. 

At the foot of the stairs, Obi-Wan saw Dooku was halfway to the fighter.  His options grew very thin.  “Coward!” Obi-Wan bellowed, willing the older man to face him.

Amazingly, the elder Jedi turned, his cape billowing in the breeze and faced Obi-Wan Kenobi.  He withdrew the curved handle of his lightsaber, but did not activate it.

*             *             *

Anakin couldn’t do anything about the blast door, but he’d managed to find a back entrance to the atrium where the blast door had malfunctioned.  He squeezed under the tight slit that was left by the stuck door and turned to the entrance to the conference hall. 

Ahead of him he saw the crimson saber of a Sith Lord cutting a hole through the blast doors.  Obi-Wan had only spoken to him once about Qui-Gon Jinn’s assassin, but Anakin knew instantly, instinctively, that this was the man that had fought his Master years before.  Somehow, the bastard had returned.

The Sith sneered at the sight of the young padawan and gave a hand signal to his droid guardians. 

Before Anakin could take three steps to attack the evil specter, the droid commandos began to fire at him. 

Anakin whipped his saber up and it activated just in time to keep him from taking three blaster bolts to the chest.  His instincts saved him from a barrage of fire that forced him to backstep. 

Anakin watched as a pair of droids took position behind a set of columns and darted out to fire at him, then ducked back.  Another droid, that Anakin began to think of as the captain, based on its white markings, began to march down the center of the path towards him.  In the background, he could see the red blade of the Sith assassin cutting into the doors and knew that he must do something to stop it. 

Anakin kept his guard up and tried to think of a way out of this spot.  Every bolt he deflected either scattered or bounced uselessly off the stone columns.  He managed to send a shot back at the captain of the droids.  The round hit the droid in its blaster.  The blaster skittered away across the floor.  The droid, without missing a beat, withdrew the large vibrosword from its back.  Anakin saw the red edge of the blade illuminate and the droid swung it high. 

The droid commando was about to bring his blade down on Anakin’s head to split him in two.  Skywalker lifted his saber to block the move.  The swords clashed into each other and gave a familiar hiss at the impact.  Before Anakin could counter the move, the droid’s head was blasted clean off.

Anakin turned to his left and looked behind him.  Owen Lars stood over his shoulder with a blaster pistol aimed straight ahead.

Anakin watched as he ducked out of the way of an incoming bolt.  The young man scurried behind a column just as the battle droids had.  He said to Anakin over the screeching fire, “Draw another one out!  I’ll get him before he gets to you!”

*             *             *

“Please, young padawan, stop this pursuit,” Dooku said.  His tone was that of an instructor, pleading with a pupil.

“You know I can’t let you leave,” Obi-Wan said.

“You must.  Worlds are at stake,” Dooku said.

“We agree on that,” Obi-Wan said.

“I have no desire to fight,” Dooku said.

“You are welcome to return to the palace in peace,” Obi-Wan said, flashing his trademark grin.

“No.”

With a pained look, Dooku lit his saber.  The crimson blade stretched out from the silver, curved handle.  The fallen Jedi took his stance, turning to the side, his blade levelled at Obi-Wan’s chest.

“I liked it better when yours was green,” Obi-Wan said, nodding to the lightsaber.  Obi-Wan lit his own and took a fighting stance that he was comfortable with.

“Life is change.  I certainly taught that to Qui-Gon.  Why didn’t he teach it to you?” Dooku said.

“I was never a very good student,” Obi-Wan said.

Dooku scoffed at the lie, “He would have hated this,” Dooku said, motioning with his free hand to the space between the two of them.

“You can stop this at any time,” Obi-Wan said.

Dooku gave a small, knowing smile, “Your quality is already known amongst your enemies.”

The elder Jedi deactivated his saber and lifted his arms to the colonnade at the top of the citadel. 

Obi-Wan could feel him reach out with the Force.  He turned to look above and behind him and saw the masonry and stone come crashing down from on high.  Obi-Wan hadn’t the chance to scream, let alone to flee.  The best he could do was to scramble away from Dooku back in the direction he’d come, hoping that the curved wall would shelter him in some way from the falling debris.

The stone parapet crumbled and slammed neatly into the ground, forming a low jagged wall between Obi-Wan and his pursuer.  Dooku gave a look of exasperated regret and gave a formal bow.  Then he turned on his heel to make good his escape. 

Dooku mounted the little fighter and sealed the hatch before Obi-Wan could stop him.

From behind the barrier, Obi-Wan took out a rounded gadget from his belt.  He flung it at the ship where it latched on and opened like a flower.  The little ring of lights inside began to glow, activating the tracker. 

Obi-Wan watched as the little ship lifted off and its landing gear withdrew into the fuselage.  Lacking any other recourse, Obi-Wan lit his saber and hefted it with his right hand.  He aimed it like a spear and flung it into the sky, targeting the engines at the rear of Dooku’s ship.  At this altitude, even with the loss of an engine, Dooku would likely survive the minor impact of a crash.

The azure saber flew arrow-straight across the space between them.  Dooku, sensing the incoming danger, yawed his ship slightly and Obi-Wan’s blade cleanly speared the laser cannon on the front of the vessel.  Toothless, but mobile, Dooku’s ship swung around and made for the crisp blue sky of Alderaan. 

Below, Obi-Wan roared in frustration.  Reaching out a hand, the lightsaber returned to his grasp.  He took a moment to look around the courtyard and its new low wall.  He thought back on the moment and noted that, had he remained where he had been standing, he would have never been in danger from the falling debris.   He took another moment, watching the ship recede into the clouds.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, and turned to find him.

*             *             *

Between the two of them, they’d taken out three more of the commandos before the Sith had gotten the blast door open.  Anakin watched in horror as a large metal slab fell away and hit the floor of the conference room with a reverberating boom. 

The Zabrak ducked under the top of his cut and entered the conference hall.  Twenty meters away, Anakin fended off more blaster bolts and swung his saber, cutting the legs out from under a droid commando.  The next in the seemingly endless line of them charged at him.  He knew that eventually he would make a mistake.  The droids would, sooner or later, break his defenses.  It was just a matter of time.

Time, Anakin knew, that Padme no longer could afford.  This assassin had to be stopped.  He reached out with the Force and projected a wave that bowled over the droid commandos. 

“Get away,” he said to Owen, charging forward to take on the Sith Lord.

*             *             *

Stepping inside the conference hall, Maul swiveled his head and took note of the occupants.  He gave a look of disgust as he surveyed the diplomats before him.  The Separatists had crowded in a far corner.  The Republic Senators were spread out on the back wall of the room.  The Alderaanians had interspersed among both groups.  He sneered. 

One of the Republic group, presumably the bravest of the chattering cowards, rose to face him.  The corrupt bureaucrat was a Mon Cal female who wore the trappings of a Senator.  She faced him and said something that he didn’t bother listening to. 

He cut her down without thinking twice.  The assembled bigwigs screamed and wailed.  He used the Force to shove her remains away.  There was still work to do and no need to waste time.

He looked on the far side of the room from his improvised entrance.  He saw a young woman there.  The first familiar face he had seen on this miserable little world.  This was the woman that had given him such a difficult time all those years ago.  He levelled his saber at her and marched forward. 

Padme backtracked, trying to get some distance, but knowing in the back of her head that it was futile.  The room had been sealed and the Sith was between her and the only exit.  The black clad Sith was closing in on her.  She panicked, running into the blast door at the rear.  She pounded on the blast door uselessly.  The security program never accounted for an attacker being able to enter a sealed room. 

Maul’s face broke into a sinister grin as she turned to face him.  It wasn’t as satisfying as killing a Jedi, but vengeance had a wonderful flavor.

He raised his saber, bringing it up to crash down on her.  With his anger unleashed, his eyes lit up with joy at this rare pleasure.  The red blade came down on the annoying little princess…

The snap of a saber clash scattered his emotions.  He looked down to find a blue blade cutting off the arc of his crimson one.  He looked over at the new arrival and saw the young padawan from the hallway.  Somehow the boy had pushed past his droids and was making a feeble attempt to rescue the irritating little cur. 

Maul’s grin somehow grew wider.  Here was a target worthy of his attention.  Even a padawan was still a Jedi.  This was so much better than killing sycophants.

Maul pulled back with a flourish and gave a subtle salute with his saber, acknowledging his new enemy.  The padawan followed suit, taking a step back.  The boy looked nervous.  It was understandable, considering his life was about to end as an appetizer of violence. 

His droids would keep the perimeter secure, this little annoyance notwithstanding.  Maul savored the moment.  He let the timid student make the first move. 

Anakin brought his saber up in a slashing swing, trying to end the fight quickly with power.  Maul simply sidestepped the move and whipped his blades around.  Anakin barely managed the block at his shoulder.  He rolled away from the momentum of the blow and came up on his feet, with Padme behind him. 

The young Jedi whipped his saber back and forth, trying to find an opening.  The Sith smiled at him and responded with blocks that were faster than anything Skywalker could offer.  Anakin sensed that his opponent was thoroughly enjoying this moment. 

He wished more than anything for Obi-Wan or one of the other Jedi to arrive.  Their deployments around the perimeter of the palace meant that he would be waiting a while.  And even that assumed Obi-Wan had survived his encounter with the fleeing Dooku.  Over his shoulder, he could feel the panic washing off of Padme and the other diplomats.  He set his feet.  This was where he would make his stand.

Maul could see something in this fiery little fighter.  The kid had spirit and passion.  He was still rough around the edges and his skills were pedestrian at best, but there was potential there.  He blocked a few more blows with ease and when the young man lunged too far, Maul grabbed the padawan’s arm with his free hand and pulled him into his body.  Maul delivered a powerful kick right to Anakin’s chest.  Skywalker’s breath left his chest and he flew backwards, landing in a heap in front of Padme.  As Maul expected, the boy sprang to his feet, wincing, but still ready.  He brought his saber up and Maul noted the boy’s inner strength. 

Maul smirked, “Valiant, but pointless.  Such a waste of talent.  You could be so much stronger if you would only embrace your fear…your anger… your hate.”

Anakin was too extended to respond.  Maul’s blades were so fast that he had to concentrate all his focus on the challenge of the fight.

With a series of casual moves, it was clear that Anakin wasn’t keeping Maul’s complete attention.

“A great warrior lives in your heart, young Skywalker.  If you’d only embrace the dark side within you, you would be truly formidable.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Anakin said.

Maul shrugged, “You’ll find there’s no teacher more effective than pain.”

Maul advanced a step and struck at Anakin’s torso.  Skywalker blocked his blow, but was slow in the movement.  Maul binded the blades in a winding circle and Anakin lost the momentum as Maul’s blades swung wider.  In a flash, the Sith swung his blade around Skywalker’s and lopped his blade hand clean off at the wrist. 

Anakin was too stunned to scream.  The wound from a lightsaber slash was often such a shock that the victim simply could not process the result. 

Anakin’s hand and lightsaber fell uselessly to the floor.  Before he could look down to understand, Maul reached out and a cascade of lightning emitted from his hand. 

Now Anakin screamed.

The Sith Lightning electrified every nerve ending Anakin possessed.  The energy of the discharge slammed Anakin into the far wall.  His limp body slid down and fell to the floor next to Padme.  Maul gave him one more jolt in a fit of sadistic glee.  The boy cried out in agony, but he was alive.

Behind his back, Maul heard the familiar snap-hiss of a lightsaber activation.  It was his favorite sound.

“Kenobi,” Maul said, without turning around.

“Assassin!  I would know your name before I cut you down again,” Obi-Wan said.

He pivoted on a mechanical foot and faced his new opponent. “Darth Maul, Lord of the Sith,” he replied calmly, by way of introduction.

He left the boy beaten, but breathing.  The padawan was no threat and would be dealt with later. 

He snarled and levelled his double-bladed saber at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan stared at this ghost, this specter that had haunted his nightmares for years.  The Sith that had provided all his pain.  Somehow, in the infinite cruelties of the galaxy, the ghoul had returned, on new, mechanical legs.   Since he had cradled Qui-Gon’s dying body, his only consolation was that his Master’s killer would never take another life.  In an instant, that solace shattered and he realized that the most significant day of his life had no successes, only failures; instant and deferred.

For the second time in his life, Obi-Wan Kenobi resolved to take a life.  He could barely stomach the irony that it was the same life, grotesquely rekindled.

Maul brought up his free hand and again launched a flurry of lightning, this time at Obi-Wan.  Kenobi snapped up his blue blade and the lighting directed itself to the lit lightsaber.  The blade glowed slightly brighter with the excess energy, but nothing else resulted.

“I don’t think so,” Kenobi said.

Maul bared his teeth and snarled.  He brought his blades up and twirled them to salute his new opponent.  Kenobi did not return the gesture.

Kenobi charged forward, ready to kill.

Slashing and hacking at Maul, Obi-Wan finally gave the Sith what he most desired, a worthy adversary.  The glory of the battle filled his heart and Maul responded with a surge that stopped Obi-Wan’s attacks and a counter that put him back on his heels. 

The pair circled each other, looking for an opening.  Maul thrust, Kenobi parried.  A high guard was met with an uppercutting block.  Maul swung his blades laterally and Kenobi was ready, guarding his back with the saber over his shoulders. 

A flurry of quick strikes resulted in no change.  Maul swung his arms wide and spun on metallic feet.  The move earned him a brief respite and opened a bit of space.  A bit of perspiration had formed as the two each looked for a weakness in their mental replays of the first burst of fighting. 

Ending the pause, Maul gave a feint and then slashed for Kenobi’s knees.  Obi-Wan leapt up, tucking his legs and swiping at Maul’s throat.  The Sith craned his neck back, barely dodging the blue blade that went for his jugular. 

Obi-Wan pulled Maul through the Force, but the Sith reflected the energy away.  A wave designed to knock Kenobi off his feet proved similarly fruitless.  Silently, they each resolved to end this battle with a lightsaber, having clearly proven an equal match with their Force powers.

Maul brought his sabers up and twirled them in a whirlwind move that would have mesmerized Obi-Wan were it not for his rising fury.  As Maul swung the blades around and down, Kenobi stabbed at his flank.  The sabers clashed and energy crackled down the length of the blades. 

With their close positioning, Maul took a moment and looked Kenobi in the eye.

“Long have I waited for this.  At last, revenge for all the pain you’ve given me,” Maul said.

“This time I’ll slice you in half the other way,” Obi-Wan said.

“One tires of being bisected.  Besides, it’s your turn,” Maul said.

He shifted and pulled back, creating an opening that Kenobi attacked.  Maul was ready for the move and crashed his blade down on Obi-Wan’s.  Kenobi moved through a combat roll on the floor.  Maul stabbed at the flung body, but connected with nothing, sweeping his blade through the space that Obi-Wan had left behind. 

Obi-Wan snapped around and brought his lightsaber up, aimed at Maul’s neck once again.  The Sith was fast enough to stop the attack.  The heat of the sabers singed his skin, but gave no real damage. 

The politicians had circled the room slowly, skirting along the outer wall, trying to avoid becoming the victim of an errant thrust.  Padme had hooked her arms under Anakin’s and dragged him to the wall nearest the entrance.  He was awake, but his body still twitched randomly, likely still suffering the aftereffects of the lightning that had flowed through his body. 

Padme looked to Bail who peered out of the hole cut into the blast door.  He could see blaster fire streaking down the corridor and ducked back inside, shaking his head.  They were well and truly pinned down. 

Move and counter.  Thrust and parry.  Anakin watched from the floor, fascinated at how fluid Obi-Wan’s movements were.  How fast his hands moved and his feet put him in a winning position.  In dozens of sparring sessions, Anakin had never seen his Master move like this.  Shamefully he realized that, to beat Anakin in a sparring match, Obi-Wan had never had to. 

Equally amazing were the attacks of Maul.  A thousand memoirs of long dead Jedi would never properly illustrate the savagery of the wrath of a Sith.  Every motion was edged with a vicious anger that roiled up from an internal fire.  Maul was a creature of hatred and Obi-Wan must have been the object of that hate since the day of their last fight. 

Anakin did not need to be so closely connected to Obi-Wan to feel the fury from his Master.  The animosity from both opponents was readily apparent to everyone in the room.  The two swordsmen took no notice of the audience for their duel.  This would only end in death and no distraction would change that. 

Suddenly, a low rumble filled the room.  Obi-Wan took no notice, continuing his lines of attack, two and three move combinations that Maul countered perfectly.  Maul was equally focused on the strokes of his blades and studying his opponent for an opening.

In a flash, the outer wall of the conference hall exploded in a rain of stone and smoke and fire.  Both duelists were thrown from their feet and landed in a heap, Maul on the conference table, Obi-Wan in a heap on the opposite side.  From outside the room, the sound of laser fire and an idling repulsor drowned out the sounds of lightsabers humming. 

Padme was stunned, but recovered before any of the others.  In the chasm left by the explosion that shattered the wall, she saw a gunship.  It was an off-white with red markings.  The bulbous top was countered by the flat underbelly.  As it hovered beyond the damaged wall, the gunship’s doors swung open and she could see soldiers in shining white armor.  Their faces hidden by a mask with sharp view lines and a sweeping fin on the crest.  It took her only a moment to make the connection.  These were the Republic clone troopers that had been the subject of so many rumors recently.

They moved with efficiency as they entered the palace.  In moments, she saw a platoon stream by and enter the main atrium of the palace.  All of the blast doors of the conference hall opened shortly after and she could hear blaster fire between droids and troopers in the inner hallway.  In front of her, she saw the Separatist delegation get to their feet and scurry out of the far door.  She was too shaken to put up any sort of objection.  They may have started this fight, but she was happy enough to see it end.

Likewise, the fearsome Zabrak that had tried to execute her, that sinister menace that should have been at the bottom of Aldera Lake, collected himself quickly and fled, following the Separatists.  Her anger rose at seeing him get away, but she was a princess, not a Jedi.  She pointed and tried to get the attention of one of the soldiers, but the whine of blaster fire echoed through the room and she was drowned out by the noise.

Obi-Wan was on his side, unmoving.  Anakin was in shock.  He had taken a hit from some debris.  His head was bleeding.  She pulled him into her, trying to hide.  Bail was trying to keep the Republic senators back and out of the crossfire.  All Padme could do was watch the maelstrom stream around her for a few moments.  She clung to Anakin as if the weight of him would be enough to anchor her to this world gone mad.  It almost worked.

With her eyes closed, she let the insanity crescendo and fall away.  As the din of blaster fire faded, she felt a new stimulus.  On her arm, a furry hand gave her a gentle pat.  She looked up and then down again, spotting the comforting green fingers of Master Yoda. 

“Safe you are, brave princess,” Yoda said.  He looked down at Anakin and nodded, “Live, he will,” Yoda pronounced.

She watched the aged wizard amble slowly over to Obi-Wan.  His wooden cane tapped against the beautiful stone floor.  He waved his free hand and she watched the smoke disperse.  He was in no hurry as he walked over to the younger Jedi.  She saw Yoda put a hand on the unconscious Obi-Wan’s head.  A moment later, he snapped awake.  Padme was sure that he would have remained dormant for much longer without Yoda’s intervention.

“Rest, young Kenobi.  Concluded, your fight is,” Yoda said.

Obi-Wan had come back to awareness with a snap.  It took him a moment to realize that he had suffered a discontinuity.  Yoda’s gentle touch guided him away from the fire of his battlelust.  His breathing moved from rapid to steady.  Yoda kept a reassuring hand on him the entire time.  Padme could see the genuine affection Yoda had for this young man. 

“Where did he go?” Obi-Wan asked finally relaxing.

“Fled, he has.  Safe, you are,” Yoda said.

“Where is Anakin?”

“I’m here,” Anakin said, coming around slowly and a bit groggy.  Padme cradled him as best she could.

A few of the surviving palace guards entered.  She directed the guards to take Anakin.  She followed, determined to get him some medical attention.

Yoda watched as Obi-Wan got to his feet.  He stood ready to give aid through the Force, but it was not necessary.  As the troops secured the palace, Yoda directed the young Jedi to a chair. 

A moment later, Secretary Palpatine strolled in to the conference hall.  He had a smile on his face.  His demeanor was as calm as if he were in a Coruscanti lounge, rather than an operational battlefield. 

“Mister Secretary?” Obi-Wan said, rising unsteadily to greet the Republic official.

Palpatine waved him down to sit back in his chair, “Please, Master Kenobi, rest yourself.  You’ve done enough service to the Republic for one day,” Palpatine said.

“What are you doing here, sir?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Surveying the capabilities of the new Grand Army of the Republic.  These clone troopers are quite effective, I must say.  Forgive me, but I think we can now conclude that these forces were and are necessary for the imminent conflict,” Palpatine said. 

“Did we get Maul?  Is the assassin…” Obi-Wan asked.

Palpatine looked grim and apologetic, “I’m sorry, Master Kenobi.  He made good his escape.  I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with him another day.”

Palpatine pulled up a chair at the conference table and addressed Master Yoda.

“Do you still think that a peaceful solution can be found?” Palpatine said.

“Always in motion is the future,” Yoda said.

The gathered Republic Senators came to sit around the table.  Palpatine invited them all into the discussion.

“Dooku and the Separatists seemed to think we were the aggressors.  They made some passionate allegations,” said Senator Mothma.

“Deception can be a powerful ally.  Count Dooku clearly wishes to sow seeds of mistrust,” Palpatine said.

“Are we conducting operations to harass Confederate shipping?” asked Senator Sonora.

“I have seen no evidence of this.  A rogue element in the Republic Navy simply does not exist, and the Republic Army didn’t exist before today.  Please, I would caution you all, put no stock in the words of Count Dooku.  The Sith are known for treachery and betrayal.”

“Dooku is a Sith?” Sonora asked.

“Impossible,” said Mon Mothma. 

“Since the first invasion of Alderaan years ago, the Jedi have been searching for a second Sith,” Palpatine said, turning to Yoda.

“Always two, there are.  A master and an apprentice,” Yoda said, nodding.

“Sith, like Jedi, tend to come in pairs,” Palpatine echoed.  “Long have you searched for this fabled second Sith.  It appears he has revealed himself,” Palpatine said.

“But why?” Sonora said.

“Count Dooku was radicalized after the attack on Alderaan.  He fell from the ideals of the Jedi and abandoned the order.  It seems clear that at some point he joined forces with this assassin and together they have used this Separatist movement to attack the Republic.”

“Respectfully, Mister Secretary, that analysis relies on several assumptions,” Senator Mothma said.  “And if Dooku was radicalized after Maul’s first attack, why then would they join forces?”

“As I have said, deception is an ally of the Sith.  We cannot know at what point Count Dooku began his alliance with our enemies,” Palpatine said.

“Maul is a Sith, and Dooku allied the Confederate planets, but we cannot be sure Maul is an ally of Dooku,” Senator Mothma said.

“Their proximity alone is suggestive.  And wouldn’t you agree Dooku seemed quite prepared for this attack?  He made his escape at exactly the right time.  He drew together critical Republic personnel,” Palpatine said, gesturing to the delegates, “And his ally, this Darth Maul, was at the ready to eliminate all of you.  I fear any further attempts at negotiation will be a fool’s errand.  The time for diplomacy is over.”

Obi-Wan sank further into his seat.  He rubbed his aching head.  After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked to Master Yoda, “If you’ll excuse me, I must see to my padawan.”

“And to yourself, Obi-Wan,” Palpatine said, putting a hand on the Jedi’s shoulder as he left the room.

The group was silent as Obi-Wan departed; grateful for the defense he had given them.  As their attention returned, Palpatine continued.

“In light of this latest outrage from the Confederate systems, the Supreme Chancellor is currently asking the Senate for a formal declaration of war.”

*             *             *

It had been a bit of a challenge to make his way back to the Scimitar.  The ship was right where he’d left it, in the main hangar of the palace, surrounded by the corpses of its latest victims.  The path that he had left behind him was littered with the bodies of the Republic’s newest forces.  These clonetroopers were a danger to droids, but were a mere nuisance to a Sith.

Maul lifted off slowly and turned his vessel carefully.  By the time the ship emerged from the hangar, its cloaking device was already active.  The gathered Republic fleet in orbit took no notice of the ship as it entered hyperspace. 

*             *             *

Night had finally come to Aldera City, ending the longest day on this planet since its first invasion.

Padme wheeled another bed out from the handmaiden dormitory.  In the grand hallway of the northern wing of the palace, a field hospital of sorts had formed.  The doctors and nurses of Aldera City were coming to the aid of the troopers and Jedi who had been wounded in the day’s fighting.  She had ensured that Anakin was being tended to when she spotted Obi-Wan walking briskly down the corridor.  He seemed to take no notice of the impromptu medical facility that was being established. 

She called out to him, “Obi-Wan,” but he did not deviate from his brisk walk down the hallway.  She lost sight of him, sighed in frustration, then went to check on Anakin.

* * *

The Scimitar had completed its hyperspace jump to an empty pocket of the galaxy several light-years from the nearest system.  When looking to avoid detection, it was often useful to locate oneself in no particular place at all.

Maul knelt on the transmission pad and used the Force to activate the console.  Ahead of him, the hologram activated.  He kept his head down and spoke the familiar words. 

“What is thy bidding, my master?”

“It is time to open the holocron,” Lord Sidious commanded.

Maul, ready for the command, placed the ornate red pyramid on the pad in front of him.  He reached out with the Force and found the activation point at the center of the device.  With a gentle tap of Force energy, the holocron’s outer casing unsealed and spread open.  At the core of the device, a vial of liquid sat, ready for further use.

Maul took the vial in his hand and held it up to the light, examining the swirling blue substance.  “What have we uncovered?” Maul asked, not moving his eyes from this new variable.

“That which you have sought all your life,” Sidious said.

“The death of the Jedi,” Maul said.

“Embrace your destiny,” Sidious ordered.

Maul used his thumb to pop open the vial’s stopper.  He tilted the vessel back and swallowed the liquid within.  He felt no great change.  Placing the vial back on the holocron, he looked to his Master.

“What is thy bidding, my Master?” Maul repeated.

“Set your course for Ilum,” Sidious ordered. 

*             *             *

Obi-Wan had been redirected to the wrong hangar twice.  In the chaos of this latest violence, the citizens of Aldera City were easily confused.  When he finally reached the bay which held his Aethersprite Starfighter, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“R2-KT?” he asked, looking at the astromech droid in the slot of the little ship.

The droid hooted at him and chittered an acknowledgement.  In a flash, it had disengaged from the Starfighter and wheeled over to meet Obi-Wan. 

“I need you to trace a tracker beacon for me,” Obi-Wan said.

The little pink R2 unit whistled.  Obi-Wan didn’t understand it exactly, but the general sense he got was of affirmation.

Carefully, he took a chip from his belt and inserted it into one of R2-KT’s data ports.  The silver and pink dome of the droid rotated slightly back and forth.  Obi-Wan thought for a moment that something may have gone wrong.  The droid seemed to have gone into something of a dormant trance.  As the rotation finished, a cheerful hoot emerged from the astromech and a hologram was projected.

Obi-Wan took a step back as the projector showed the entire galaxy.  Slowly the map zoomed in on the Arkanis sector of the Outer Rim.  In a moment, it had narrowed to a single system, and then showed a point of light emitting from a ringed planet in that system.

“What’s the name?” Obi-Wan asked.

A band of aurebesh text was displayed below the ringed world: GEONOSIS

“Geonosis,” Obi-Wan read.

*             *             *

Maul stepped off the ramp of the Scimitar and heard the crunch of snow under his mechanical feet.  He was not used to cold like this, but the tortures of training had taught him to endure much more harsh conditions.  He began the march over rock and snow, heading for the Jedi academy.

A pair of elder students had guard duty.  He observed two apprentices standing watch by the main door of the school. 

Lord Sidious had been very generous with this assignment.  There was no need for stealth or restraint.  Maul simply walked up to the entrance, lit his sabers and went to work.

*             *             *

Obi-Wan approached the room which the Alderaanians had provided for Yoda.  As he neared the door, he saw Master Tiin sitting outside.  Obi-Wan needed no connection to the Force to sense Saesee Tiin’s anguish and unease.

Master Tiin felt his presence and gave a tight smile of acknowledgement.  He started to rise, but Obi-Wan signaled for him to stay seated.  The elder Jedi was grateful for the kindness.

“How’s your injury?” Obi-Wan asked in a hushed tone.

“I’ll survive,” Tiin said. 

“I’d like to see him,” Obi-Wan said.  Nodding to the door with implied understanding.

“Can it possibly wait?” Tiin said.

“It can.  What’s the problem?” Obi-Wan asked.

“He’s in with Master Fisto.  There’s an emergency meeting of the Jedi Council.  Battles are already breaking out in several systems.  The Confederacy is launching offensives along the Perlemian Trade Route.  Ansion has officially broken away from the Republic and she’ll take three more systems with her.  It’s…it’s all falling apart.”

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan said.

“Strategies are still being coordinated with the Navy and with the officers of this new clone army.  It looks like we’ll be receiving the rank of General,” Tiin said.

“General?” Obi-Wan asked.

“The Clone Wars have begun.”

Obi-Wan was about to take his leave and go back to meditate when the door opened.  Master Fisto emerged, looking grim.

Saesee Tiin was the first to greet him, “Master Fisto…”

The Nautolan did not break stride.  He simply continued down the corridor.  Obi-Wan might have thought it rude if he could not sense the fearful determination that drove Master Fisto to move so quickly.

“Come forward, young Kenobi,” Yoda said.  A voice from the darkened room.

Obi-Wan nodded to Master Tiin as the Ikothi Jedi followed Kit Fisto down the hallway.  He turned and entered Yoda’s quarters.  Inside, Yoda sat on the floor, his legs crossed.  The lights were dimmed and the warmth of the interior was soothing to Obi-Wan’s body.  He had barely slept since he had arrived on this planet.  He took a seat on the carpet and allowed himself a moment to breathe.

“Much frustration I sense in you,” Yoda said, not opening his eyes.

“Qui-Gon Jinn’s killer lives,” Obi-Wan said.

“The Jedi way, vengeance is not,” Yoda said.

“But justice is,” Obi-Wan countered.

“Gone, your old Master is.  Needed, you are.”

“I fear I may be of little help in this crisis.  You need only look in any room in this palace to find evidence of my failures.”

“Needed always, good Jedi are.”

“I have located Count Dooku.  I am requesting your permission to…” Obi-Wan trailed off.

Yoda allowed him a moment to sit in his uncertainty.

“Finish, you shall.  To kill?  To challenge?  To contact?  What seek you, Obi-Wan?  Answers, or revenge?”

Obi-Wan sighed, “Forgive me, Master Yoda.  I am just unable to find my balance.  Ever since my arrival here, I have relived Qui-Gon’s death.  I’ve been unable to shake the memories.”

“Hand in hand walk pain and loss.  Carry them, you need not.  Peace, vengeance will not offer.”

“So I have seen,” Obi-Wan said.  “I had a vision of a world of fallen Jedi.  A face engulfed in fire.  Qui-Gon spoke to me of a reckoning.”

“The dark side clouds everything,” Yoda said.

A beat passed.  They said nothing.  Yoda broke the silence.

“Seek out Dooku, you must.  Answers and closure, you must find.”

“I understand,” Obi-Wan said, rising from his seated position.

“Obi-Wan,” Yoda said.  The younger Jedi paused.  Yoda continued.

“Dooku, my apprentice was.  Walk gently, I ask.  Knowledge, not revenge.”

“I understand,” Obi-Wan repeated, this time with a new sense.

“May the Force be with you.”

*             *             *

Padme stood by Anakin’s bed.  Obi-Wan saw her talking to a doctor.  She ended the conversation when he caught her eye.  Anakin was resting.  She met Obi-Wan at the foot of the bed.

“How is he?” Obi-Wan asked.

“He’s lost a hand.  The lightning did quite a number on him.” Padme said.  “He’ll live,” she added quickly.  Obi-Wan acknowledged that with a nod. 

“Can your surgeons repair him?” Obi-Wan asked.  Anakin stirred slightly.

“We can get him a new hand.  I spoke to the doctors about when they could get him a replacement.”

“What did they say?”

“Shouldn’t be too long,” Padme said.  She motioned to a stool.  Obi-Wan sat.  She grabbed a bandage and put it on his forehead.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Obi-Wan said.

“Hardly the time for heroic bouts of manliness,” Padme said, dismissively.

“Really, I’m…”

“Sit quietly,” she ordered.  “I’ll get you some water and you’ll wait right there while I do.”

Obi-Wan did as he was told.  Padme stepped away and he smiled as he watched her go.

After a moment, Anakin stirred again and woke.  Obi-Wan put a hand on his arm

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan said, flashing his grin one more time.

Anakin stretched and yawned.  He blinked and spoke, “Hello, Master.  Did we win?”

“More of a draw,” Obi-Wan confessed.

“Didn’t feel like a draw,” Anakin said.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get there faster,” Obi-Wan said.

“You always liked to have me learn by doing,” Anakin said, smiling.

Obi-Wan’s smile vanished and his face fell. 

“It’s just a hand, Master.” Anakin said, trying to comfort him.

“They tell me you’ll be fixed up very soon,” Obi-Wan said.  Padme returned and he took the proffered cup from her gratefully.

“I got hit by lightning too, you know,” Anakin said, holding up his stump of an arm.

“Hurts like hell, doesn’t it?” Obi-Wan said.

“Yeah.  You should have warned me about that,” Anakin said.

“You’re right.  Lightning hurts.  Duck next time.  End of lesson,” Obi-Wan said.

“I’m lucky to have such a wise Master,” Anakin said.

“Right,” Obi-Wan rose from his seat and turned to Padme, “Don’t let him tangle with any Sith lords while I’m gone.”

Padme shrugged, “What makes you think he’ll listen to me?”

“Where are you going?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan lowered his voice to a furtive whisper, “I’ve tracked Dooku to a planet called Geonosis.  I’m going to see if I can do something to stop this madness.”

“Did you tell Palpatine?  Are they sending the Army?” Padme asked.

“No.  The only chance is if I can face him without threatening him.  Otherwise, we may never know the truth.”

“If you find Maul, see if you can get my hand back,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan smiled and patted Anakin on the shoulder.  He turned to leave.  Padme followed.

“Take care of him,” Obi-Wan said.

“Of course,” Padme said.  “And Obi-Wan…”

Obi-Wan stopped in his tracks.

“Be careful,” Padme said.

*             *             *

Obi-Wan’s Aethersprite lifted off.  The cool grasslands of Alderaan fell away and he angled the fighter towards the sky.  As he cleared the cloud cover, R2-KT pulled up a map of the systems.  On his scanner, he could see a flotilla of Republic ships concluding ground operations and collecting clone troopers.  Far at the edge of his sensor readings he could see another Aethersprite on its way out of Alderaan’s gravity well.

He had R2-KT hail the ship and got a response.

“Master Kenobi,” came the voice of Kit Fisto.

“Master Fisto?  Are you in need of assistance?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Negative.  I’m heading to Ilum.  The signal from the academy has gone quiet.  I’m going to make sure all is well.”

“I see.  May the Force be with you,” Obi-Wan responded.

The scanner showed a streaking line that vanished off the screen and Obi-Wan knew that Kit Fisto had made the jump to hyperspace. 

He steered his little ship to the point that KT had highlighted and activated the hyperdrive, never looking back on the beautiful garden world he was leaving behind.

The snows of Ilum provided a stark white backdrop, perfectly silhouetting the Scimitar as it departed the planet.  The ship sank into the vast darkness of space. 

The mission had been most satisfying.  Maul smiled at the memory. 

Cutting down the younglings and instructors had been easy work.  He had made his way through the atrium of the academy without finding a real opponent.  Further in, some resistance had gathered.  Paltry, but defiant.  After all, the instructors were full-fledged Jedi.  Some even made a go of it.  Some of the older students, the more prideful ones, had stood before him just to be swiftly cut down. 

The alarms had been an annoyance, but they helpfully informed him that students were encouraged to come to the grand hall for their own safety.  He let several younglings escape his blades just so he would know which corridors to go down.  Eventually, he had found the expansive space, with dining tables laid out for dinner.  His arrival had apparently interrupted a meal. 

Two instructors stood before him, with a few dozen younglings behind them.  On his left was a Jedi carrying a blue blade.  He recognized the face of Kelleran Beq from the briefing that his droid had presented.  The headmaster of the academy made no statement.  He simply stood guard in front of his students.  Ready, and tense.

On Maul’s right was the great blademaster Cin Drallig.  The man entrusted by Yoda and the council to teach every padawan about the basics of swordfighting.  The man other Jedi went to when their skills needed honing.  His green blade was levelled at Maul.  He also made no show, no statement.  He simply studied his opponent.

Some grey protocol droid was attempting to herd the younglings, but there was no escape.  Whatever happened, the fate of the younglings would be determined by the outcome of the fight.

It had been glorious. 

Both Beq and Drallig were worthy adversaries.  He found himself remembering the last moments of his first life.  That magnificent duel on Alderaan with another pair of Jedi who had given him a challenge.  Now he had the chance to do it all over again.  This time, he would do it right.

It had been easy to find the weakness of both men.  For Beq, it was the students.  Any move Maul made that threatened the younglings, Beq moved to counter.  It had been a simple matter to put him in a position where he had to choose between his students’ safety, or his own. 

Even Maul could respect the choice that the educator had made.

Cin Drallig was a study in elegance.  He had mastered every lightsaber form that the academy taught.  He had survived the Battle of Korriban and a thousand missions that had put him at the hazard.  His movements were perfect.  He countered Maul’s savagery with precision.  The clash of green and red had possessed a poetry that Maul was unprepared for.

But Drallig’s fatal flaw was, as often the case, to be found hidden within his greatest asset.  He was so skilled with a lightsaber that he was utterly overwhelmed by the power and variety of Maul’s Force abilities.  The Master of the Blade was not a Master of the Force.  He had held out longer than Beq, but in the end, he simply lacked the raw superiority that Maul casually emitted. 

Drallig never saw Maul use the Force to grab a ceremonial pike from one of the statues at the rear of the hall.  He never saw the pike plow into his back and skewer him. 

When Maul pried the lightsaber from Drallig’s clenched hand, he had sneered down at the howling man.  Drallig suffered the ferocity of Maul’s Force Lightning with little dignity, but great valor.  When Maul’s blade took Drallig’s head off, the screams of the younglings had been deafening. 

He set the course for his ship and the computers made the necessary changes.  The ship turned under his feet as he walked out of the cockpit.  Maul shed his blood-stained cloak and knelt on the transmission pad.  Lord Sidious appeared a moment later.

“Is it done?” Sidious asked.

“As you instructed, my Master.  A few were left alive.”

“Good.  Good.” Sidious said.  He drew out the words as if they gave him pleasure.

“Why did it have to be done thusly?” Maul asked.

“You disapprove?  Speak.”

“We tend not to leave survivors,” Maul continued.

Sidious paused.  He seemed contemplative.  Perhaps debating whether to answer his apprentice at all.  With a knowing smirk he spoke, “The dark side provides pathways to many sciences that some consider to be unnatural,” Sidious said.

“The vial?  Yes, I felt its power coursing through me as I carried out the slaughter.  It gave me strength,” Maul said.

Sidious laughed.  It was a low, sneering laugh.  The laugh of a wise man surveying a fool.

“It did no such thing, Lord Maul,” Sidious said.

Maul looked up now, unable to maintain a deferential expression.

“Your abilities needed no augmentation from the alchemies of Darth Plagueis.”

“So it did not grant me strength?” Maul asked.

“Far from it.  You have provided a vector for the final revenge of Plagueis,” Sidious said.  The casual tone made Maul’s blood run cold. 

“Is it dangerous?” Maul asked, trying to keep a grip on his tone and his anger.

“Only to those weak in the Force,” Sidious said.

Maul relaxed. 

“The weak will die.  The strong will survive,” Sidious said.

“What could be more natural?” Maul asked.

*             *             *

Geonosis was a rusted desert rock.  Had it not been for the rings of ice and dust, the planet would have been simply hideous, both from orbit and the ground.  As Obi-Wan steered his little arrowhead fighter through the soupy clouds, he half wondered if some corrosive chemical from the factories below would damage his vessel.  The skies were a blurry industrial sludge of green-grey smog.  

R2-KT unit showed him a path that avoided the Confederate anti-air platforms and he managed to steer clear of any patrols or gunships that might have intercepted his vessel.  The final location for Dooku seemed to be to the north.  Obi-Wan looked out his cockpit window and could see the cores of Lucrehulk-class capital ships.  The big bubbles that used to run Trade Federation vessels were being refitted and would now, no doubt, once again rain death and destruction down on unsuspecting planets.  Obi-Wan knew that he was looking at a major center of the Confederacy’s war effort. 

Starting now, this planet was no longer just a production hub, it was a target.

“Are you still getting a signal from the beacon, KT?” Obi-Wan asked.

The droid hooted an affirmative. 

A warble sounded and he looked down at the controls.  The scanners showed a pair of droid fighters closing in on him from the rear.  He looked over his shoulder and saw them turn and pursue him.  R2-KT gave a nervous squeal.

“It’s okay.  I’ve handled ships like these before.”

The droid’s chittering did not seem confident.

Obi-Wan checked his sensor screen again. 

A swarm of droid fighters closed in.  The lower portion of his screen was filled with red dots.  There were easily fifty ships, all heading for him.

“Oh dear,” he said.  “Do we have Dooku’s final position?”

KT whistled and a set of coordinates popped up on Obi-Wan’s screen.  He spotted a mesa in the distance with a structure on top.  That had to be it.  Angry green lasers flew past his cockpit.  He put the fighter into a slight dive.

More laser fire bracketed the ship.

“I think it’s time for you to hop out,” Obi-Wan said.

The droid’s cooing went up in pitch at the end.

Obi-Wan used his right hand to arm a switch marked “Astromech Ejection.”

As soon as he armed the switch, a light came on next to the appropriate button.  As he reached for it, the little blue light winked out.

“KT?” Obi-Wan asked.

She sent a message over the monitor that she would not be leaving this ship without him.

“All right, fine.  You can come along,” Obi-Wan said with a grim smile.

Jinking and juking, Obi-Wan did his best to avoid the incoming lasers as he tried to reach the mesa.  The deadly green flashes gave a stark contrast to the red-brown world below him.  The Force guided his hands, but with so many enemies drawing closer, it was only a matter of time.

Another warble came as the ship lurched.  An explosion behind him was followed by a groaning rumble.  He could feel the change in momentum.  KT confirmed that the starboard engine had been destroyed.  He kicked the ship’s rudder and tried to keep it straight. 

“Still want to stick around?” Obi-Wan called to his droid. 

KT didn’t bother with a clever response.  More laser fire came through from the ground, peppering his starboard wing.  Obi-Wan could see scorched holes on the top side, which meant the lasers had burned completely through.  His cockpit glowed with angry red warning lights. 

Ahead the mesa loomed large.  He could make out the structure on the far end.  It had the look of an ancient stone castle.  Strong and meant for defense.  Between the castle and the edge were a tangle of rocks and boulders.  A labyrinth he hoped to fly over.  Now it seemed clear he would not have the chance. 

At the rate his ship was losing altitude, he calculated he would be lucky to reach the summit at all.  Crashing into the cliff face was a very real possibility.

“Push the last engine to full.  Every bit of power.  We’re getting out.  Eject as soon as you can make the ridge.”

KT needed no encouragement.  The ridge line neared and the Aethersprite sank like a stone. 

“I’m getting out.  This ship is falling apart.”  Obi-Wan pulled a lever on the right. 

Nothing happened. 

“That’s not good.”

A fire started behind one of the instrument panels.  He could see the rocks approaching.  All he could do was hang on.

He fired the droid eject button and saw R2-KT fly off into the sky.  The Aethersprite pancaked into the sand atop the mesa and started to skid.  Mercifully, it was right side up, but he had no control.  All he could do was hang on.  The smaller rocks buffeted and kicked the ship from underneath.  He was jolted and rattled like a plaything as the ship slid across the ground. 

Ahead of him, an outcrop of rock loomed large.  Not sure if it would have any effect, he wrenched the control stick hard to the side, trying to lurch the ship to a stop.  The little fighter yawed to the left and kicked up a wave of sand and pebbles.  When the dust cleared, he saw how close he’d come.  He stretched out his arm and could touch the rock without leaving his seat.

He turned to look back over the edge of the mesa.  In the distance, he saw a white shape in a slow fall from the sky.  R2-KT was descending to the desert floor on her maneuvering rockets.  He cheered her on as she landed safely, but she was now quite out of reach. 

Obi-Wan took a moment to collect himself.  He gave a sigh of relief and let the curves of his seat hold him for a beat.  As he did, he felt a rising warmth from behind him.  It was as though the Force itself was trying to soothe his bones.

Then he heard a crackle and realized that the growing warmth was because his remaining engine was still on fire.  

With a very uncivilized movement, the young Jedi scrambled from his cockpit and fled to a respectable distance.  He turned to look back at his vessel as the fires began to consume it.

He couldn’t help but laugh at the final fate of his spacecraft.  Nothing to do but smile and carry on.  From his vantage, he could see a field of boulders and beyond it, a stony citadel at the far end of the mesa. 

Smiling at the smoking remnants of his ship, he bent down and retied the laces of his boots.  He turned towards the field of stones and set off for the castle. 

“Always on the move.”

* * *

Any instructor at the Jedi Academy on Ilum would readily admit that, while Master Beq was the headmaster of the school, all operations would fail quickly without the administrative resources of AD-3.  The grey protocol droid had overseen scheduling of students and staff for decades.  At any given time, the Jedi Academy was home to several hundred younglings.  AD-3 had shepherded two generations of Jedi through training and instruction. 

Now, with the academy in ruins and the faculty dead, it was left to AD-3 to guard the handful of remaining students from the pounding at the door.

Kit Fisto had been astonished to see the carnage that was left in the corridors of the academy.  From the entrance, Fisto was able to follow a path of destruction.  The scorch marks of lightsabers singed the walls.  The bodies of students and instructors littered the floor.  Pieces of wrecked droids dotted the corridors.  The lights flickered from damage.  Learning consoles were shattered and slashed.  He could smell ozone permeating the air.  The butchery in each hallway wrote short stories that always ended in death. 

Fisto was barely able to suppress his bile as he searched in vain for any sign of life.  He searched the classrooms, the dormitories and in the stacks of the library.  The scenes of carnage would haunt him for the rest of his days.  Finally, his last hope for success remained behind the door to the grand hall.  He approached, trembling at the thoughts of what he might find within.

With trepidation he knocked, hoping to avoid having to bash the door down.  He sensed great fear and anguish beyond the barrier, but it was impossible to know if that sense was from living beings, or merely the echo of Jedi who had died in terror.

The tinny, feminine voice of AD-3 spoke meekly from behind the door.

“Who goes there?”

“This is Master Kit Fisto.  It’s safe to emerge.  Whatever has caused this destruction is gone.”

Slowly, the doors parted.  The cold grey frame of the protocol droid trembled as it stood in the center of the entrance.  Fisto approached with an open extended hand.

“It’s safe now.  They have gone.”

The large blue eyes of AD-3 darted back and forth before settling on the green Nautolan Jedi. 

“There was only one.”

Fisto froze, stunned.  He tried to keep a calm voice as he spoke to the droid.  He stepped into the great hall.  Quickly he saw the skewered, headless body of Master Drallig and the remains of Master Beq with the ragged slash across his chest.  Fisto put an open hand to his mouth. 

“How… how many… remain?”

AD-3’s voice changed as it turned to the empty tables of the hall.

“Come out students.  It’s safe now.”

Fisto looked around the room.  Here a young Twi’lek rose from under a table.  There a human girl emerged from an alcove.  In the rear, a pair of Nikto younglings came out, holding each other’s hands for comfort.  In random spots around the room, frightened children peered out to see their rescuer. 

AD-3 spoke with a droid’s precision, “We have twelve students remaining on our rolls, Master Fisto.”

Horrified, Fisto looked to AD-3, “I need to speak to Coruscant.”

*             *             *

The pass was blocked, so he had to scramble up the side of a relatively flat boulder.  The surface was a bit dusty and he nearly lost his footing.  When he reached the summit of the little peak, he could see that he’d progressed a bit more than halfway across the mesa.

“Next time keep the ship in the air long enough to fly around the rocks,” Obi-Wan said, admonishing himself.

As he began his descent down the craggy slope before him, a blaster bolt whizzed by and struck the rock half a meter from his head.  The blast kicked up a poof of dust that he was too stunned to avoid.  Startled, Obi-Wan slipped and slid down the side of the rock, landing in a heap in a clearing.  He looked around but was somewhat blinded by the sun.  He held a hand to his eyes and looked ahead, trying to locate the threat.

From a shadow fifty paces ahead, a black droid emerged.  It had the look of an arcane protocol droid.  The drooping snout gave it a kind of outdated elegance.  The droid was equipped with a bandolier of grenades and carried a large blaster rifle, undoubtedly the source of the attack.  The rifle was levelled at his head.  Obi-Wan flinched a bit at the sight and considered activating his saber, but he did not know if he could reach it before the next bolt went through him.  He surveyed this new variable.

Obi-Wan could see a rather bulky blaster pistol slung on a loose belt around the droid’s midsection.  Whatever had happened to this droid, it had developed quite an outlaw personality.  Quirks were inevitable when a droid went long enough without a memory wipe.

Obi-Wan slowly raised a hand in what he hoped would be a sign of peaceful intent. 

A beat passed.  The droid stared at him, waiting.

“I have no quarrel with you.  I meant no trespass.”  Obi-Wan said.

The droid’s face was unmoving, but its voice emitted from the head, “Confirmation Query: You are a Jedi?”

Obi-Wan, lacking any reason to lie, told the truth.

“Yes.  My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Statement: I am HK-99.  By the rules of my programming, I am required to inform you that there is a bounty for your death or capture.  You are permitted one minute to surrender before you will be terminated.”

“Dooku has put a bounty on me?”

“Correction: Count Dooku did not declare the bounty.  You now have forty-five seconds to surrender before termination.”

“You’re very polite for a bounty hunter.”

“Explanation: My meatbag programmer did not feel it was fair to allow my prey to die without an opportunity to surrender peacefully.  Thirty-two seconds remaining.”

“Very kind of him.”

“Correction: Her.  Twenty-four seconds remaining.”

“Can you tell me who has ordered my death?”

“Answer: There is a standing bounty put out on all Jedi.  Collection will begin shortly.  Six seconds remaining.”

“Well, it was nice talking to you,” Obi-Wan said, lighting his saber. 

The droid stood rock steady.  It made no move to fire.  The wind gave a low hoot as it swept through the surrounding rocks. 

A moment passed in silence.  Obi-Wan blinked and wondered if the droid had somehow broken down at such a critical moment.

“Aren’t you going to…?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Mockery: Were you hoping I would fire on you that you might deflect the blaster bolt back at my head, Master Jedi?”

Obi-Wan lowered the tip of his saber slightly and looked sheepish, “Well…”

“Recitation: If one wants to kill a Jedi, such methods are highly ineffective.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Answer: Weapon selection is critical when hunting Jedi.  Only an idiot meatbag would attack a Force user with a blaster.”

Confused, Obi-Wan asked, “Then what weapon have you chosen?”

“Answer: Kath hounds”

Image Credit: Atenebris​

Obi-Wan’s confusion was short lived.  From his flanks, a pair of red-maned hounds emerged from the rocks.  Their mouths carried two rather vicious looking curved fangs that extended from their snouts.  They snarled and charged for him, one on his left, the other on his right. 

With the rock face at his rear, he had no choice but to move forward towards the assassin droid.  Both his escape and his opponent were ahead of him, so, with a look over his shoulder, he charged ahead, planning to close the distance with his attacker.  Once the droid was dealt with, perhaps the hounds would…

BOOM!

Beneath him, the ground rippled and flung up at his feet.  A deafening blast tossed him five meters into the air.  He flailed and landed in a heap not far from where he had encountered the explosion.

A ringing in his ears kept him off balance.  As he struggled to get to his feet, a meaty slap from the impact of a Kath hound knocked him back to the dust.  The pair of dogs were on him with fangs slicing and mouths chomping.  He rolled and did his best to dodge their bites.  One tore at the leg of his pants and the other bit into his foot.  Obi-Wan let out a yell as he used the Force to knock them back.  He kicked hard and got his feet under him.

He’d gotten turned around in the confusion, but heard the steady voice of the droid through the dust and haze that blinded him now.  He scrambled and tried to find his way through the dust before the hounds could close in on him.

The droid’s voice cut through the haze kicked up in the explosion, “Explanation: Sonic mines are also quite effective when hunting a Jedi.  The pseudo-pacifists tend to charge forward heedless of the obstacles that may be in their path.”

“I’m amazed I haven’t heard of you.” Obi-Wan said, calling out as he tried to collect himself.

“Boast: The meatbags I encounter tend not to survive.”

“Understandable,” the Jedi muttered.

Obi-Wan reached for his saber and found that it was gone.  He’d somehow lost it in this ambush. 

Ahead of him, the smoke cleared and he saw the assassin droid calmly reach down and pick up the unlit lightsaber off the ground.  The droid examined the weapon and held it in its right hand.  The Kath hounds flanked him and looked at Obi-Wan like a meal. 

The droid slung the blaster rifle over its shoulder and brought the chunky blaster pistol from its holster.  HK-99 aimed for Obi-Wan’s head and paused.

“Explanation: The key to hunting Jedi is to disarm them before attempting termination.  Without a proper weapon, even a Jedi is hard pressed to mount a defense.”

Obi-Wan sighed and put up his hands.  He seemed quite out of options. 

“Oh well,” he said.

In a flash, Obi-Wan lowered his right hand and reached out with the Force.  He channeled all his focus into the droid’s right hand, trying to get his lightsaber back.

HK-99’s arm shot out as it kept a machine-tight grip on the slender weapon.  The droid stumbled a bit, but recovered quickly.  With a single arm in a tug-of-war with Obi-Wan’s Force pull, the droid tried to use its free hand to fire on Obi-Wan.  The incoming blaster bolt singed Obi-Wan’s shoulder, but left him unhurt.

Obi-Wan could almost see the electronic eyes refocus on him now, clearly taking aim with the pistol, despite the unbalanced position.  Obi-Wan’s pull on his saber could not overwhelm the mechanical grip that the droid possessed.  He tried to twist and wrench the saber away, but succeeded only in changing the angle of the droid’s arm.

“Pre-Kill Statement: Jedi make such interesting prey.”

Obi-Wan changed his focus and put all he had into the activation switch of his lightsaber.  The azure blade emitted from the end of the weapon and sliced the arm of the assassin droid.  In its shock, the droid twisted its arm, inadvertently severing the limb completely with the movement.

The lightsaber and arm clattered to the ground.  Obi-Wan smiled as he used the Force to pull the assembly towards himself.  The saber returned to his hand and he pried the fingers of the HK unit off of his weapon.  He tossed it by the hilt and watched it flip end over end before grabbing it and igniting it.

HK-99 managed to get a shot off with the blaster pistol as Obi-Wan closed the distance between them.  The droid stumbled back, off balance and flailing with the stump of an arm.

Obi-Wan swung his saber around and lopped off the droid’s head with a single blow.  The pistol fell to the sandy rock.  The remains of the droid’s body crumpled.  The Kath hounds snarled.

He put up a hand.  Now that he was ready, he could calm their minds.  It would have been impossible to focus on that in the heat of a battle.  In a moment, the hounds had gone from feral to tame.

He picked up a length of metal from the arm on the ground.  He showed it to the dogs and tossed it away into the rocks at the edge of the clearing.  The dogs scampered after it, eager to be the first to get the new toy.

Obi-Wan looked down at the remnants of the assassin droid.  He scowled at the waste of engineering and circuitry.

“So uncivilized,” he said, and proceeded to head towards the fortress once again.

*             *             *

Padme rose when she saw Anakin come around the corner.  He didn’t look up as he moved towards her.  He was too busy looking at his new hand.

“Hey, how did it go?” she asked.

“Not bad.  This thing is pretty nice,” Anakin said.  He flexed his fingers and waved his hand a bit.  She took his new hand in hers and pressed softly on his palm.  Her delicate fingers rubbed his wrist where the flesh met the robotic.  She looked into his eyes.

“Can you feel that?”

“Yeah… yeah.  They did a great job.  I can feel and touch and everything.”

Padme slid the hand to her cheek, “It’s even warm,” she said.  Her tone showed her surprise.

“It’s impressive,” he said, smiling.  He stroked her cheek with his new fingertips.

Before they left the moment, there was a rush of activity outside.  She looked through the door and saw a stream of clone troopers hurrying down the road.  She and Anakin turned to watch them trot down the street.  Others were following them.

“I think there’s been a development,” Anakin said.

“Let’s go,” Padme said.

The two of them had to avoid a steady stream of troopers as they made their way back to the palace.  Halfway up the steps, they were met by Secretary Palpatine and Bail.  The two men were followed by Yoda and an armored gentleman Padme didn’t recognize.

“Mister Secretary, what’s happening?” she asked.

“We hired a bounty hunter to track down Count Dooku,” Palpatine said, subtly gesturing to the man in armor behind him.  The hunter made no motion of recognition.

“You found him?” Padme said.

“He’s hiding out on a planet called Geonosis.  Our agent has informed us that the planet is home to a massive production hub for the Confederacy.  We’re dispatching the army now.”

Palpatine nodded to the rows of gunships that were greedily taking on troops and flying up to cruisers that could be seen far overhead.  Empty gunships were coming back for more men as fast as they could be loaded.  The Path of the Heroes was a flurry of activity. 

“You’re sending the entire army?” Anakin asked.  His tone was level as he stared out at the ships and men.  Inside, his blood ran cold.  He could sense Padme’s unease mirroring his own.

“An overwhelming show of power.  It is my hope we can stop this war before it begins.  Perhaps the planets of the Confederacy will understand that the fate of Geonosis need not be shared.”

Bail looked rankled at Palpatine’s comfort with the concept.  He lent voice to thought.

“Mister Secretary, surely it’s not too late.  The negotiations…”

“Their efforts to negotiate were clearly a ruse, designed to allow Dooku and this Lord Maul to strike a blow at the heart of the Republic.  Dooku, whatever he once was, is clearly now a radical and there can only be one response to his predations.”

“Tragedy,” Padme said, watching a pair of gunships lift off and fly away.  Palpatine looked at her with something approaching disdain.

Anakin stepped between them, “Mister Secretary, if you’ll excuse us.  I need to meet with Obi-Wan to get our marching orders.  Padme, I’m sure you’re needed back in the palace as well.”

Padme nodded, “I’ll walk with you.”

Casually they moved up the steps as Palpatine and Bail continued their discussion.  As soon as they were out of earshot, they spoke in whispers.

 “Is there any way to warn him?” Padme asked.

“On what channel?  I’m sure the Navy is listening to everything by now,” Anakin said.

“They’re not going to hold their fire if he’s down there with Dooku.  Palpatine’s dander is up.  He’s going to wipe them out,” Padme said.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” Anakin said.

“I’m coming with you,” Padme said.

“Into a warzone?  No way.”

“Try and stop me.”

“Padme…”

“Princess Organa,” she said, cutting him off with that devastating smile.  “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Anakin.  You’re standing in my palace.”

Before he could respond, Padme called for a guard, keeping her eyes on his, but raising her voice to a yell that would echo through the vast atrium.

A uniformed palace guard approached her quickly.  The princess turned to face the young woman.

“Ma’am?” the guard asked.

“Ready my ship.  The new one,” Padme said, keeping her eyes on Anakin.

“Certainly, Your Highness.  Please be advised that we are short on pilots right now.  We lost several in the…”

“You!” Padme said.  She levelled a finger across the atrium, pointing at Owen Lars, who was coming out of a doorway.  Owen looked like he’d been hit with an ion cannon.  After a beat, he rushed up to join the conversation.

Padme turned to the guard, “This is my new pilot.  Take him to the ship.  Get it ready to fly.”

Owen started to hem and haw for a moment.  Looking quite petrified at the sudden changes his life had taken in the last ten seconds.

“How much did the Republic pay you?” Padme said, looking at Lars.

“I get about fifty per…”

“Add a zero.  You’re hired.  Get to work,” Padme said.

The guard took Owen by the arm and led him away, presumably to the royal hangar.

“You wanna ride with me, flyboy?” Padme said.

Anakin knew not to argue after he’d been beaten. 

Padme started to walk away, following in the direction the guard had taken Owen.  Anakin stayed at her side.

“What was your plan if Obi-Wan’s ship was shot down?  What, were you gonna have him sit on your lap?”

She turned and walked off.  He heard her call to one of the palace staff, “Can someone get me a blaster?”

*             *             *

Padme’s new ship was white.  Not the gaudy chrome of her Royal vessel.  It had lovely, flowing curves.  This ship was smaller, lighter and from the looks of it, faster.

Though, as Anakin learned, it did not lack for the typical royal amenities.

As Padme checked one of the closets that doubled as an armory, he made his way across the plush carpeting to the cockpit.

Owen was inside, doing preflight checks.  Anakin sat down in the copilot seat.

“This ship is amazing.  Did you see it has an actual damn garden?” Owen said.

“I saw.”

“Her Royal Highness back there didn’t say where we were going.”

“Geonosis.  And show some respect.  Apparently she’s your new boss,” Anakin said.

“Hey, I’m not complaining.  Besides, she scares me,” Owen said.

“I know how you feel,” Anakin said.

“Are we really about to fly into a war zone?” Owen asked.

“I’d get used to it if I were you.  Pretty soon, every place is going to be a war zone.”

“Damn.  Still, we should try to do this fast and get out of there before we get between the Navy and their targets.”

“Here’s hoping.”

“What happens if they do catch us?”

“Which ‘they’ are you worried about?  The Navy or the Separatists?” Anakin asked.

“Uh, both?” Owen said.

“Hopefully they’ll ask questions before they shoot.”  Anakin said.

“That’s comforting,” Owen said.

“Would you rather stay here?  Maybe that bounty hunter is hiring,” Anakin said, helping Owen with the start-up sequence.

“No way.  Did you see that guy?  He scares the crap out of me too,” Owen said.

“Understandable.  What kind of armor was that he was wearing?”

“Mandalorian,” Owen said.

*             *             *

Somehow he just knew that Dooku would be in the highest room of the tallest turret.  He made his way there quietly, reaching the room after summiting a long, spiraling staircase.  It was slow going with his wounded foot, but he managed.

The old nobleman sat cross-legged on the floor.  He faced an open window, with his back to Obi-Wan.  Kenobi wasn’t sure if he was meditating, asleep, or simply unaware of the intruder in his sanctuary. 

A gravelly voice cut across the empty space between them.  Dooku did not move a muscle.

“Have you come to kill me?  Even these days, it is not easy.”

 “I should have to agree.  No one has managed it yet,” Obi-Wan said.

“Despite a lifetime of opportunity.”

 “I’ve come for answers.”

Dooku rose from his seated position and turned to face Obi-Wan.  He made no threatening gesture.  No move for the lightsaber on his hip.

“Answers can be true or false,” Dooku said.

 “I’ve come for the truth.”

“That is all I can offer you.”

“Speak.”

“Qui-Gon’s death brought as much grief to me as it did to you.  Where you knew him as a mentor, I knew him as my greatest student.  After he fell on Alderaan, I was consumed with rage.  Thoughts of revenge, hatred.  The pull of the dark side called to me, like a beacon in a storm.” 

“Rather than burden the Order with my presence, I resolved to purge myself of the darkness.  I retreated to the Outer Rim to find solace in isolation.  Here, in this ancient citadel, I worked to regain the inner peace that I had lost.”

“At the height of my struggles I was approached by a Sith lord named Sidious.”

“Sidious and I found common ground regarding the corruption and decay in the Republic.  He spoke to me of a plan to bring about sweeping change.  Sidious claimed to have infiltrated the Senate at the highest levels.  He seeks to take control of the body, one Senator at a time.  What he needed was an agent to rally the newly independent star systems.  To unite them under a single purpose.  A force that could pose a true threat to the Republic.”

Obi-Wan spoke at last, levelling an accusation, “A service you performed…”

Dooku made a slight wavering motion with his hand, a calming gesture.

“Hear it all before you pass judgement, young Kenobi,” Dooku sighed.  “I have my quarrels with the Republic, but I fought the Sith alongside Qui-Gon.  I would never truly serve their interests.  But I needed to learn the true identity of Sidious in order to end his plans.  I knew that if I rejected his offer, he would destroy me.  So I chose to deceive the deceiver.”

Obi-Wan nodded, “A dangerous game…”

“In dejarik, when your opponent has the advantage, sometimes the only way to win is with a gambit.  I attempted to gain his trust.  I brought systems into the new Confederacy.  I did all I could to learn of his ultimate plans.  I’ve been frustrated at every attempt to learn his identity.  Sidious uses backchannels and cutouts.  Whoever he is, he knows how to hide.”

“So you changed tactics?” Obi-Wan asked.

“When the house of Organa offered a peace table, I felt it was time to alert the Jedi to this plot.  That’s why I tried to speak with the Jedi at the start of the meeting.  I have no idea which senators have been compromised.  I was expecting a respite from the darkness.  Instead, I walked right into a trap.”  Dooku said.

Obi-Wan’s face changed with recognition, “Maul didn’t come for the Senators.  He came for you.”

“I believe so.  Sidious must know that I sought to betray him.  He sent Maul for my head.  I thank you for getting in his way.”

“I had my own reasons,” Obi-Wan said.

“And good reasons they were.  I thought that I could bring down Sidious’ scheme unaided, from within.  I thought that I could outsmart him.  I was wrong.”  Obi-Wan could feel the shame radiating off of Dooku’s spirit.

* * *

Image Credit: ShogunEagle & AdamKop

Padme’s ship emerged from hyperspace.  Owen and Anakin scanned the space around Geonosis as Padme joined them on the bridge.

“No Republic signals.  Looks like we beat the Navy here,” Owen said.

“For the moment.  Let’s do this fast,” Padme said.

“Where to?” Owen said.

“Uh…” Anakin said.

“You dragged me all the way here and you don’t know where to go?” Owen said.

“Uh…” Anakin repeated.

“His droid.  You can trace that, right?” Padme suggested.

Anakin’s eyes lit up and he started typing into the console in front of him, “Perfect.  Locking on…. There she is.”

“She?” Padme asked.

“His droid is a girl.  As much as any of them are.  R2-KT.  She’s transmitting coordinates.”

“Let’s go,” Padme said.

“We’re gone,” Owen said, and gunned the engines.

*             *             *

Masters Yoda, Windu and Fisto conferred on a holographic transmission.  Yoda had yet to depart Alderaan.  Master Windu was seeing to matters at the Temple.  Master Fisto was shepherding the youngling Padawan survivors aboard a transport vessel.

The starship sped through the upper atmosphere of Ilum as Master Fisto briefed his fellow Jedi on the situation.

“It seems these students were able to avoid the attack.  I’m not sure how.  They had little idea themselves.  I’ve locked down the entrances to the Academy until we can decide what should be done with it.  For the moment, I’m bringing the younglings back to the Temple.  It’s clear they will be safe nowhere else.”

Master Windu nodded.  His visage was grave and his brow furrowed.  Fisto’s report had been horrifying.  He did his best to temper his emotions, but it was clear that doing so was consuming all of his efforts.  Finally, after a distracted pause, he spoke.

“Yes, that would be best.  We’ll arrange for them to continue their instruction here.  In the meantime, I’ll dispatch a team to secure the academy facility and see if it can be restored.”

“Master Windu.  What will we do without our students?  Without the younglings, we will have no one to carry on our teachings.  Our order will…” Fisto could not bring himself to finish the thought.

“Life will go on, Master Fisto.  Every day new younglings are born.  Some of them will come to us as they always have.”

“Fallen, Jedi have.  Survive, the order will,” Yoda said.  “Tragic and devastating, this loss.  Endure, we must.”

“What else can we do?” Master Fisto said.

He’d meant it rhetorically, but Windu responded nonetheless.

“We’ll have an escort flotilla rendezvous with you when you emerge from hyperspace.  Those younglings aboard are now our most precious cargo.  Defend them to the last, Master Fisto.”

“With my life, Master Windu,” Kit replied.

“May the Force be with you,” Windu said.

“May the Force be with us all,” Fisto said.

*             *             *

Owen brought Padme’s ship down on a high trajectory.  The ship stayed in cloud cover to avoid any droid patrols.  Unlike Obi-Wan, the crew of this ship knew right where they were heading.  When they arrived at the flat outcropping near the base of Dooku’s castle, they were greeted by the pink and grey astromech that had provided their landing coordinates.

Anakin emerged from the ship, ready for a fight, but found no threats or anything of interest.  When R2-KT emerged from behind a rock, he was startled, but pleased to see the droid. 

Padme joined him a moment later and walked with him over to the R2 unit.  Owen stayed behind on the bridge, keeping the engines ready for a quick getaway. 

R2-KT hooted at Anakin who translated for Padme.

“She says she and Obi-Wan got separated.  He was heading for the castle up there.  She calculates that he’ll confront Dooku and then search for a way out.”  

“Let’s go show him ours then,” Padme said.  She looked up to the skies.  So did Anakin.  They saw no signs of incoming vessels.

“Still not here yet,” Anakin said.  “This place will be a battlefield pretty soon.”

They turned and headed up the gently sloping ramp that led to the entrance of the citadel.  Her message delivered, R2-KT began to roll towards the entrance ramp for Padme’s vessel.

“Obi-Wan!” the call echoed off the stone hallways of the castle.  Anakin bellowed from the entrance, trying to find his Master as quickly as possible. 

Obi-Wan turned and called back to him down the staircase, “Up here, Anakin.”

Running a hand over the cold stone walls, Obi-Wan surveyed Dooku once again.  Now he had his answers, but they brought him no solace.

Obi-Wan hesitated, “How can I trust this?”

“All I can offer you are my words.  Sidious is careful.  He does not leave a trail,” Dooku said.

“Come back with me.  I can bring you in from the cold.  You can tell this to the council yourself.”

“The Republic wants my head.  Even the Jedi could not protect me from the law,” Dooku said.

“So you would have me leave you behind?  Free to draw more worlds into this war?” Obi-Wan asked.

“The war will consume us all.  There is no running from it.”

“If these are lies you’ve told me, then you are the Sith we’ve been searching for.  And I cannot let you escape.”

“Then don’t,” Dooku said.  He took his lightsaber handle from his belt and tossed it to Obi-Wan.  Kenobi caught it, and studied it with a surprised look.  He looked back at the Count.

“There.  Now you have your greatest threat defenseless and unmoving.  Kill away, Master Jedi,” Dooku said.  He stretched out his arms and smiled a bit, tilting his head back, calm and passive.

For a moment, Obi-Wan considered it.  He looked down at the curved saber handle that he had first seen as a boy.  It could be justified.  There would certainly be security in the move.  No matter the circumstance though, he could not bring himself to ignite the blade.

Obi-Wan clipped the saber to his belt.  It hung alongside his own.  Dooku’s expression softened.

“Fear not, young Kenobi.  The Republic Navy will give me a good death.”

“You’re not going to run?”

“To what end?  Perhaps my death will convince the council of the truth of my words.  It may even convince the Confederates to choose a different path.”

At that moment, Anakin and Padme completed their ascent of the staircase and came into the room.  Obi-Wan didn’t need any words to know that this meeting had to come to an ending very quickly.

Dooku put a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, “Go, my friend.  I shall tell Qui-Gon what I’ve seen you become.”

“Perhaps you can pass along my apologies,” Obi-Wan said.

“If you’ll give mine to Yoda.”

Obi-Wan winced.  He offered a hand to Dooku.  Dooku shook it with solemnity.  Obi-Wan followed Anakin and Padme to the door.

Dooku called to him as he departed, “Honor Qui-Gon with your deeds and he will live forever.”

“There is no death,” Obi-Wan said.

“There is the Force,” Dooku replied, completing the last maxim of the Jedi Code.

*             *             *

As they emerged from the citadel, Padme led the way out and looked up.  Then stopped in her tracks.

Her Jedi companions followed her eyes and saw a fleet of grey, angular ships emerge from hyperspace.  In moments two ships became ten, became twenty, and then became countless. 

“They’re here,” Padme said.

“Let’s move,” Anakin said.

The trio ran down the ramp, towards the clean white vessel waiting at the base of the entrance.

Anakin raced through the entrance and helped Obi-Wan, who by this point was hobbling with his injury.  Padme guided Obi-Wan inside as Anakin pressed the buttons to withdraw the ramp and shut the hatch.

“Owen, get us out of here,” Anakin called as the door began to shut.

The rumble as the ship lifted off almost swept Anakin off balance.  He grabbed one of the ramp supports to keep his legs under him.  He rushed to get to the cockpit. 

He strapped in to the copilot chair as Owen brought the ship up and over the nearby mountains.

“Have we got any guns on this thing?” Anakin asked.

“Diplomatic ship,” Padme said.

“Figures,” Anakin shrugged.

* * *

The most lucrative project in the history of the Kuat Drive Yards was the Dauntless, the flagship of the Republic Navy.  Her massive engines, each one rivalling the size of a Coruscanti skyscraper, pushed her into a stable orbit around Geonosis. 

The Dauntless was a Venator-class capital ship.  She was flanked by her sister vessels, Resolution and Victory.  On the bridge of the Dauntless, Secretary Palpatine stood with Admiral Yularen and several of the other officers.  Fighters had been sent out as an advanced screen.  The gunships were preparing for launch.  Overhead, Palpatine could hear a steady stream of clipped announcements reporting the progress of the fleet now that it had emerged from hyperspace.

Out of the long windows, the Secretary could see most of the other frigates and cruisers that guarded the fleet.  The flotilla of sleek grey vessels encompassed his field of vision.  Palpatine smiled and looked ahead to the little rusted planet that contained so many of his enemies.

“Admiral Yularen?” Palpatine said, summoning the commander from his preparatory activities.

“Yes, Mr. Secretary?” the admiral replied.

“Our agents have confirmed the location of Count Dooku’s personal stronghold.  This strikes me as a wonderful opportunity to test our new weapon.”

“Aye, sir,” Yularen said.  He turned to an aid, “Get me the Star Hunter, immediately.”

A tone played overhead and the noise on the bridge reduced to hushed whispers as the admiral gave his orders.

“Captain Tarkin,” Yularen said.

A clipped Eridani accent responded over the speakers, “Aye, sir?”

“We are transmitting coordinates to you now.  Target the position with your enhanced laser cannon.  You may fire when ready.”

Palpatine could practically hear the young captain smile as he acknowledged the order.

Several kilometers away, Captain Tarkin, in command of a much smaller ship, with a much smaller bridge, clenched a fist with joy and resolve.  He gave a nod to his second-in-command.  Around him, the lights of the bridge dimmed.  Firing the enhanced laser, (he resolved to find a better name for it if it worked), took up so much of the ship’s power supply that every section had to go dark for the initialization process.

The energy that surged along the centerline of the vessel sent a tremor rippling through the floor plates on the bridge.  For a moment, Tarkin wondered if the condensed power would snap the bulkheads of his little frigate.  The cramped command deck was a narrow, crowded space and he could almost feel the walls closing in on him now.

One of the project engineers, manning a station to his left called the numbers as the laser charged up.  For the fourth time, he checked the target coordinates and the ship’s alignment.  The young man at the station kept a hand hovering over the large pull handle that would activate the release of the weapon.  He tapped the young officer on the shoulder and politely nodded for the man to slide over.  This was the fun part about being a captain and he had no problem with pulling rank for the sake of his own pleasure.

“Confirmed full charge, Captain,” came the call from the weapons station. 

“Lens clear?” Tarkin asked.

“Aye, Captain,” spoke a young lieutenant.

Tarkin took another look at the main viewscreen which showed Geonosis hanging before him.  He sneered and then pulled the handle under his fingers.

A surge of power flooded through the capacitors and into the arrayed lasers, coming together under a massive focusing lens that took up a considerable portion of the interior of the Star Hunter.  The massive green beam condensed exactly as the engineers had calculated and screamed down the length of the ship.

From a safe distance, Palpatine watched as the little T-shaped frigate was illuminated with a searing green light.  The beam shot out from the diminutive ship and raced for the planet below. 

Palpatine turned to follow the laser bolt as it blasted through the atmosphere.  A monitor showed an outcropping of rock with a grand stone structure at one end.  Palpatine smiled and steepled his fingers.

*             *             *

Obi-Wan looked out the window back at the castle that he’d gone through so much to reach.  In a green flash, the citadel, the mesa and much of the surrounding landscape were obliterated.  Kenobi recoiled from the window in horror.  He’d never seen a detonation like that in his life.  Truthfully, it had been a generation since any Jedi had witnessed such a powerful weapon.

All that ever was of Count Dooku, and the solace he had found from the problems of the galaxy, erupted in a ball of fire and rock.

In the cockpit, Owen Lars let out a yawp of fright as the terrain he had just flown away from was destroyed in a flash.  Padme gasped and Anakin was mesmerized. 

It took a second for their senses to return to them.  They had followed the terrain, hoping to avoid notice by the warring armies that were gearing up.  That seemed irrelevant now.  Owen gained altitude, swiveled the ship along its central axis and sped away as quickly as he could.

Unfortunately, behind them, a wall of stone, dust and energy was enveloping the area.

The blast from this weapon, whatever it was, had been large enough that even the debris would create a wave of devastation.

“Owen?” Anakin asked.

“I’m going, I’m going.  Shut up.” Lars replied, maneuvering around the rocks that had been kicked up and were now falling down like sheets of rain around them.

Padme looked up as she heard the tic-tic-tic of rock and debris hitting the top of her ship.

Around them, the ground itself swelled and rippled.  The surrounding canyon had begun its transformation into a perfectly circular crater.

The little white ship cut through the dust and Padme breathed a sigh of relief as the sky began to clear slightly. 

Suddenly, there was a loud bang and the ship lurched to the side.  Padme felt the strap of her seat’s harness cut into her shoulder.  Anakin took a grip on the co-pilot controls and Owen’s arm flailed out as he tried to keep his balance and bearings in the left-hand seat.

“Whoa?  What was that?” Owen asked.

“We’re hit!” Anakin said.

The ship tilted listlessly to the right.  Owen and Anakin fought the controls, but in a moment, they were in a flat spin, turning endlessly, chasing their own tail as they lost altitude.

“I can’t get it back,” Owen said.

“Me either,” Anakin said. 

“Hang on to something,” Padme called out.

The ship augered in.  Bouncing off a sandy crest and skidding to a stop on a flat desert plain. 

Padme shook her head and checked herself.  She was unhurt, “Well, that wasn’t too bad.”

“Compared to what?” Anakin said.  She ignored him as she got out of her seat.

“We gotta get out of here,” Owen said.

“There’s a thousand ships out there.  Ours, theirs.  Let’s go get one.” Anakin said.

“Okay,” Padme said.  She turned to Owen, “You got your blaster?”

Owen smiled and grabbed the blaster pistol he had stowed in the compartment under his seat, “Yep.  Don’t worry, Your Highness.  I got your back.”

Padme rolled her eyes at him.  Anakin watched as she pulled a sleek silver blaster from the small of her back.  It had somehow been concealed in her white jumpsuit. 

“I got my back.  You watch yours,” she said.

* * *

From a nondescript bunker, Wat Tambor watched the waves of gunships and fighters swarming through his lines of battle.  The air defenses were putting up a valiant effort, but the Republic ships were fast and nimble and their pilots were more inventive than the subroutines of the droids that tried to shoot them down.

“Mr. Foreman, we’re seeing penetrations in sector eighteen,” one of the Skakoan staffers called to him from a console at the end of the room.

“Send a squadron from Department 12 to help,” Tambor responded.  Beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow ridge.  The atmosphere of this miserably ugly planet and the pressures of running a battlefield were beginning to get to him.

“We’ve lost all contact with Count Dooku,” one of the staff reported.

“Droid foundry three has gone offline,” said another. 

“Sentries report massive explosion in the vicinity of the northern mesas.”

“We’re being overwhelmed,” said a lonely Geonosian at a console to his left.

*             *             *

Obi-Wan led the quartet as they moved out onto the plain.  He limped slightly, but bore up well as they surveyed their surroundings.  In the distance, they could see a cluster of domes.  The haze of the sand and wind did not allow them to distinguish much detail.  After a moment of observation, they could see lights coming from the structures.  Green bolts trailing away, accompanied by red bolts coming in, all at low angles.

“That’s the battle,” Obi-Wan said.

“That’s where we need to be,” Anakin replied.

Behind them, Padme raised her pistol to the sky and fired off three shots.  The men ducked as the sound came from behind them.  Obi-Wan turned on his lightsaber and whirled around.  Anakin took a similar stance.  R2-KT let out a squealing whistle. 

“What was that?” Owen asked.

“I’m getting their attention,” Padme said.

“Whose?” Anakin asked.

“Whoever.  Someone’s gotta come check that out,” Padme said.

“I’m starting to think they might be too busy,” Obi-Wan said.

As the words came from his lips, a streak of blaster fire impacted the sandy ridge behind them.  In a flash, Padme’s ship burst into flames.

Obi-Wan turned to see where the fire had come from.  A trio of droids on floating platforms had delivered the coup de grace for Padme’s lovely little ship.  With the larger target dispatched, they turned their attention to the foursome that was making its way across the plain.

“Head for those rocks,” Obi-Wan said.  He waved an arm and Anakin grabbed Padme, running with her to the only shelter that would be reachable.

Angry energy bolts trailed them as the group rushed behind the large rounded stones.  They could hear a change in pitch and from the slivers of visible sky, could tell that the droids were circling their position, angling for a better shot. 

Anakin climbed up a bit.  One of the droids took a shot at him.  Padme could see him deflect the bolt and heard an explosion a second later.  Anakin slid back down.

“Master, I gotta tell you, I’m not sure it was a good idea to fly into the heart of the Confederacy on the day the war started.” Anakin deadpanned.

Obi-Wan snorted, “Who’s the more foolish?  The fool, or the fool who follows him?”

“Oh, shut up,” Anakin said.

Padme fired off a few shots then ducked back down, “Is it always like this with you two?”

“Usually it’s much worse,” Obi-Wan said.

Over the ridge behind them, three Republic gunships flew overhead.  Two began to circle their position.  They fired and quickly destroyed the pair of droids that were harassing the group.  Owen let out a whoop and Obi-Wan led the group from the cluster of rocks. 

Anakin looked up.  Hanging off one of the gunships, he could see the ball turret gunners tracking their little group.  Obi-Wan deactivated his saber and waved to the troopers aboard the ship.  A moment later, one of the ships came in to land.

A contingent of troopers hopped out of the vessel.  Padme noted that their armor was similar to the troops she’d seen on Alderaan, but these soldiers were different.  Their armor was dark, not snow white.  They moved fast and carried different weaponry.  It dawned on her that she was watching a special forces team at work.

The group’s commander stepped forward.  His dark grey armor had swaths of blue in semi-random patches on the helmet and pauldrons. 

“General Kenobi?” said the lead soldier. 

“I think that’s me,” Obi-Wan said.

“We saw your signal.  Please come aboard.  We need to move out,” the warrior said.

“I love this job,” Owen sighed.

* * *

In the bunker, the situation had worsened.  “Sir, we’re being overrun is Sectors five, twelve and thirteen.”

“What can we put in to help?”

“All reserve units have been deployed.”

“All but one,” Tambor said.  He stepped up to the center console.  Nudging aside the subordinate, he put a code in using the keyboard.

There was a tone from each of the speakers in the room.  Then a soft, feminine computer voice filled the bunker, “Yes, Mr. Foreman?”

 “This is Wat Tambor.  Activate the Grievous Contingency.”

“Activation code?” the computer asked.

“Esk-Nern-Dorn Two-Two-Four-Nine-Eight-Two-Six”

All the consoles in the chamber shut down.  The screens went black and a single red dot shone brightly at the center of each one.  A squeal sounded through the control center.  The assorted technicians in the room grabbed their headsets in shock, trying to stop the sound with no success.  Tambor calmly turned and walked to the turbolift at the rear of the chamber.

“Thank you for your service to the Confederacy of Independent Systems,” Tambor said as the doors to the turbolift shut.

The confused technicians looked at one another as they collected themselves.  The computer voice came back over the speakers, “Grievous Contingency now activated.”

Riding the turbolift up to the bridge of his ship, Tambor never heard the sound of the explosion that destroyed the command bunker. 

The sumptuous viewing deck of Techno One was staffed by high-end droids that catered to Tambor’s every need.  With the internal pressure of the Techno Union’s finest luxury liner being equal to that of Skako, he was able to shed his ill-fitting suit and enjoy a glass of bannolwine. 

A hologram popped up at the end of the arm of his chair.  The figure in the cold blue light was a twisted amalgamation of machine and life.  The abomination born of one of Sidious’s forays into the bowels of the Dark Side of the Force.  When the mangled body had no longer served the ends of the Sith Lord, he had offered it to his subordinates, who had outfitted the monster with an exoskeleton and an uplink to all droids under the command of the Confederate forces.

“General Grievous, are you online?” Tambor asked.

“Fully integrated into all communications and combat systems,” came the chopped, gravelly voice of Grievous.

“Good, Republic forces have overcommitted.  Proceed with the counter attack at your own discretion.” Tambor said.

“Acknowledged,” Grievous said, and the hologram went dead.

That was the nice thing about having a machine’s processing power fused with a military commander’s instincts.  There was no extraneous chatter. 

“Everything to your liking, Mr. Foreman?” asked the service droid who unlaced his boots.

“Very much,” he pressed the intercom button, “Let’s be off.”

A moment later, the engines rumbled to life and his ship lifted off, leaving the problems of Geonosis far behind. 

* * *

On the bridge of the Dauntless, the general mood shifted from confident to troubled.  Even without looking at the screens, Palpatine could feel the tide shifting from the tone of the incoming transmissions.

One of the lieutenants gave a summary, “We’ve got reports coming in, Admiral.  The 128^th is being rolled back.  Field Commander TZ-512 is reporting that the battle droids are counterattacking.  Besh Squadron has lost half its strength.”

Yularen nodded and looked grimly at the planet below.  “Get me the Star Hunter.”  A beat passed as the connection was made, “Captain, that was an excellent show earlier.  How long until you’re ready to fire again?”

Palpatine heard a hiss of static and a broken signal that was very faint, “Admiral, this is… lost primary… unable to… overloaded…”

A viewscreen showed the young captain aboard a cramped little bridge.  Behind him, sparks poured from a bulkhead.  Lights flickered on and off and emergency lighting was the only steady source of illumination.  Palpatine could barely hear the beleaguered captain over the alarms.

“Will restore… attempting…”

Yularen turned to his second in command and grimaced, “I’d say the Star Hunter is done for the day.”  He turned back to the monitor, “Captain Tarkin, if you copy, clear your ship from the firing line and retreat at your own discretion.  Good work.  Get yourself patched up.  It’s going to be a long war.”

* * *

Obi-Wan stood on the deck of the gunship, looking down at the smoking ruins of ships and droids and tanks left on the desert sands of Geonosis.  The clone trooper tapped him on the arm and pointed out the door.  He could see a large cluster of ships of various sizes gathered.  Precise formations of clonetroopers in pure white uniforms marched out in columns. 

“Staging area.  We’ll get your civilians evac’ed.”

As soon as the four of them had stepped off the gunship, it took off again, heading for the smoky horizon that marked the battlefield. 

At the staging area, Obi-Wan and his group were met by a clonetrooper with a yellow stripe down each arm.  “General Kenobi, there’s a transport here.  We’ll get you out of the area.”

“Don’t we need to get into the field?” Anakin asked.

The trooper shook his head, “We’re losing ground on several fronts.  Command is pulling us out.  It’s a stalemate.  We’ll need all the Jedi we have another day.”

The group followed the officer to a ship on the other side of the clearing.  Overhead, squadrons of ships streaked across the sky, heading towards the danger.  Explosions could be heard in the distance.  A small flotilla of hovering stretchers carried wounded troopers.  Obi-Wan and the group followed a phalanx of droids that were loading the injured soldiers up a landing ramp.  KT rolled along beside them. 

Obi-Wan paused at the top of the ramp, looking back over the orange-brown skies at the acrid black smoke that curled up in the distance.

“This fire will burn us all.”

*             *             *

The skies of Coruscant were the antithesis of Geonosis.  The orange-brown rust was traded for a crisp blue.  The fires of battle were traded for pure white clouds.  The area around the Jedi Temple had little of the industrial pollution that was a hallmark of some of Coruscant’s seedier sections.  With a heavy heart, Obi-Wan and Anakin walked through the grand entrance to the temple. 

On one side of the atrium, Master Fisto was herding a small group of padawans into the temple’s interior.  The younglings looked rather downtrodden.  The poor creatures had clearly been through a lot.  Obi-Wan gave a wave to Fisto, who either took no notice, or had not the strength for a conversation.  Even from afar, Obi-Wan could feel his anguish.  Whatever he had seen, it rivaled the carnage of Geonosis.

“I sense something terrible has happened,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin put a hand on his shoulder, “You need to see Yoda.  Go.  I’ll find out what has happened.”  Obi-Wan gave a silent nod and stepped away. 

*             *             *

The room of a thousand fountains was by far the most beautiful and peaceful place within the sanctum of the Jedi Temple.  Surrounded by the cacophonies of the grandest metropolis in the galaxy, this chamber was a monument to all that was natural and tranquil.  Plants and animals from a myriad of worlds filled the chamber.  Cool, life-sustaining waters tripped and dribbled and ran and swirled.  Around the room in quiet corners and amongst gentle mists, many Jedi sat in various modes of meditation or conversation.  The pull of harmony had called to so many after the crises of the previous days.

Yoda sat by a small stream on a bare rock.  His eyes were shut, but Obi-Wan had no doubt that Yoda knew he was present. 

Rather than disturb his meditation, Obi-Wan knelt a few paces away and waited for an acknowledgement.  He took the interim to breathe the clean air and craft the words he would have to say in this most unwelcome report.

“Troubled we have become.  Our only solace, the garden is,” Yoda said.  His eyes opened slowly and Obi-Wan thought he could see a small smile across the old wizard’s face.

Obi-Wan took the curved saber handle and laid it at Yoda’s feet.  “Master, I’m so terribly sorry, but I could not save Count Dooku from the gathering storm,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Vengeance you gained?” Yoda asked. 

“No, Master,” Obi-Wan said.  He sensed Yoda already knew he had done no murder.  “The Count sacrificed himself that you might believe his final words.”

“Ready am I,” Yoda said.  He straightened his back and stood as tall as he might.  Obi-Wan met his gaze.

“He told me of a plot by Sidious.  Maul’s master seeks to…”

“Master Yoda?” came a voice from behind Obi-Wan.

Yoda and Kenobi turned to see Master Fisto standing a few paces away.  He looked stricken.

“Master Fisto?” Obi-Wan said.

“I’m sorry to interrupt…” Fisto looked shaky.  He coughed.  His arm was up as if he was attempting to slowly attack a bothersome insect.  “I’m sorry… I’m… not quite… feeling myself…”

Fisto collapsed to the floor.  He fell with the impact of a stunned pugilist.  He collapsed before even Yoda could render assistance.

Obi-Wan rushed to his side.  Yoda followed as quickly as he could.

“Kit?” Obi-Wan said, unable to stand on formality any longer. 

He reached for Fisto’s forehead.  He found it dry and scorching.  A troubling sign for an aquatic species.  Checking the pulse between the vertebrae on his neck, Obi-Wan found it faint and fading.

“We’re losing him!” Obi-Wan said.  “Healer!” he called, needing someone with more expertise in physiology.

He turned to Yoda.  Yoda’s eyes were looking past Fisto, across the trickling waters to another Jedi.  Yoda’s hand went to his mouth.  A look of surprise that Obi-Wan had never seen on the old Master before.  He followed Yoda’s gaze.

Another Jedi collapsed.  Then, to the right, he saw another fall, a human woman.  He continued glancing around the room.  He saw more Jedi falling to the ground in a heap.  Some were beginning to spasm and shake.  Some gave off a small, pained moan.  Some simply rolled their eyes back and fell stone dead.

Several Jedi stood as shocked as he.  There were a few who had begun treating their fallen brethren, but most simply looked on in horror at this development. 

As he turned to the door, a youngling came in, one of the new arrivals.  She gripped the doorframe for stability.  The girl, a pale blue Twi’lek, looked around for a moment.  Her eyes could not focus.  She found Yoda and spoke in a halting voice.  “Master Yoda… something is… terribly wrong…” Her legs buckled and she fell to the ground.

Obi-Wan moved to the door where she fell and looked out into the corridor.  A similar sight greeted him.  Jedi were dying in seemingly random patterns.  Some seized and some foamed at the mouth.  The survivors looked on with unremitting horror.

In every corridor and training room, Jedi started to die.

The reckoning had begun.

Star Wars: Episode I: The Shadowed Menace

A long time ago, I encountered a concept piece by Belated Media where they outlined how to rewrite the Star Wars Prequel Trilogy in a way that would improve the structure and storytelling.  I have attempted to do so here.  The following has been written with the consent of Belated Media.  I make no claim over Star Wars or any related properties.

Episode I: The Shadowed Menace

It is a period of peace.  After a long struggle, the gallant JEDI KNIGHTS have defeated the last remnants of the evil SITH EMPIRE.

Now the Jedi watch over the GALACTIC REPUBLIC, safeguarding democracy.  Threats to harmony and justice have not vanished from the galaxy.

A distress signal has been received from the peaceful planet of Alderaan.  Returning from a patrol of the Outer Rim, two Jedi Knights have been dispatched to investigate…

                The small Republic corvette emerged from hyperspace and angled itself towards the glittering green orb of Alderaan.  She was a sleek vessel, fast and maneuverable, flying the crimson colors that symbolized neutrality and peaceful intent.  Her crew were run of the mill Republic pilots of the Diplomatic Service, but she was under the command of a Jedi Knight.

Aboard the Radiant VI, Jedi Knight Qui-Gon Jinn sat in the rear of the bridge.  Qui-Gon was a quiet warrior, a veteran of the Sith War of the last generation.  It had been years since he had drawn his lightsaber in battle, but it was always at the ready.  Qui-Gon had known war in his youth and never wished to see it again.  Under the cool resolve that he projected to all newcomers, a fierce predator lay tamed.

Jedi tended to travel in pairs and this mission was no exception.  Entering the bridge from the rear was his companion and protégé.  Obi-Wan Kenobi was still a young man, not long into his twenties.  He wore a Padawan braid and kept his face close shaven.  He had travelled the starlanes with Qui-Gon for almost half his life, learning the ways of the Force and the teachings of the Jedi Masters.  While he still had a ways to go in his training, Qui-Gon knew that he would be a powerful Jedi when his time arrived.

“Scanner is quiet.  No signs of trouble,” the co-pilot said.

“Can you locate the distress signal?” Qui-Gon asked.

“No, Master Jedi.  There is nothing outside of the usual communication networks.  Should we announce our intention?”

“Negative.  Whoever is requesting our help may be avoiding attention for a reason,” Qui-Gon said.  “Obi-Wan, do you have the…”

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan said, anticipating his need.  Beside him, the young Padawan plotted a course into the ship’s navicomputer.  “Captain, if you’ll head for these coordinates and see if you can find a spot to put down.  This was the location given in the transmission to Coruscant.”

“Yes, sir.  Looks like a pretty open area, far from the central cities,” the Captain confirmed.

As the corvette altered its trajectory, the two Jedi stepped off of the bridge to confer privately.  Obi-Wan adjusted his pale brown hooded robe and Qui-Gon filled his canteen.

“What have you learned about this planet, Obi-Wan?” asked Qui-Gon, without looking up.

Obi-Wan spoke in the clipped tones of a student reciting for an exam.

“Alderaan is a neutral world.  No military to speak of.  The population is concentrated in a few large cities around the planet with vast swaths of unbroken nature in between.  Two civilizations occupy the world.”

“The settlers and the Gungans,” Qui-Gon prompted.

“Yes, Master.  The cities were built by non-native species centuries ago and they have done much to preserve the planet’s natural beauty.  The Gungans live in small tribes, scattered throughout the plains and forests.  They have little interaction with the settlers or the galaxy beyond and there is an uneasy truce that has long-defined the planet’s interactions.”

“Very good.  What do you know of the Alderaanian government?”

“A constitutional monarchy, sir.  A ruling royal family with a revolving head of state, chosen from the family members.  Queen Organa is currently in charge.  She’s been in power for less than a year.”

“She’s quite young, about your age.  While the rest of the royals travel the galaxy on political duties, she maintains a cadre of handmaidens who tend to her needs.” Qui-Gon finished the recitation for him, satisfied that his student was as familiar with the situation as he was.

He was about to ask Obi-Wan about the planet’s history when the ship lurched suddenly to one side.  Qui-Gon felt the steady hammering of blasters pecking away at the corvette’s shields.

“Master Jedi, we’ve been engaged by hostile fighters!” came the call over the ship’s intercom.  Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan rushed back to the bridge.  They took their seats in the rear and strapped in tight.  The ship’s captain spoke quickly, her voice betraying a touch of panic that Qui-Gon could sense clearly, even without calling upon the Force.

Looking out the bridge window, he saw a pair of grey fightercraft swooping around the ship as it made its way through the upper atmosphere.  With the surface miles below, these starfighters had come seemingly from out of nowhere to attack the Republic vessel.

The little corvette had no weaponry to speak of.  That would have betrayed its peaceful intentions.  With no way to shoot, Qui-Gon tried the only other course available to him.

Over the shrieks of the bridge’s alarms, Qui-Gon asked, “Have you hailed them?”

The young captain replied, “We tried to, but they’re unmanned droid fighters.  They seem to be programmed to attack any vessels approaching this area.”

“Well, I think we may have a lead on that distress signal,” Obi-Wan said, a glint of a smile crossing his face.

Qui-Gon ignored the inappropriate glee from his Padawan learner, “Dive and turn away.  Perhaps we can escape their patrol zone and they’ll abandon the chase.”

The corvette banked to the left and both pilots and Jedi felt their stomachs lurch with the sudden acceleration.  The droid fighters maintained pursuit, but the incoming laser fire went wide of the corvette.  The ship dived hard, knifing through the cloudy atmosphere, streaking towards the surface.

As the ship broke through the lowest layer of cloud cover, an expansive prairie filled the windows in front of them.  The untapped forests and plains of the Alderaan frontier lands were rapidly coming up to meet the ship.

The co-pilot yanked back hard on the control yoke, but in doing so, he allowed the droid fighters to close in.  The captain gunned her engines, but the incoming laser fire was just too quick.  Qui-Gon heard an explosion behind him as the corvette’s shields gave way.  The engine screamed, then sputtered, then fell deathly silent.  The sleek design of the ship’s hull had allowed it to cut through the air, but did little to keep the stubby vessel aloft.  Qui-Gon sensed this landing would be fatal.

“Hang on,” Qui-Gon said.  Knowing of nothing else he could say or do to stop the impending disaster.

The Radiant VI slammed into the grasslands of Alderaan and cracked in two.  The hull split at the ship’s center and the forward section bounced on the soft grasses, briefly becoming airborne once again.  With the screech of metal and a cacophony of warning bells, sparking electronics and incoming air, the ship’s bridge raced, uncontrollably towards a copse of trees and came to a sudden, arboreal stop.

As his senses returned to him amongst the haze of the impact, Qui-Gon took a self-survey.  He was still strapped into his seat and his arms and legs appeared to function.  He felt no great injury, only the numbness that often accompanied a sudden shock.  Small fires dotted the remnants of the walls around him.  He could smell smoke and spilled fuel.  The dim light of sunset combined with the burning wreckage to allow him to take his bearings.

He looked around himself and saw Obi-Wan recovering from the crash.  The Padawan seemed to be little the worse for wear and had begun to move around.  Not for the first time, Qui-Gon envied his charge for the youth and stamina that had sustained him through several of their adventures.

Before he was ready to rise from his seat, Obi-Wan had moved to the front of the bridge and was checking on the captain and pilot in the forward seats.  Qui-Gon allowed himself a moment to rest as he observed his student’s movements.  Obi-Wan looked grim as he checked the vital signs of the two pilots.  The young learner shook his head.  The crew of the Radiant VI had died with their vessel, but their Jedi passengers had work left to do.

* * *

                The two Jedi emerged slowly from the burning remnants of their vessel.  They watched the skies carefully for any signs of their attackers, but found nothing of concern.  The ship had come to rest at the edge of a forest.  Qui-Gon entered the grove, determined to conceal himself and his charge from any other airborne assaults.

Obi-Wan followed a few paces behind him.  “Master, Alderaan has no weapons, no military.  The Gungans are at a far lower level of technology.  They would not deploy droid fighters to shoot down an incoming craft.  Can you sense what we have walked into?”

“Clearly there is another party at work here.  We seem to have stumbled into a plan that did not account for our arrival,” Qui-Gon said.

“Speaking of plans, what is yours?” Obi-Wan asked.

“We’ll need to secure transportation.  We’ll need to reestablish contact with Coruscant, let them know that we’re safe, but in need of assistance.  I’m hoping we can find a path to the cities, but it’s too late in the day to go wandering about aimlessly.  For now, we’ll conceal ourselves from those droid fighters under this forest canopy.  After sunrise, we’ll see about our next objectives.”

“At least this is more interesting than another mindless patrol,” Obi-Wan said, partly under his breath.  He immediately regretted it.

Qui-Gon stopped mid-pace and turned to face his student, “Oh, you’re seeking adventure are you?  Longing for the final days of the Sith Lords, when Jedi went to war instead of defending the peace?  How about you ask those poor pilots that brought us here what they think of adventure?” Qui-Gon’s expression held mild disgust.

“I apologize, Master.  I just meant that this was more of a challenge than we have been presented with recently.”

Qui-Gon’s shoulders slumped, “I forget sometimes that you’ve not seen what I have.  You’ve seen death, but not war.  You’re young.  I had my wars and grand adventures a generation ago.  I’m sure you’ll have yours too, someday.  But until then, try not to seek them out.  Strife, terror, and conflict will find their way to you eventually as well.  There is no need to hurry them.”

They continued into the grove.  Twilight began to consume the evening sky above them.  Qui-Gon could see no sign of civilization or technology, but he sensed that they were not isolated.

“Shall we make camp for the night, or press on?” Obi-Wan asked.  By their internal clocks, the day had not yet ended, but neither man could deny the need for a bit of rest.

Qui-Gon was ready to start the search for a suitable shelter when his Padawan let out a helpless shriek of surprise.

Turning suddenly, he saw Obi-Wan snatched off the ground, hauled aloft by a looped rope that had snared him under the shoulders.  The young man was lifted bodily several feet into the air before Qui-Gon had the chance to survey the situation.  As he moved to assist his companion, he was knocked off his feet, landing face up on the ground.  He found a black wooden speartip at his neck.

His attacker paused.  In combat, Qui-Gon would have used the hesitation to find a weakness in this opponent, but he sensed no hostility, only fear.  He moved slowly.  His attacker allowed him to rise, but kept the weapon pointed at his jugular.  He sensed tension in this being.  Tension and readiness.

Before Qui-Gon stood an unknown biped, a bit taller than he himself.  The fading afternoon light did not allow him to see much in the way of color or texture, but he sensed a lithe, reptilian form with predatory instincts and a calculating mind.

“Enegat, oku tak,” the alien said.  Qui-Gon was utterly perplexed.  He took a moment to look up and make sure Obi-Wan was unharmed.  His Padawan was fine, though stranded, halfway up a tree.

“Enegat, oku tak,” the alien repeated.  A small jab of the spear tip told Qui-Gon that he was being challenged, though for what, he was unsure.

“I’m sorry.  I don’t… I don’t have your language.  Do you speak Basic?” Qui-Gon asked.

Without warning, another being, clearly of the same stock arrived at Qui-Gon’s elbow.  This new sentient had emerged from the dark of the forest night with no sign that he had been there a moment prior.

In a heavy accent, the new arrival spoke, “Do you understand my words?”

Qui-Gon nodded, taking a step back so that he could speak with this new alien.

“My name is Qui-Gon Jinn.  My companion and I are peaceful travelers.  We represent the Republic.  We are here because we received a distress signal from this planet.  We came to offer assistance.”

The new arrival spoke to the spear-holder in a clicking, guttural language and received a response before turning back to Qui-Gon.

“My name is Ankura.  This is my pack leader, Otolla.  He has decided not to eat you.”

Qui-Gon suppressed a laugh, “I’m glad to hear that.  Can you provide me with some direction?”

Again there was an exchange.  Qui-Gon took the chance to look up at Obi-Wan and shrug.  The Padawan returned a similar look of perplexity.

Ankura spoke again in Basic, gesturing to Otolla, “He wants to know if you are of the Skymen who have invaded the tribelands.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, nodding up to Obi-Wan, “My companion and I are the only ones here of my people.  I know of no invasion.”

Ankura translated for him and Otolla moved the speartip down from Qui-Gon’s chest to point at the lightsaber that hung from his belt.

Qui-Gon sensed a pang of embarrassment from his translator as he spoke, “Otolla demands you surrender your weaponry in exchange for safe passage through the tribelands.

The Jedi Master sighed and held up a hand in surrender.  Carefully, maintaining eye contact with Otolla, he unhooked his lightsaber and handed it to Ankura.  He then held both hands aloft and hoped that the sign would be taken as he intended, as a peaceful gesture.

Ankura handed the weapon to his packleader, who then twisted and rotated the device.  Qui-Gon was nervous that the primitive Gungan might ignite the blade accidentally, but instead, with great deliberate motion, Otolla raised the handle over his head and activated the lightsaber.  The modest clearing was coated in a bright viridian illumination.  Qui-Gon Jinn carried the green blade of a Jedi Consular.  Now that blade revealed the positions of nearly a dozen Gungan hunters, concealed in the tree branches and the rocky outcrops of the forest.  Obi-Wan and he had blindly strolled into the center of a hunting party.

The Gungan pack surrounded Qui-Gon and his two new friends.  The fighters stood at various states of attention, monitoring the verbal exchange at the center of the clearing.  Many took stances in tree branches.  One held the other end of the rope harness that had ensnared Obi-Wan.  With deference, Qui-Gon asked that his companion be lowered to the ground.  This request was granted and Obi-Wan reluctantly surrendered his saber as well.

Otolla held Qui-Gon’s ignited lightsaber high in front of him like a trophy as he moved between the trees.  The Gungans fell into step behind the pack leader, surrounding the prisoners and keeping a watchful gaze on the forest and the prairie beyond.

As they followed Otolla, Obi-Wan walked next to Qui-Gon.  He spoke in a whisper, not knowing if they had permission to speak.

“Master, where are they taking us?” Obi-Wan asked.

“The tribelands was the word they used.  Though I’m not sure if it matters.  We have no way of knowing where to go.  At least now we’re headed somewhere useful.  And I’m sure we’ll be escorted there safely,” Qui-Gon replied.

“We’re quite a prize for a hunting party,” Obi-Wan said.

“Indeed.  If there’s to be a homecoming banquet, let’s just hope we’re sitting at the table and not on it,” Qui-Gon said.

Leathery hands fell on the shoulders of both Jedi.  Behind them, Ankura leaned his red-brown snout between their ears and spoke, “We’re taking you to see the Nass.  Nass will decide your fate.”

Qui-Gon shrugged.  He was not happy with the situation, but he had a direction to take and the Force and a companion to protect him.

Otolla led the group out of the forest and gave out a whistling cry as he stepped onto the grasslands.  A moment later, a pair of large beasts swooped in from above the treetops.

They glided gently through the air on massive, blubbery wings.  The creatures had sleek bodies with powerfully muscled tails and fins.  Two massive eyes, larger than Qui-Gon’s torso, stared out from their heads.  The smaller of the two was white with blue markings that formed random, beautiful patterns over its wings.  The larger was white all over.  Qui-Gon wondered if its markings had faded after youth, or if there was another explanation.

Ankura smiled as he pointed at the creatures and gave the two Jedi the word, “Thrantas.”

The pair that circled the hunting party were not identical.  One was much larger than the other.  Qui-Gon sensed that this pair was a mother and child, though he would never be certain.

The graceful acrobatics were mesmerizing and Qui-Gon felt a pang of disappointment as the thrantas approached and landed.  He could see now that the smaller of the two was fitted with a leather saddle.  The larger one carried a small platform over its much more spacious back.  The short stubby legs of the young thranta seemed to quiver as Otolla climbed into the saddle.  The beast seemed relieved to return to the air, even with the added weight of a rider.

The rest of the hunting party, including Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon carefully boarded the platform atop the larger thranta.  One of the silent Gungan hunters took hold of the reigns that harnessed the skywhale.  A moment later, the beast was aloft, following its young companion as it soared over the twilight-covered savannas below.

* * *

The thrantas delivered the group to a small cluster of handmade shelters at the top of a small overlook that provided a view of the grasslands and a crystal clear river to the south.

“Beautiful planet,” Obi-Wan remarked as they landed.  The Gungans were silent, but didn’t seem to mind the two Jedi talking.

“A place of serenity,” Qui-Gon agreed.

Night had fallen over the plains, but the sky was full of starlight.  The fires from the Gungan encampment guided them in.  Their Gungan guards were content to go at a leisurely pace.

The camp was only a few huts placed around a central fire pit.  The huts were made from materials of the local forests.  In the firelight, Qui-Gon could see children at play.  Gungans of different sizes and colors went about their dinners, or cleaning up the remnants of them.  A few hailing calls of welcome were cheered as the hunting party made its way in.  A couple of their guards had brought in some animal pelts and broke off to speak to interested parties.

At the central fire, Ankura and Otolla conversed for a bit in their native tongue and after a moment, Otolla handed Ankura the lightsabers and pointed towards the hill that bordered the encampment.  The packleader seemed rather agitated as he took his spear and headed for a hut.  Ankura motioned for the two Jedi to follow him.  The guards opened their distance, but did not abandon them.

“Otolla has brought you in and has no more use for you.  Nass will know what should be done with you.”

“And you are taking us to this Nass?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Directly.  Follow,” Ankura ordered.

Ankura walked them through the camp and was heading for the bare hill beyond.  Qui-Gon wondered if this was some metaphysical exercise.  Was Nass the hill?  Was Nass achieved in some way by ascending the hill, or throwing them off the other side of it?  He found himself more curious than fearful and as they approached the base of the mound, Ankura took a step and seemed to sink into the ground itself.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan both paused, utterly confused for a moment.  Ankura’s head appeared from the grasses a few paces in front of them.

“Come, sky travelers, there is nothing to fear here,” Ankura said.  His arm appeared to wave them over.

As they neared his position, they could see there was no magic here, just a notch in the hillside that led to an underground structure.  The nature of the entrance was made to be hidden by the surrounding terrain.  One could only see the opening from a single direction.  It was an impressive bit of camouflage.

As they entered the tunnel, Qui-Gon reassessed these creatures.  Clearly they were more advanced than their wooden weaponry would suggest.  As they moved down the tunnel, the entryway expanded into a large atrium.  This was no dugout or hovel.  The walls were metal and were lit with running lights.  It had the appearance of a starship bridge, or a scientific laboratory.  As they moved inside, Qui-Gon could see the latter was more accurate.  Bookshelves and chemical racks lined the walls.  More tables with experiments cluttered the center of the room.  Some had instruments, some had tarps covering unknown equipment.  Computer screens processed images of the surrounding forests and plains.

A strange presence filled Qui-Gon’s senses.  It seemed to almost radiate from the center of the room.  This place felt like it belonged in the Jedi Temple back on Coruscant.  He sensed a great calming effect.  His pulse slowed.

In the corner was a bed with a white-yellow Gungan lying on it.  He was about to ask Ankura if the sleeping Gungan was Nass when a door at the rear of the lab slid open.

A blue-grey biped, clearly not a Gungan, trudged out of the door, walking with the aid of a large wooden stick, likely of the same material as Otolla’s spear.  It took Qui-Gon a moment to see that this was a Feeorin.  A different species entirely, not native to Alderaan.  The sentient approached them, navigating carefully around several lab tables.  He called to Ankura in the Gungan tongue.  Ankura responded in kind.  Qui-Gon noted that the other Gungans had not followed them into this space.  After a moment, Ankura left the room.  He placed the lightsabers on a lab table and exited the same way they had entered.

After a moment, the Feeorin turned to address the two Jedi, “Ankura tells me you’re travelers.  Said that you’re from the Republic.  He knows nothing of the Jedi, but I do.”

“The Feeorins are a noble race.  Quick-witted warriors.  The Sith Empire used them as a mercenary army in the last war,” Qui-Gon said.

“And cannon fodder,” the Feoorin replied.  “And no matter how vicious the army, it still has the need for a healer.”

“A healer who grew sick of war and came to a peaceful world, seeking tranquility,” Qui-Gon said, taking a guess.

“And one who has no quarrel with the Jedi,” the Feeorin said, nodding in acknowledgement.

“Qui-Gon Jinn, and this is my Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said, introducing himself.

“Nass.  My species doesn’t typically go in for long names.”

“I remember,” Qui-Gon said.

“We’re hard to forget,” Nass said, pulling up a chair.  He rested his tired body.  He motioned towards two stools at the next table.  The stools slid across the floor and came to a stop.

He had pulled them with the Force.

Qui-Gon made it a point to look unsurprised.  He sat down, “You sent the distress signal?”

“Of course,” Nass said.

“Why?” asked Obi-Wan, speaking up for the first time.

Nass opened a cabinet under the lab table they sat around.  He pulled out a pair of droid heads and a pair of blaster rifles.  He pulled out a box with more parts and dumped it on the table.  Qui-Gon could see an arm and servos that connected to a processing unit.  There were scattered, broken bits of wire and circuitry in addition to the outer pieces of the casing.

“Otolla’s hunting party isn’t the only one.  Smilodar’s party brought these in two days ago.  They ran into a squadron of battle droids.  Three were killed, two were captured.  Smilodar himself managed to survive, barely.  He’s the one recovering in that bed over there.”

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan looked over the parts.  These two battle droids had been torn limb from limb, literally, but their presence at all indicated a much greater concern.

“Are the settlers…?” Qui-Gon asked, not quite able to imagine the complete thought.

Nass scoffed, “Hardly.  Those people are too busy building art museums to make something like this.  They’re not hostile.  And even if they were, the Gungans have no quarrel with them.  This planet has proven big enough for both to coexist.”

“Then who?” Obi-Wan asked.

Nass shrugged, “I’m not sure.  Hence the distress signal.  Two days ago, it was one Gungan hunting party that was unlucky.  If whoever is in charge of these droids decided to attack this village, or any of the dozens of others in the tribelands…”

“The Gungans would be wiped out,” Qui-Gon finished the thought.

“They would fight very gallantly and die very rapidly,” Nass said.

“We’ll look into this,” Qui-Gon said.

“You might start by heading towards Aldera City,” Nass said.

“What makes you say that?” Obi-Wan said.

“Because that’s where they’re heading,” Nass said.  He pointed to a viewscreen on the wall and a recording began to play.  A droid army on the march, with large brown tanks and artillery to back them.  The dark grey battle droids marched in perfect, crisp formations.  They travelled up a mountain pass, stopping at a clearing between two mighty peaks.  As the view pulled back, Qui-Gon realized he was watching footage filmed from the air.  Perhaps Nass had sent out riders to record this, or maybe he had some sort of drone or droid that acted as his scout.

The images left the droid army and panned up the mountain slopes.  The camera cleared the summit and showed an extraordinary open valley.  At the center of the valley was a gleaming metropolis of white towers and green grass.  Surrounding the city was a clear lake with large open bridges, inviting travelers to enter.

Aldera City had no defenses.  The battle droids had a clear path and there was nothing that could stop them.

Nass gave a commentary, “This was recorded this afternoon, right around the time you two made your fiery entrance.  More come in each day.  Whoever is in command seems to be the cautious sort.  Soon, they’ll take Aldera City without a shot fired.”

Obi-Wan looked at the footage with a cocked head, “Why go to all the trouble of marching?  They could have landed in the valley and taken the city in a day.”

“Oh, this is just one division.  You see the ring of mountains that surrounds the city?  They’ve got units on each one.  Apparently it’s not enough just to capture Aldera.  They want to prevent anyone from escaping.”

“You could always get out by air,” Obi-Wan countered.

“How did that go for you trying to get in?” Nass said.

“Surely they aren’t shooting down every incoming ship.  We’d have heard.”

Nass shook his head, “So far, they’ve stayed hidden.  The humans tend not to travel the open plains.  And the settler airships are easy to avoid if you know the schedules.”

“Then why did they shoot at us?” Obi-Wan asked.

With a touch of the Force, Nass slid their lightsabers across the table, returning them to their rightful owners.

“You should ask them,” Nass said.

* * *

Viceroy Nute Gunray looked out at his army and was pleased.  His lieutenants had set up a ring around Aldera City and, at sunrise, they would march in and claim this planet for the Trade Federation.

He listened absentmindedly to a few reports from his chief financial officer and his executive accountants.  The Trade Federation’s vitality was the flow of money and by this time tomorrow, that flow would be a rampaging river.  Taking this planet would give them full control over the entrance to three hyperspace corridors and every passing ship would pay for the privilege of travelling the spacelanes that offered access to and from the Mid Rim.

For generations, Alderaan had been a peaceful gemstone on a ring of paths that united this sector of the galaxy.  The foolish humans of Aldera had kept the lanes free and open and asked for nothing in return but passivity.  The Republic Navy had provided defense from the occasional pirate threat, but even a flotilla of Republic Navy cruisers would be hard pressed against the hardened capital ships of the Trade Federation fleet.

Years ago the Senate had allowed his business to arm its merchant vessels against the cutthroats and scofflaws of the Outer Rim.  With the Sith defeated, the Republic had no interest in patrolling beyond its borders and its standing armies had long since disbanded.  It seemed the Galactic Republic was as naïve and trusting as the residents of this garden world.

Gunray had one more duty before he could sit with his advisors for a sumptuous dinner.  He had to inform his benefactor of the readiness of his army.  Typically, an army on the march had few luxuries to speak of, but with the vast bankrolls of the Trade Federation, even a covert military campaign could allow for splendid comforts.

Gunray rose from his walking throne and approached the transmitter pad.  He checked his headpiece and robes.  Neimoidians were nothing if not meticulous, and the leader of the Trade Federation must look impeccable at all times.

He nodded to a droid who activated the transmitter pad.  A moment later, the blue-tinted hologram appeared before him, greatly enlarged.  The hooded figure peered out from dark robes and despite his distance, a shiver ran up Gunray’s spine.

“Lord Sidious, I beg to report the day’s progress,” Gunray said.

“Is everything ready?” Sidious asked.

“All is as you have commanded.  We are ready to move on your word.”

“Was the Jedi patrol handled as I commanded?” Sidious asked.

“Their ship was shot down by our droid fighters.  It spiraled in and crashed in an area of Gungan lands far to the west,” Gunray said.

“Did you recover the bodies?” Sidious asked.

Gunray hesitated, “Not yet, my lord.”

“Then you have failed, Viceroy,” Sidious said, sneering.

“My lord, I am sure they could not have survived such a violent impact,” Gunray said.

“You know nothing of their capabilities, but you will soon learn,” Sidious said.

“My lord, what do you advise?” Gunray asked.

“I’d advise you to never fail to execute my commands again.  When you are told to dispatch two Jedi, you don’t stop until you have two lightsabers in your hand.  This turn of events is unfortunate.  We shall have to accelerate our plans.  Begin the march on Aldera immediately.”

“My lord?” Gunray asked.

“Have I not made myself clear regarding the execution of my commands?” Sidious asked.

“Of course.  It will be done.  By daybreak, we shall have the city,” Gunray said.

“See that you do,” Sidious said.  The transmission ended before Gunray could put out another syllable.  He gulped and not for the first time regretted the bargain he had made with this Sith lord.

One of the silver protocol droids held out a serving tray with an aperitif that he knew he would never get to enjoy.  He walked through the headquarters to the lavish dining room where his advisors were gathering to enjoy the evening meal.

“We march on Aldera immediately.  Put the droids on the move.” he ordered.

The gathered Neimoidians were stunned into silence, not only at the change in plans, but at the break with protocol.  His assistant Doufine was the first to recover from the shock.

“Viceroy, we have dinner on the table.  Surely we can…” Doufine said.

“Take that city now!” Gunray said.

* * *

The dawn light came earlier at higher altitudes.  Nass had been kind enough to give them his personal thranta to ride.  The Gungans had given them descent packs, just in case the droid fighters had it out for them personally.  Hopefully, they’d never need to use them.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had wrapped their robes tightly, trying to avoid the cold winds of night as they flew towards the capital city.  Qui-Gon kept a tight grip on the thranta’s harness.  Obi-Wan kept a grip on his saddle.  At altitude, the thrantas could build up quite a bit of speed, riding thermal currents up and then letting gravity speed them down.  It had been an uncomfortable night, as if they had ridden a gigantic, frigid pendulum, up and down, racing towards an ever receding horizon.

Sighting the sunrise glaring off the mountains that ringed Aldera, Qui-Gon once more allowed the airwhale to rise.  As they silently cleared the imposing peaks, the two Jedi spotted their destination.

Aldera was being invaded.  The droid armies were closing in on the city from all sides.  The dark grey formations of battle droids looked like insects descending on a carcass.  They surrounded the city just as the mountains did.  Brown tanks and orange-red artillery flanked each droid column as it entered the valley surrounding Aldera.

The lake that moated the city would be its only defense.  Wide bridges allowed the entrance of the droid armies.  Aldera City had awakened with the dawn, but it was opening its eyes to a nightmare.

Qui-Gon pointed out the invading forces as the droids crossed the bridge, marching on Aldera.  The thranta circled the capital and Qui-Gon tried to get a position on the palace and governmental houses.  After one orbit of the city, he gave up the search.  It was impossible to tell one building from another at this altitude, and even if he had, no rally of royal guards or security volunteers would do anything against this force.

As they swung around, trying to form a new plan, droid fighters emerged from the clouds above.  Obi-Wan tapped his shoulder and pointed them out.  He pulled the reigns and felt the thranta bank to the right side.  Blaster fire passed narrowly by the great beast’s wingtips.

“We’ll never outmaneuver them this way,” Qui-Gon said.

“Let’s jump for it,” Obi-Wan suggested.

Qui-Gon nodded and unbuckled himself from the harness.  He gave a quick pat to the thranta as he watched Obi-Wan slide down the wing and fall from its trailing edge.  The thranta banked for home and he leaped from its back.  Following his Padawan down towards the city below.

Obi-Wan pulled the cord from the descent pack that was strapped on his back.  With a sudden jerk, leathery wings spread from the pack and caught the air.  He glided down among the spires and domes of Aldera.  Were this not the beginning of a battle, he would have marveled at the beauty of the city and taken much joy at being able to see it from this vantage.

Gripping the control cords, he guided himself to the top of a squat, white tower that had a large landing pad atop it.  A moment later he saw Qui-Gon pass overhead on his own leather wings.  The Gungans surely knew all the fun ways to travel.

Qui-Gon circled and landed on the building opposite.  Within moments they united on the street below as a column of droids filed past.  The citizens of Aldera had come out at the first sign of trouble and frightened civilians gathered to watch the invaders pouring through the city streets.

The Jedi made their way towards the palace and arrived in time to see a Neimoidian in a rather ornate throne marching out alongside a column of surrendered royal guards.  There was a girl who walked at the center of the formation, flanked by several others of similar age.  They had witnessed the capture of the Queen of Alderaan.

* * *

Queen Organa had seen the droid army stream into the city and spread like a plague.  Her royal guards had offered to defend the palace, but she ordered them to stand down.  Violence was not the way of Alderaan and she knew their deaths would be pointless.

This was the hour that her planet would need her the most and she was determined to meet the moment with the dignity befitting a queen.

Flanked by her handmaidens, she descended the grand staircase of Aldera Palace and met the invading battle droids in the atrium.

“Halt,” came the order from the lead droid.  Unlike the others, it was more red-brown than gray.  Its tinny voice echoed awkwardly off the marble walls.  It carried a blaster rifle, but did not point the weapon at her or her personnel.

“I am Queen Organa, of the house of Organa, royal family of Alderaan.  You have invaded my planet against the laws of the Republic and the orders of common decency.  I demand to speak to your commander at once.”

Before the droid could make a proper reply, the column of incoming droids parted and between their lines, a Neimoidian in an elaborate headdress made his way through the doors.  He was flanked by a unit of bodyguards and surrounded by other Neimoidians, clearly underlings and sycophants.  The motions of the droids confirmed that this was their commander.  He approached Queen Organa with clasped hands and spoke with a stifled accent.

The Neimoidian spoke formally, with a slight bow of greeting.  After all was said and done, this was just business.  He harbored this young monarch no ill will, “Queen Organa of Alderaan.  I am Viceroy Nute Gunray of the Trade Federation.  We are here to purchase your planet.”

It was all she could do not to laugh in his face.  She was pleased that her handmaidens and advisors had managed not to as well.

“Purchase?  Alderaan is not for sale, Viceroy.  Not at any price.  Take your army and leave.  You are in violation of Republic law.”

“Perhaps, but that matter will be resolved momentarily.  Our legal team has prepared a contract. With your signature, we will complete the transaction and the Trade Federation will assume direct control of Alderaan and the hyperspace approaches to this system.  There is no need for violence or destruction if you comply.  We have no desire to raze this beautiful city or harm the citizens within.”

“But you will if I refuse to sign my planet over to your greedy corporate interests?” she said, completing his threat for him.

“The fate of your planet and your people is entirely in your hands, your royal highness.  On behalf of the Trade Federation, I beseech you to make the right choice.  You can enrich your world or watch it reduced to rubble.”

Now she scoffed, “Enrich my world!?  Wherever the Trade Federation reaches, you destroy everything in the name of profit.  We all know what happened on Syned.  I would rather watch my planet be razed to the core than allow you to make one credit of profit off of its suffering.”

The slimy Neimoidian sighed, clearly unsurprised.  “Very well, your highness.  We shall have to do this the hard way.  Captain?”

“Yes, sir,” the droid said.

“Process them.”

As the droids led them away from the palace, Padme looked up and saw the grey silhouettes of the Trade Federation fleet taking position in orbit over Alderaan.

* * *

At the center of the column was the Queen.  She was trailed by six handmaidens and they, in turn were followed by a team of disarmed royal guardsmen and assorted governmental officials.  Flanking them all was a group of ten battle droids, five per side.

The droids had a sinister look to their design.  They dark grey casing of the head was predatory, having something of a snout.  The shoulders were broad and allowed each droid to carry a heavy blaster rifle or other equipment if needs be.  The chest gave some structure as it housed the power pack and spindly legs completed the design.

Ordinarily, droids were passive and non-threatening.  Queen Organa had seen so many in her life that were used only for comfort and luxury.  It was unsettling to walk beside one that was designed to kill.  She kept a brave face, but silently wondered what havoc an army of these things could wreak upon her planet.

The formation approached a narrow road between two buildings.  She recognized one of the structures as an art house and the other she thought was a library.  There was a pedestrian bridge that arched overhead, connecting the two structures.  Such bridges were common in Aldera and allowed foot and vehicle traffic to coexist with a minimum of interruption.

As they passed under the bridge, Organa noticed a subtle change in the morning light.  She felt as much as saw a shadow descend past her group.  Suddenly, she heard the snap-hiss of lightsabers activating.  In a blur of movement, two robed figured struck down the droids escorting her party.  With a flurry of kicks and saber slashes, the droids fell into pieces.  She barely had time to catch her breath.  Her guards reacted with the quick reflexes that only training could instill.

“Get their weapons,” ordered security chief Panaka.  Around her the guards gathered the blasters from the fallen droids.  She could see circuitry and metal components litter the street around her.

The older Jedi approached her with an offered hand, “Your highness, we need to get you to safety.”

She nodded, her senses coming back.  The moment had felt hazy, as though she was an uninvolved witness to these incidents.  Her security team escorted her, following the Jedi into an alcove of the art house.

Panaka and the lead Jedi spoke for a bit.  She felt it best to stay silent and stoic.  Security concerns were handled by Panaka and her team for a reason.  She let her guard work.  With military efficiency, Panaka and the Jedi introduced themselves.

“We’ve got to get the Queen out of the city,” Panaka said.  Her tone was cool and resolved.

“We need to get her off of this planet,” Qui-Gon said.

The city’s local administrator spoke up, “Is this happening everywhere?  What about Crevasse City or the Sanctuary Coast?”

“We know nothing of their condition,” Qui-Gon said.

“If we can get to other cities, we can rally their civil police forces…” the administrator said.

“And accomplish nothing.  Every civil servant on this planet united with a blaster in hand could not take back Aldera.  The Queen cannot be kept safe on this world.  Your highness, we must get you to a starship,” Panaka said.

“I have sworn allegiance to my people and to their interests.  I cannot abandon them in their hour of need,” she said.

“Your highness, you can do more good for your people by calling on the Republic for assistance,” Qui-Gon said.

Panaka agreed, “He’s right, your highness.  All of our resources cannot stand up to this invasion force.  There is no choice but to appeal to the galaxy beyond.”

“But the people…” she said, looking out a window at the city around them.

One of her handmaidens spoke up, “The people will understand, your highness.”

She nodded.  Valor had its place, but it could not hold its own against tactics.

“Then I shall prevail upon Chancellor Valorum and the Senate,” she turned to the city administrator, “In my absence, you will do all in your power to preserve the life and health of our people and culture.”

The man nodded.  He lifted himself up to full height and spoke with reverence, “I serve the house of Organa, your highness.”

The Jedi maintained focus, “Where is the nearest starship?”

Panaka pointed with her hands, “The royal hangar overlooks Appenza Lake.  I’ll take point.  There is a secret entrance a few blocks away.”

* * *

They departed the art house in two separate groups.  The first walked out in pairs, heading down various side streets, scouting for droid patrols.  Panaka and the Jedi observed them from the art house windows and took note of which ones were rounded up and which managed to elude capture.  With the patrols occupied, they made use of the side streets and the pedestrian bridges and soon Organa and the rest of her group found themselves at the entrance to the royal hangar.

Inside, a cluster of droids guarded a squadron of pilots that sat, unarmed in the shadow of the royal liner.  A gleaming silver starship took up the main landing pad of the hangar.  It had grand swept wings that filled the rather large room.  A pair of engines at the base of each wing enforced the overall look of speed that the designer had sought.  Around the royal cruiser, was a squadron of sleek yellow fighters with chromium-plated engine pods.  So much about Alderaan was done for aesthetics that Obi-Wan wondered if the fighters even had lasers, and if those lasers could be fired at all.

With the droid patrols now certainly looking for the lost Queen, there was no time for subtlety or gamesmanship.  Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan simply walked up to the nearest droid and activated their sabers.  It took only seconds for the pilots to be freed from their captivity.

As the Jedi escorted the Queen to the middle of the hangar, a droid emerged from the royal starship.  In a microsecond it assessed the situation and fired its blaster at the nearest target, which happened to be an unfortunate pilot heading for his fighter.  The man fell dead instantly with a blaster bolt to the center of his back.  Obi-Wan winced and rushed to destroy the offending droid.  When it was reduced to a walking pair of legs with nothing else connected, he waved Qui-Gon over.

Queen Organa with her escorts boarded the shiny vessel and the engines hummed to life.  Obi-Wan spoke to Qui-Gon.

“I’m going to take that starfighter,” Obi-Wan said, nodding to the yellow spaceship that the downed pilot had been heading towards.

“Agreed, we’ll need all the cover we can get to make it past the droid ships,” Qui-Gon said.  “If the worst should happen, return to the temple immediately.  Inform Master Windu and Secretary Palpatine.  They will have to rally the Senate without us,” Qui-Gon said.

“Be safe,” Obi-Wan said.

“May the Force be with you,” Qui-Gon replied.

* * *

The silver royal cruiser roared out of the hangar, creating a ripple on Appenza Lake.  The fleet of yellow fightercraft followed close behind the Queen’s ship as it made for the upper atmosphere.  Aboard the luxury star-yacht, the various members of the royal court did their best to strap in tight and hang on.  The pilots at the helm had no time to make this trip comfortable.

Obi-Wan smiled despite himself as he felt the little fighter respond to his touch.  After the crash and the trips on the thrantas, it was nice to finally be in control of what he was flying for a change.  He twirled the control yoke and felt the little Starfighter roll in his grip.  The N-1 was a glorious craft with lovely lines and a powerful pair of engines.  As his fellow N-1 pilots took up station around the royal starship, he held back, scanning the skies for threats.  He called upon his eyes, his sensors, and the Force.

Suddenly he found what he’d been looking for.  A group of six droid fighters came up from the south, pursuing the chromium plated spaceships through the atmosphere.

The lead droid fighters raked laser fire over the grand sweeping wings of the royal starship.  Obi-Wan called out to the escort fighters over his radio.  A moment later, he heard a panicked hooting from behind him.  Only now did he realize that there was an astromech droid behind the cockpit.  The little droid was tucked in under a rotating torpedo launcher that had flipped down once he had sealed the canopy shut back at the hangar.

Obi-Wan called on the launcher’s control program and locked in on the lead droid fighter.  The other N-1’s broke formation and scrambled, trying to find a good angle to take on the attackers.  From his trailing position, Obi-Wan had a better view of all of the moves and counter-moves of the ships as they broke into open space.  The sky turned black and Obi-Wan almost lost sight of the dark beige droid fighters.  He heard his R2 unit beep with confirmation as the computer locked on to its target.

With the pull of a trigger on the back of his control yoke, Obi-Wan launched a glowing, blue proton torpedo at the target.  Despite its attempt to evade, the droid fighter shattered, exploding into several thousand pieces that would never harm anyone again.  Obi-Wan suppressed the urge to whoop.

The other droid fighters had fared far better while his attention was diverted.  Two of the N-1’s had been destroyed.  Two more had diverted away from the battle.  The droid fighters had suppressed the defenders and had continued to strafe the Alderaanian vessels with each pass.

Obi-Wan could feel the tension rippling off of Qui-Gon even from his cockpit in another vessel.  The Jedi Master was doing his utmost to keep the passengers calm while the N-1’s handled the attackers.  Obi-Wan did not envy the Jedi Master his task.  Given the choice between flustered bureaucrats or incoming fightercraft, he knew which one he would prefer to handle.  Another droid flew past him, but he managed to fire off a shot from the N-1’s laser cannons and destroy it before it could do any more damage.

The N-1’s were fast, but their pilots were inexperienced.  They had likely never been in a real battle, let alone faced off against droids, which thought faster and turned harder.  Obi-Wan winced as he saw a pair of N-1’s get blasted into oblivion by a pair of droid ships.

Below him, Obi-Wan spotted a new group of droid fighters coming up from the surface.  Obi-Wan radioed for three of his wingmen to break off and stop the approaching ships.  Not long after, he found himself alone, the sole N-1 against five droid fighters.

The cruiser’s pilot came over the radio.  “We’ve taken damage to the fuel bays and our engines.  If they manage to detonate one of the engine pods, we’ll never make it out of the planet’s gravity shadow.”

“Turn to port and skim the upper atmosphere.  Their targeting computers will have a more difficult time keeping a lock with the turbulence of the air,” Obi-Wan instructed.

The pilot was well-trained and followed the instruction without question.  The wide wings of the royal liner screamed through the top of the sky.  The droids turned to follow and the N-1’s held back.  Just as Obi-Wan planned, there was an opening to target the remaining droids.  The droid pilots did not shoot because their computers could not plot a firing solution with all the hazy air of the upper atmosphere.

Obi-Wan had no need for a targeting computer.  Guided by the Force, he steered the nose of his fighter around and took aim at the rearmost droid fighter.  Almost before he knew what had happened, his lasers had fired.  He saw the right wing break off from the droid fighter and it tumbled down into the atmosphere, a threat no longer.

                Four droid ships remained and Obi-Wan made quick work of three of them.  The fourth broke off the attack before he could destroy it.  He was tempted to give chase as the survivor made for the lower atmosphere, but his duty was to protect the Queen.

“Kenobi to cruiser.  You’re clear.  Are you able to make the jump to lightspeed?”

“Cruiser to Kenobi, transmitting hyperspace coordinates to your computer now.  Slave your navigation controls to ours.”

The astromech behind him was kind enough to light up the buttons that he needed to press.  Within moments, the jump was programmed.  He scanned the skies, searching for incoming enemy ships and suddenly the black that surrounded his cockpit was swapped for the brilliant light of hyperspace as his fighter followed the royal cruiser.

* * *

Aboard the royal cruiser, Qui-Gon Jinn furrowed his brow.  The Queen’s head of security was not happy, but their course was already set.

“There are simply no better options,” he said.

“But Tatooine is controlled by Hutt gangsters.  It’s a lawless backwater.  It’s not even in the Republic.  We don’t have the manpower to fend off a hundred cutthroats,” Panaka said.

“We’re leaking fuel and the hyperdrive can’t handle a longer jump.  We’ll never reach Coruscant without replacement parts.  We can find them on Tatooine.  Everywhere else we can reach is either uninhabitable, or filled with agents of the Trade Federation,” Qui-Gon said.

“If the Hutts discover a royal of Alderaan is on their planet…”

“It will be no different than if we’re discovered by the Trade Federation.  The difference is that the Hutts have no knowledge of our escape, our situation, or our royal passenger.  We’ll just be another ship in need of some new parts.  Nothing interesting enough to concern the Hutts,” Qui-Gon explained.

Panaka sighed and walked out.  She wasn’t happy, but she would acquiesce.

Qui-Gon took a seat in the rear of the bridge and closed his eyes.  It had been a trying day and he wanted to meditate before he faced whatever was coming next.

* * *

                Grand operations were always spoiled by small mistakes.  Simple, avoidable errors that inevitably led to more errors until chaos won out.  This was a hallmark of any business and the Trade Federation was certainly not immune.  He had spent his entire career worrying about the small errors that might spell disaster.

Viceroy Gunray had been a fool to trust that his droids could handle every part of this operation.  In retrospect, he wished that he’d hired a bounty hunter or two to take care of some of the more critical parts of this assignment.  The board would have given him such grief over the additional expense, but it would have saved him this terrifying conversation.

If the situation was stressful, certainly his surroundings were not.  He’d spent the night in Aldera Palace, sampling the Alderaanian hospitality in both food and drink.  This planet’s reputation as an opulent quasi-utopia was certainly well garnered.  Under the warm light of dawn, he had to get to work.  And now he faced a superior that was much more dangerous than his board of directors.

He was seated in the Palace’s dining room.  Placed at Queen Organa’s seat, he watched as the holograph at the far end of the table sprang to life.  Before him was the hooded visage of Darth Sidious.  The soft lines of his nose were almost all that was visible under the dark cowl.

“Report,” Sidious said.  He was not one to waste his words.

“We have secured Crevasse City and the northern reaches.  Fighters are patrolling over the Gungan tribelands and so far we’ve had no signs of resistance from the general population.”

“Excellent.  And Queen Organa, has she signed the contract?” Sidious asked.

Right to the bad news, Gunray thought.

“My lord, Queen Organa is no longer in our custody.  She and her security team escaped from their droid escort.”

Sidious’s look could have melted a starship’s hull.

“A few royal guards should have been no match for your battle droids, Viceroy.  How is this possible?”

His voice quivered, “W..we believe that the Jedi may have aided in her escape,” Gunray said.

Sidious sneered, “It seems your previous failure has come back to haunt you, Viceroy.”  His tone indicated something just shy of amusement, like a teacher observing a struggling student.

The Sith continued before he could say anything in his own defense, “Viceroy, locate her immediately.  I want that contract signed!  Execute some of the civilians if you have to,” the anger in his voice had made an appearance, but had not completely manifested.

Gunray wished more than anything to be elsewhere, “My lord, one large vessel escaped from the royal hangar.  It is possible she is onboard.  The droid starfighters were unable to disable the ship.  It eluded capture.”

“Find it, Viceroy, if you wish to keep that title… and your head,” Sidious said.

The leader of the Trade Federation was grateful that he was already seated.  Were it not so, his legs would surely have given out by this point.

“My lord, our droids pursued as well as they could manage, but the ship entered hyperspace.  It is beyond our range,” Gunray said.

“Not for a Sith,” Sidious interrupted.

The background of the hologram shimmered in the light of the dining room.  A new figure stepped into the frame.  Gunray felt terror clench his chest and his hands, thankfully out of sight, secreted another layer of mucous.

This newcomer was another Sith Lord, younger, and far more fearsome.  The Zabrak was hairless, with a crown of hooked horns.  His face was covered in a dazzling array of red and black patterns.  The yellow eyes bored into Gunray’s soul.  He could feel the hatred wafting off of this warrior through the hologram.  To this Sith, Nute Gunray was little more than a disappointing fool.

Sidious gestured to the newcomer at his right hand, “This is my apprentice, Darth Maul.  He will find your lost ship.”

* * *

Qui-Gon was pleased.  The pilot had followed his instructions precisely.  Obi-Wan’s little N-1 fighter and the royal cruiser had found a flat spot of terrain outside of the large settlement of Mos Espa and landed safely.  The ship would draw no attention past the outskirts of the city and no local officials had radioed or approached to indicate an interest in the vessel.

The desert planet of Tatooine was scorching hot, devoid of any useful resources and a haven for criminals and scavengers.  It was a perfect place to lay low.

With the midday sun assaulting the ship and sand alike, Qui-Gon exited the royal cruiser and made his way over to Obi-Wan, who was securing the little fighter.

The Jedi master gave his Padawan a big smile as he made his way over, “Excellent work back there.  Your maneuver probably saved us all.”

Obi-Wan beamed but did an admirable job of waving away the praise, “All thanks to your teachings.  What is the plan?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the city in the distance.

Qui-Gon held up a small datapad, “I’ve got a list of the parts we need.  We’ll just have to find a trader or shipyard that can get us all of this.  It may require a bit of shopping.”

Obi-Wan nodded, “Would you like me to stay here and guard the ships?”

Qui-Gon shook his head, “No.  Out here, they should be safe enough, especially with the royal guards.  I’d rather have you alongside me.”

“Very well,” Obi-Wan said, securing his lightsaber under his robe.  He paused and looked over the fighter he’d exited a few moments ago.

“Master, do you think there’s anything we could do with that Starfighter?” Obi-Wan asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Its hyperdrive is still functional.  Perhaps we could…?”

“No, I spoke to the royal engineers.  That drive is too small.  We’d take months to limp back to Coruscant,” Qui-Gon said.

“Could we perhaps put the Queen aboard and have her fly it herself?”

“In a single-seat fighter with an angry droid army in pursuit?” Qui-Gon scoffed.

“I could fly to Coruscant and return with some assistance,” Obi-Wan said.

“True, but if anything happened to you out there, I’d be alone, guarding this entire assembly against the Hutts, the Trade Federation, and anything else.

“Well, then we had best be about it,” Obi-Wan said, turning towards the settlement on the horizon.

They took a few paces and Qui-Gon gazed back at the royal cruiser.  His face was wracked with tension.

“Something wrong?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I cautioned them to make no transmissions,” the Jedi Master said, his gaze not leaving the ship.

“But you’re worried,” Obi-Wan ventured.

“No one on that ship is used to laying low,” he said.

Obi-Wan took a look at the gleaming silver spacecraft and started to walk over to the underside of the left wing.

“What are you doing?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Making certain,” Obi-Wan said.  He opened a panel on the bottom of the fuselage.  A moment later he came back carrying a circuit board.

“That ought to keep the transmissions to a minimum,” he said, with a wry grin.

Qui-Gon smiled, “Novel solution.”

Before they’d taken twenty paces towards Mos Espa, the landing ramp on the royal cruiser opened once again.  Captain Panaka descended, trailed by one of the Queen’s handmaidens.

“Wait!” Panaka called to the Jedi.

The pair exchanged a look of annoyance.  Still, they dutifully stopped walking and turned.  “How can I help you, Captain?” Qui-Gon said.

“The queen commands you to take her handmaiden with you,” Panaka said.

“This is not a sight-seeing trip, Captain,” Qui-Gon said.

“The queen wishes it.  She’s curious about the planet.  Padme is her most capable servant,” Panaka said by way of introduction.

Silently, Qui-Gon surveyed the girl.  She was barely into her twenties.  She seemed fit and he wasn’t worried about her lagging behind.  But he didn’t like adding another unknown element to this mission.  He turned to Obi-Wan for an opinion.

The Padawan looked the girl up and down, “I should not like to be responsible for her safety.”

Padme butted in, clearly tired of being spoken of and not spoken to, “I shouldn’t like to be responsible for yours.  I can handle myself, Jedi.  That’s what you both look like, you know: Jedi.  You might as well hold up a lighted sign that says you’re from the Republic.”

Obi-Wan took a half-step back, as if in defense, “Go on a lot of covert missions at the palace, Padme?”

“Handmaidens are trained to blend in to the scenery.  Silent, vigilant and ready.  That is our code.  What do you know of blending in to a crowd?  Have either of you ever walked in to a situation without assuming control?”

Qui-Gon pondered.  Panaka took the opportunity to retire to the cruiser.

“I thought not,” Padme said, and started walking towards the city in the distance.  After a few paces she called out, “Are you boys coming?” looking back over her shoulder at the flat-footed pair.

“This one’s going to be trouble,” Obi-Wan said, his wry grin turning into a smitten smirk.  Qui-Gon sighed.

The three fell into step together as they entered Mos Espa.  Qui-Gon noted a great many signs advertising all manner of businesses.  Consulting the interior of the city walls, one could find directions to fuel depots, junkyards, bounty hunters, gambling establishments, drinking houses, and slave traders.

Under normal circumstances, he would have considered it very pedestrian to be taken in by advertising at all, but speed and stealth were the priority here and he had no desire to linger in this place.  The Jedi selected the second largest advertisement for a junkyard and took note of its address.  With the two twenty-somethings in step behind him, the Qui-Gon made his way to Watto’s Junk and Treasure Emporium.

* * *

The shop was simple and clean.  There was a friendly sign at the entranceway that caught Qui-Gon’s eye:

Treasure we have.  Junk we need.  Money we take.

Behind the counter was a nondescript human male.  Qui-Gon guessed his age at around fifteen, not much younger than Padme.  He was sweeping the floors and turned to greet the trio as they made their entrance.

“Good day to you!” said the shopkeeper.  His voice was tender.  He set the broom aside and stepped out, “Welcome to Watto’s.  How can I help you?”

Qui-Gon felt a ripple move through his body.  His mind was flooded with awareness.  This young man in front of him echoed with the Force.  The sensation was familiar to Qui-Gon.  The last time he had felt it this strongly was the day, so many years ago, when he had met Obi-Wan for the first time.

Qui-Gon turned without speaking to see if Obi-Wan had been similarly affected.  Neither man seemed ready to speak so Padme jumped in for them.

“Are you Watto?” she asked.

The young man blushed a bit, “Oh, afraid not.  I just help with the upkeep around here.  My name is Anakin Skywalker.  Slave register 15415-H2IK”

“Slave register?” Padme asked, a look of shock on her face.

“You must be new to Tatooine,” Anakin said.  At Padme’s nod he continued, “We’re not in Republic space, so there can be a bit of a culture shock.  Don’t look too stunned, miss.  This isn’t a great place to be wide-eyed.”

“Good to know, Anakin.  We’re looking for some parts for a type S-6 hyperdrive,” she said, taking the datapad from Qui-Gon’s hand and giving it to the boy.

Again the teenager gave a blush, “Oh, I might not be the best one to ask.  Let me get Watto for you,” the young man leaned into an empty window frame and called out to the junkyard behind the shop.  “Hey, Watto!  Come on in.  We got paying customers, here!”

There was a crash from the back and a banging of some parts.  A moment later an elderly, blue Toydarian floated through the doorway on leathery, wrinkled wings.

“Here’s your expert,” Anakin said.

Padme took charge and spoke for the group, “Hello, I’m Padme Naberrie.  We’re looking for some parts for an S-6 hyperdrive.”

Watto stroked his chin lightly as he spoke, “That’s high-class hardware.  Not easy to find.  Very expensive.  I may have what you need though, let’s take a look.”  She handed him the list and trailed him as he waved her into the junkyard.  Obi-Wan followed her.

Qui-Gon seemed to be more interested in the teenage shopkeeper than in the items they were seeking.  Padme kept her focus on the dealer and his wares and left the old Jedi to question the boy.  She could not imagine what he expected to gain from that conversation.  The Jedi were peculiar.

She found herself rather comfortable in this situation as the Toydarian dutifully gathered the parts on their list.  By the end, he’d amassed a cart load of components and they’d checked everything off.  She was ready to close this out and get off this lawless, sandy rock.

“You’re lucky we had everything you were looking for.  There’s been a run on spare parts and scrap recently,” Watto said.

“Why is that?” Padme asked.

“The Boonta Eve Classic.  A large podrace.  Drivers and crews have been picking scrapyards clean lately to get new components for their racers.

“It’s a big event, is it?”

“Oh, the largest.  The whole town comes out.  I’m sponsoring a pod myself.  Should be wonderful for business,” Watto said.

They made their way around the piles of scrap, heading back for the shop entrance when Watto brought up what was surely his favorite subject, “Speaking of which, how are we going about paying for all of this today, Miss Padme?”

“I think we have enough in Republic dataries to cover the bill,” she said.

“Republic credits aren’t legal tender around these parts, Miss.  I’m afraid I’ll need something a bit more real,” Watto said.

Before Padme could process this, Obi-Wan stepped between them and waved a hand at Watto, “Credits will do fine,” he said.

Watto’s eyes glazed over a bit.  His words came in like an automated recording, “Credits will do fine,” Watto repeated.

Padme grabbed Obi-Wan by the wrist and pulled him aside.  She turned to call to Watto over her shoulder, “Just a moment, Watto,” then she turned to face Obi-Wan after they’d moved to a respectable distance, “What was that?”

“A Jedi Mind Trick.  Just something to grease the wheels,” Obi-Wan said.

“You can’t do that!” Padme said.

The young Jedi shrugged, “Actually, it looks like it worked just fine,” he said, nodding towards the stunned Toydarian.

“No.  I mean you can’t do that because it’s wrong.  If we buy these parts with credits that aren’t any good, we’re just swindling this old merchant,” Padme said.

“You mean the old merchant who uses slave labor?” Obi-Wan said.

“That’s a mark on his character.  If we take advantage of him, that’ll be a mark on ours.  We might be in exile, but I’m still a citizen of Alderaan.  That’s not how we treat people,” she said.

Obi-Wan sighed, “I think you’ll find, Padme, that the rest of the galaxy is not nearly as lovely as Alderaan.”

“So I am learning,” Padme said, nodding at Obi-Wan.  “Nevertheless, if we’re going to trade in bad faith, why bother spending the money at all?  We could just come back here tonight and rob him blind.”

“That’d involve a bit more risk,” Obi-Wan said, smirking as if considering her hypothetical as a real suggestion.

“So you’re content to just use your power to get out of a jam at this old man’s expense?”

“Again, this old slaveholder’s expense,” Obi-Wan said.

“I’m not letting you do this,” Padme said.

“I’m eager to hear your plan for procuring these parts, then,” Obi-Wan said.

Padme’s voice hitched.  Truly she didn’t know what her next move was, but she was determined not to be dishonest.

Obi-Wan’s grin was almost unbearable.  Then he spoke to complete the effect, “I’ll check on Qui-Gon.  Let me know if you need me.”

“I won’t,” she shot back, eager to get in the last word.

* * *

Obi-Wan walked back into the storefront.  Qui-Gon was engrossed in a conversation with the young shopkeeper.  Anakin had already turned to face the door as he entered.

“No luck?” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan was surprised at his perception.  “We’re having some payment issues,” he turned to face Qui-Gon, “Apparently Republic credits aren’t as effective out here.”

Anakin replied, “You’ll find that from most of the shops here.  The Hutts aren’t wild about anything from Republic space.”

“That’s good to know,” Qui-Gon said.  Then to Obi-Wan he continued, “Where’s Padme?”

“Negotiating,” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon waved to his Padawan, “Anakin, if you’ll excuse us for just a moment.”

“Sure, sure.  Feel free to look around,” Anakin said.

The two Jedi moved back outside into the junkyard.  Obi-Wan could feel a flood of emotions wafting off of Qui-Gon.

“What’s the problem, Master?” Obi-Wan said.

“That boy is Force sensitive,” Qui-Gon said.

“Well, perhaps a bit.  He could tell we weren’t successful.  But I’m not sure that’s…”

“No, I’m quite certain.  I can feel the Force all around him.  He’s no ordinary sensitive.  The Force is strong with this one,” Qui-Gon said.

“Well, be that as it may, I’m not sure what we…” Obi-Wan said.

“We need to take him with us,” Qui-Gon said.

“What?” Obi-Wan said.

“His potential is being wasted here.  With time and training, he could be a great asset to the order,” Qui-Gon said.

“Master, not to be difficult, but you have a Padawan already,” Obi-Wan said.

“I’m aware of that.  This isn’t about you, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said.

“No, apparently it’s about replacing me,” the Padawan said.

“That’s not…” Qui-Gon said.

“Have you not quarreled enough with the council?” Obi-Wan said.

“Look past your emotions,” Qui-Gon said.  His voice was laced with frustration.  He took a breath and released the exasperation.  “I believe you’re ready for the trials.  You’ve taught me as much as I have you over these past few years.  I could never replace you.  But it may be time for you to grow beyond my training.”

“Would you be saying this if you hadn’t just found someone that could be your next Padawan?” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon hesitated.

Obi-Wan’s expression fell, “Well.  Clearly neither of us have the answers we need.  I’m going to remove myself from this situation.  We’re in need of another form of currency anyway.  I’ll handle that and you can handle this,” he said, gesturing towards the storefront.

With that he walked back through the store.  Qui-Gon let him go.  They had known each other long enough to understand the rhythms of an argument.

Qui-Gon took a moment to survey his own feelings on the situation.  When his eyes opened, Padme stood before him.

“What was that all about?” she asked.

“We had a disagreement,” he said.

“So I gathered.  Care to shed any more light on it?” she said.

“The boy in the shop.  He has potential to be a Jedi.  Obi-Wan and I were discussing bringing him with us,” Qui-Gon said.

“And he didn’t like that idea,” Padme said.

Qui-Gon nodded.

Padme took a beat to think, “I’ll go talk to him.”

* * *

In his time as a Padwan, Obi-Wan had travelled to more than a dozen planets.  He’d investigated crimes and explored new hyperspace routes and dodged asteroids and gotten into a few brawls with rogues, but in all his travels he had never encountered a bar quite as seedy as this.

Mos Espa was already hot and gritty.  The bar was relatively cool, but the floor was as sandy as the streets outside.  The walls were stone.  The only décor was the burnt arc of blaster fire that had raked through the establishment at some point in the distant past.  At the back of the bar was a stage with a few abandoned instruments.  Obi-Wan wondered if the band was on a break, or if a patron had expressed displeasure with their performance violently.  Neither would have surprised him.

He still had a few spare coins in his pocket from a mission to Nar Shaddaa.  He plunked them down on the counter and the bartender slid him a mug of the local ale.  He nodded his thanks and looked around before finding a small alcove with a simple, empty table.

Over the past few days he’d been shot out of the sky, captured by primitives, nearly frozen on the back of a flying whale and then repeatedly attacked by battle droids, on the ground and in the air.  And with all of that done, he’d seen his master, his most trusted mentor, begin to seek out a new trainee.  This was simply not how things were done.  The council monitored the progress of Padawans and there were traditions to be considered in how they chose which ones were ready to face the trials.

Qui-Gon had always been rebellious in his dealings with authority.  Obi-Wan preferred to do things by the book.  Over the years, they had clashed on matters such as this before, but never with the kind of stakes that had been presented today.

The order had recruiters who found Force sensitive children in the Republic.  And those elements were important.  Always children, and always within the Republic.  This Anakin Skywalker was neither.  Qui-Gon might have found his presence in the Force to be formidable, but that did not translate into a plan to train one that was so old, or even how to remove him from his enslavement.  Despite their rescue of the Alderaanian queen, this mission was still perilously close to ruin, and adding more objectives would do nothing to bring about success.

The young learner sat and rubbed his hair and eyes, sipping the local brew.  He had to admit, it wasn’t half-bad.

Qui-Gon did have a point.  The Jedi were numerous, but the galaxy was immense.  Any being who could become a Jedi had value to the Order and the Republic.  The fact that this one had appeared at an inconvenient time and place did not change that fact.  Obi-Wan had sympathy for the young man and his predicament.  Slavery was a terrible evil and, if it were in his power, he’d gladly tear down all of the Hutt hierarchy on this planet to be rid of it.  Still, the mission should come first.

He turned his thoughts to the latest problem at hand.  None of Qui-Gon’s ambitions would matter at all if they could not find something of value to trade.  He took a survey of the patrons at this bar, searching for an idea.

There was the usual criminal element.  He could spot death-stick dealers and smugglers.  Narcotics were a common vice and one which he had no interest in exploiting on any front.  Smuggling was a pastime available only to those with a fully functioning vessel.

There were a few bounty hunters, the best armed of all the patrons.  Perhaps there was potential for Qui-Gon and he to use their skills to seize a local bandit or two for the Mos Espa constables and reap the reward.  That had potential and he resolved to make some inquiries after he finished his drink.

In the far corner, a Twi’lek woman was being chatted up by a pair of seedy looking Sullustans.  Even from here, he could feel her disgust and their desire emanating from the little booth opposite him.  It was a study in the seedier elements of Tatooine, but he saw nothing there to pique his interest.

There was a slight stirring near the entrance, a new arrival to the establishment.  He watched the crowd swirl and then saw the cause.

Padme entered the tavern and made her way to the bar at the center.  Patrons cleared a path for her.  She was, unquestionably, the most beautiful woman in the place.  Not that there was a great deal of competition.

She had been wrong before.  She didn’t blend in.  Handmaidens had a way of carrying themselves that would betray their elegance, even in the most inelegant of surroundings.  Obi-Wan smiled without realizing it.  This woman would turn heads on any planet, human and alien heads alike.

Obi-Wan didn’t feel like a conversation at the moment, so he pulled his cloak a bit higher on his shoulders and did his best to fade into the walls of the bar.  He was content to observe Padme’s progress and see if she could spot him without assistance.  As with any bar on any planet, it was not long before she had attracted a potential suitor, a Gran, who was rather insistent in his desire to buy her a drink.

He had to stifle a laugh as she did her best to fend off the Gran’s advances.  She was patient and pleasant, undoubtedly skills that served her well in the palace.  He wondered if she had ever faced an environment as unpolished as this cantina.  It was rather like watching a child with an overly exuberant pet.  He watched as she sipped the proffered drink.  Her face indicated it was not to her liking.  The Gran was no more sophisticated than his surroundings and the little comedy quickly grew less amusing.  After another moment he could observe no longer.

Padme caught his eye as he emerged from the alcove and made his way back to the bar.  The establishment was noisy enough to prevent him from hearing any of their conversation up to this point.  As he neared the pair, he could hear the Gran call for another drink.  Obi-Wan had been trained from an early age to make smooth, quick movements and that training served him well as he interposed himself into the Gran’s advances.

With a wave of his hand he looked into the Gran’s three-eyed face, “You don’t want to buy her another drink.”

By rote, the Gran repeated, “I don’t want to buy her another drink.”

Obi-Wan decided to do the galaxy a favor, “You want to go home and rethink the way you approach women.”

“I want to go home and…” the Gran said.  Obi-Wan put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a light pat towards the exit, uninterested in hearing his command repeated.

Flashing his perfect teeth, he turned to Padme and leaned on the bar, “How are you feeling about Jedi Mind Tricks now, milady?”

She huffed, clearly caught unaware.  Obi-Wan gave a small chuckle, determined not to start another argument today.  After a moment, she picked up on the laugh and gave a small blush.

“Shut up… and thank you,” she said, surrendering to the moment and sighing.  “His name was Mawhonic.  He was a podracer and apparently quite skilled, by his own account.”

“Seemed like a charming fellow,” Obi-Wan said.

“He wanted to show me his racer,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“And I’m sure his intentions were nothing but honorable,” Obi-Wan said.

Padme sniffed her glass, frowned and put it down on the countertop.

“Qui-Gon told you about the kid?” Obi-Wan asked.  She nodded.

“It’s a bad idea,” he said, downing the last of his mug.

“Is it?” she said, with a note of incredulousness.

“There is a way that these things are done.  This is not it,” Obi-Wan said.

“The Republic has no presence here.  Without some outside influence, that boy will live and die as a slave,” she said.

“If we are going to stop and rescue every slave from Alderaan to Coruscant, then your planet will be ruled by the Trade Federation for the next century,” Obi-Wan countered.

She responded with a look that brought him very low.

Obi-Wan continued, “I’m not unsympathetic, but Qui-Gon has always been vulnerable to distraction.  The Sith War taught him the value of every life, and he’s passed that on to me.  But he’s so mindful of the moment that he often cannot see the future outcome of his actions.”

“I understand,” she said.  “I didn’t come here to lecture you.  I’m not taking sides.”

She downed the last of her drink with a grimace and turned to survey the patrons, just as he had done earlier.

The Gran had apparently not taken Obi-Wan’s suggestions to heart.  Instead of heading home, she saw him winding his way through the customers, making a beeline for Obi-Wan.  The look in his large black eyes said that he had no interest in her.

“Our old friend has returned,” she said, averting her eyes in the hope of avoiding a confrontation with the podracer.  As she turned her back, she launched one last barb, “Could it be that your powers aren’t as strong as you’d hoped?”

Mawhonic grabbed Obi-Wan by the shoulder and spun him around.  Before Obi-Wan could react, the Gran had him by the collar, yammering at him in a language neither Padme nor the Jedi could completely understand.  The suitor was clearly not happy with Obi-Wan’s manipulation and was looking for a bit of revenge.  Padme’s knowledge of trade languages was enough to know that the insults he directed at Obi-Wan were profane and the comments he directed towards her were vulgar.

Obi-Wan pushed the Gran back a bit, mostly to clear his personal space.  Padme saw his hand trail down, looking for his lightsaber.  She was worried this was about to escalate to a full-scale brawl, but Obi-Wan had proven himself to be a cool customer.  He was ready to fight, but wasn’t likely to start one.

Mawhonic pointed at him and continued with a furious commentary, accompanied by gestures that were more universal than his speech.  From her position at the side, Padme could see the racer reaching for a vibroblade hidden in the small of his back.  This was escalating too quickly.  Padme put a hand on Obi-Wan’s forearm and stepped between the two men.

She addressed her suitor, turning a shoulder to Obi-Wan to keep him behind her, “This fella isn’t worth your trouble,” she said, trying to defuse the situation.

The Gran was not mollified by that and continued to raise his voice.  Padme could see this would continue to escalate unless there was a radical solution.

“Let me buy you a drink,” she told the racer.   He paused mid-spiel and tilted his head.  Obi-Wan took a step back, his hand had found his saber, but he allowed Padme to control the moment.

The bartender, perhaps trying to keep things calm, handed over a pair of cocktails to her without seeking any compensation.  Padme took one and offered the other to the Gran, giving him a semi-sultry look in an attempt to shift his emotions from anger to lust.

The Gran’s gaze left Obi-Wan entirely as Padme put the drink in his hand.  With the distraction complete, she slipped her hand to the Gran’s gunbelt and gently found his blaster in its holster.  Fortunately, Mawhonic carried his weapon prominently and she was able to find the trigger just as he was downing the contents of the glass.

She squeezed Obi-Wan’s arm and the blaster’s trigger at the same time.  In a flash of red light, the blaster bolt found the Gran’s boot and deposited an energy bolt into his foot.  With a scream, he clenched and his cup fell to the floor, shattering into an explosion of ceramic.  Obi-Wan knew his moment had come and he gave the man a firm push with the Force.  The Gran fell flat on his back, scattering a few random patrons that had gathered around to watch this disturbance.

Padme and Obi-Wan stepped over his prone form and pushed their way to the exit in a rush.  Before anyone had a chance to block their path, the pair hurried out of the bar and rounded the nearest corner.  They made their way down a back alley and then intermingled with a crowd of shoppers moving lazily between stores in the commercial district.  Through the entirety of their escape, Padme kept a hand on Obi-Wan.  She pulled him into a recess next to a fruit stand and the two of them shared a tension-relieving laugh.

“Well, that was rather abrupt,” he said to her.

“I wanted to get out of there before you had to use your lightsaber,” she said.

“And your solution was to shoot him?” he said, his voice showing no sign whatsoever that he objected.

“He had a vibroblade,” she said.

“I could have handled it,” Obi-Wan said.

“Would you have preferred to chop off his arm?” Padme said.

“It would have settled the matter,” Obi-Wan said.

“I think I did that anyway,” she countered.

“Well done,” he said.

Overhead, a sandstorm had begun to brew over the low structures of the city.

Padme watched the sands kicking up in the street, “We should get back to the ship,” she said.

Obi-Wan pulled out his comlink, “We’d better find Qui-Gon first.”

Padme nodded as he got into contact with the elder Jedi.  After some pleasantries, Obi-Wan came to the point, “Master, I believe we’re in for some weather.  It may be best if we return to the ship and try again tomorrow.”

Over the comlink, Qui-Gon replied, “I fear we won’t be able to reach the ship before the storm is on us.  I’ve found a place where we can shelter for the evening.  Anakin and I are heading there now.  Track in on my signal and join us.”

* * *

From the outside, the hovel had an appearance of an alcove.  As with much of Tatooine, the real story was hidden beneath the surface.  Walking downstairs, Qui-Gon found himself in a cozy, windowless home of white stone and clean floors.  Anakin seemed very excited to be bringing back a houseguest and the Jedi Master was grateful to be out of the sandy elements that were beginning to rage over his head.

They stood in an open room which had a few rooms branching off.  Along the back wall was a stove and a small kitchen.  To his left sat a table with six chairs.  Qui-Gon could see signs of life and a neat, folded pile of laundry that was waiting to be put away.  He smiled.  Given a few changes to style, size, and luxury, this was not terribly different than his housing at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.

A woman in her mid-forties emerged from one of the attached rooms at the sound of their entrance.  She wore her long brown hair bound up in a bun Her clothes had the same simple look of Anakin’s.  Her face, Qui-Gon could tell, had possessed great beauty in her youth, but that had been eroded by the harshness of slavery and sand that defined her life on this little desert planet.  He instantly felt a rush of empathy for her.  She had struggled to maintain a home and a good life for her son in the midst of all the injustice that surrounded them.  He studied her face long enough to note that her smile tightened at the sight of a stranger in her living room.

“Mom!  I’m home!” Anakin yelled, sealing the door with his back to the room.  As he turned he noticed that his mother had observed their arrival and he set about making introductions.

“Mom, this is my new friend, Qui-Gon,” he said, his voice filled with excitement.

Qui-Gon shifted a bit and spread his hands, trying to indicate peaceful intent, “I’m Qui-Gon Jinn.  Your son has been kind enough to offer shelter to myself and my travelling companions.  They will be along shortly.  I apologize for the imposition,” he said.

“Oh, no trouble at all.  We have guests so rarely.  I’m afraid I haven’t had time to prepare.  I hope you’ll forgive the mess.  If only my son had seen fit to tell me you were coming,” she said, giving Anakin a stern look.

“The sandstorm came up quick, Mom.  We’d already left Watto’s by then.”

Her gaze softened, but only slightly.  Then, with the admonishment delivered, the frown vanished and she transformed to a pleasant hostess.

She offered a hand to her son’s guest, “Shmi Skywalker.  Very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Qui-Gon said, kissing her hand delicately.  He liked to default to an extravagance of formality when entering unknown cultures.  Sometimes the strategy went well, sometimes it was a disaster.

This time it went well as Shmi blushed through a smile and seemed rather pleased at the new situation.  She scooped up the pile of laundry and handed it to her son.

“Put this away,” she said, with a tone every mother had used with every son.  Then, she turned to her houseguest, “Come, let me get you something.”

Qui-Gon smiled and nodded his assent.  She prepared three tall glasses of a blue milk that he did not recognize and placed them at the long table, inviting him with a gesture to sit.

“Your home is lovely.  You’ve raised a wonderful boy,” Qui-Gon said.  Hoping to direct the conversation a bit.

“Oh, you’re very kind,” Shmi said.

“Have you always lived on Tatooine?” he asked.

She shook her head, “I have little memory of my childhood, but I know it was mostly on Nar Shadaa.  I was sold to Gardulla the Hutt and brought here when I was around Anakin’s age.  I’ve dodged the sands for more than thirty years now,” she said, looking towards the room Anakin had disappeared into.

Qui-Gon was considering his next query when Anakin emerged, a broad smile across his youthful face.  He grabbed his glass of milk and tilted it back, guzzling half before putting it back on the table.  Shmi smirked as she watched him move away from the table towards the front door.

“Growing boy,” she said to Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon turned to watch Anakin unlock the door and open it.  He took a step out and a moment later, reentered, with Obi-Wan and Padme in tow.

As he made some introductions, Qui-Gon stole a moment to tilt his head and look at Anakin.

Shmi was quite taken with Padme’s garments and the two of them began a conversation about Alderaan while Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan away for a whispered conversation.

Qui-Gon asked him, “Did you send a signal here to let Anakin know you were arriving?”

“How would I even do that?” Obi-Wan asked.

Qui-Gon blanched.  He hadn’t given Obi-Wan any information about this place other than its location.  Neither of them knew if this home even had a communications outlet.

“Of course… but Anakin moved to open the door before you arrived,” Qui-Gon said.

“Well, you said he was strong in the Force,” Obi-Wan said, raising an eyebrow.

“Premonition is a rare power.  I don’t even think he knows he has it,” Qui-Gon said.

“Well, I never doubted your perception, Master.  Only your conclusion.  My problem is not with this boy.  It’s with the council’s inevitable reaction to him,” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon sighed.  He sought to deflect this argument rather than repeat it.  “You’re probably right.  The council is too set in its ways to improvise for a situation like this.  And it’s likely a moot point at any rate.  We haven’t the money to buy the parts we need, let alone purchase slaves.”

“Slaves?” Obi-Wan said.  “Are you looking to take the mother as well?”

“I’d certainly like to.  It would be the better part of justice and she deserves something beyond this rock,” Qui-Gon said, looking over at their hostess with a wistful gaze.

“Master…” Obi-Wan said.

“It’s empathy, not attachment,” Qui-Gon said, sparing him from asking an embarrassing question.

Obi-Wan tilted his chin down in acceptance and let the problematic thought slip from his mind.

“Were you able to find any source that might provide some help with our financial trouble?” Qui-Gon said.

“We could sell the N-1?” Obi-Wan suggested.

“True, but if we’re discovered before we leave, we’d be blasted out of the sky before we made orbit,” Qui-Gon said.

“I had a thought we might try collecting a bounty or two.  Perhaps lend a hand to local security and take in some rewards,” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon considered this.  “There’s potential there.  Something we can see about in the morning,” he said.

The pair returned to the table.  As dinnertime approached, Qui-Gon offered to help Shmi with the preparations.  He was slicing into some vegetables as a panel on the wall beeped.  Qui-Gon looked at Shmi with a questioning gaze.

“That’s the communication line.  Watto uses it to summon us,” she said.

Qui-Gon nodded and retreated to give her some modicum of privacy.

At the table, Anakin was enjoying selected stories from Padme and Obi-Wan.  In turn he spoke quite unabashedly about life as a slave.

Qui-Gon found a seat as Anakin was explaining, “Each slave has a transmitted inserted into their bloodstream.  It flows with the blood so that it’s impossible to remove.  If you escape, the transmitter detonates.  Escape attempts are pretty rare.”

Padme’s look of horror pulled Anakin back from further soundbites about the harsh realities of his life.

She tried to make sense of this as best she could, “It’s just horrible.  The Republic’s antislavery laws should…”

“We have no presence out here,” Obi-Wan said.  “Out here, justice is just a quaint idea.”

An ugly silence settled over the table as Jedi, slave, and handmaiden all grappled with this unsettling truth.

Anakin, still the most chipper, resolved to lighten the mood, “Hey, it’s not too bad.  We’ve got a holiday in two days and it should be a lot of fun.  The Boonta Eve Podrace.  Watto has sponsored a driver and everything.  Have you ever seen a podrace?” he asked Padme.

The young handmaiden shook her head.  Obi-Wan interjected, “They have podracing on Theron.  It’s part of their Five Sabers tournament.  Blazing fast.  Seems quite dangerous.”

“I actually got to drive a pod around the track last year, or rather, what was left of it.  They had me drive the wreckage back to the garage.  It was still fun.  I got the pod up to a pretty decent speed.”

“Your reflexes must be like that of a Jedi if you can drive a pod,” Qui-Gon said, calling from the kitchen counter.

“You’d be the one to know, I suspect,” Anakin said, looking at the older man.  He let the moment hang and then made the accusation, “You’re a Jedi aren’t you?  The pair of you,” he said, gesturing to Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan.

“How did you know?” Qui-Gon said.

“I didn’t.  It was just a feeling.  I get them sometimes.  You see a lot of people in a store.  Sometimes you get an idea about who they really are,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon exchanged a look.

“I won’t deceive you, Anakin.  We’re on a mission for the Republic.  We need to get to Coruscant.  I know I can trust you not to say anything about this to anyone,” Qui-Gon said.

“Of course.  I’d be glad to help in any way I can,” Anakin said.

“Well, until we can get the parts we need, there’s not much that can be done,” Obi-Wan said.

Padme spoke up, “We have no allies and no money.  We’ll need one or the other to get off this world.”

Shmi emerged from her conversation.  She looked stricken.

“Is everything all right?” Qui-Gon said.

“It seems we may not attend the race after all.  Watto’s pilot was apparently involved in an incident today.  It seems he was shot at a cantina on the other side of the city,” Shmi said.

“How awful,” Qui-Gon said.

“We’ve met him a few times.  His name is Mawhonic.  He’s a Gran.  A little gruff, but an excellent racer,” Anakin said.

Padme and Obi-Wan shared a look.

* * *

Qui-Gon awoke in the Skywalker household long before dawn.  He exited Shmi’s bedroom and walked the empty living space, pondering the plan that had come to him last night.  As the evening had worn on, he’d begun to see the pieces fall into place.

When the morning came, and his tired muscles awoke, he was certain that he’d come up with the best course of action.

Padme and the Jedi accompanied Anakin on his walk to work.  As the boy led the way, speaking with Padme, the two Jedi conferred about Qui-Gon’s scheme.  As was typical, Obi-Wan had a few objections.

“You’re trusting a lot to this boy’s skill.  To say nothing of risking his life,” the Padawan said.

“The Force has led us to this opportunity.  We’d be foolish not to take advantage of it,” Qui-Gon said.

“We still have other options,” Obi-Wan offered.

“Trying to track down local bounties is going to be rather difficult with a massive crowd in town for the festivities.  And this assumes we would be able to go about that business without attracting attention from the local guild.  No, this way is simpler, and safer for the mission,” Qui-Gon said.

Talk of the safety of the mission was enough to silence the padawan.  As they entered the shop, Qui-Gon, being direct in so many ways, got right to business.

“Greetings to you, Watto.  I have a proposition to discuss,” he said.

The Toydarian’s wings gave a loud snap as he rose from his seat.  Propositions meant money and that always interested him.

“You have my attention, sir.  What do you propose?”

“I’m told that you’re seeking an entrant into the Boonta Eve race.  You have a pod, but no pilot, is that so?”

“Indeed.  Are you offering yourself?” Watto said, raising a wrinkled, leathery ridge over his eye.

“No.  I’m offering to front you the entry fee for the race.  You’ll supply the pod and the pilot.  We’ll split the winnings evenly,” Qui-Gon said.

“But I have no pilot to offer,” Watto said, looking vaguely frustrated.

Qui-Gon pointed a slim finger at Anakin, “Yes, you do.”

Watto turned and gave an incredulous look.  Anakin’s face turned to surprise as he processed the suggestion.

“He’s just a boy.  A human boy.  He can’t handle a pod,” Watto said.

“I believe he can,” Qui-Gon said.

“I’ve never done anything like that before,” Anakin said.

“You said you’d driven the craft last year,” Qui-Gon said.

“That was just around the track to bring it in… at half the speed of a race,” Anakin said, almost embarrassed.

“Still, I believe he can race and win,” Qui-Gon said.

“And if you’re wrong?” Watto asked.

“Then you won’t even be out an entry fee,” Qui-Gon said.

Watto stroked his chin, considering.

“What will you use to pay the fee?” Watto asked.

“I acquired a small fighter craft.  She’s very fast and should cover the fee,” Qui-Gon said, showing a holo of the N-1.

Watto’s wings altered their speed.  A smile spread over his crooked teeth.  “Hmm… this is interesting.  Make the arrangements.  We will see you at the track.”

* * *

 

This was the third planet he had searched and the chase was moving quickly from exciting to tedious.  The starlanes from Alderaan provided a number of potential paths to Coruscant.  After a survey of two of the more direct corridors, he had decided to try his luck on a more out-of-the-way place.  Tatooine was certainly out-of-the-way.

The sleek grey ship emerged from hyperspace and he quickly activated its cloaking device.  Silence and stealth were the two greatest allies of the Sith and Maul employed both religiously.  The Scimitar landed in a broad swath of desert between three of Tatooine’s larger settlements.  He stepped off the exit ramp and surveyed the horizon with his macrobinoculars.

Maul zoomed in on Mos Tacano.  From this distance he saw nothing of interest, but that was to be expected.  He took in the size of the city and signaled for a probe droid from his ship, sending it to scout in that direction.  He scanned and saw the town of Ninrock.  A single droid would be enough for that as well.  Turning again he spotted Mos Espa, with its more impressive structures.  Three droids would scan the town and its landing bays.

He watched the droids recede into the desert.  The fading light of sunset did not allow him to watch for long.  He returned to his ship and opened all available comm frequencies.

After a moment of listening to the inane output of some ridiculous local bands, he heard an announcement that caught his attention.  The voice from the speaker spoke with a Bothan accent, but was intelligible nonetheless, “A reminder to all our listeners, tomorrow’s Boonta Eve Classic at the Mos Espa Grand Arena will start at midday.  Tickets are still available.”

Maul consulted the ship’s computers and found the location of the event.  He sealed the ship and ate a hearty meal on the bridge, watching the second sun slip under the horizon.  If the Jedi were on this planet, they would not live to see another sunset.

* * *

Anakin had taken Obi-Wan to a nearby rooftop for some cool evening air and a good view of Mos Espa.  He’d hoped for Padme to join them, but she’d begged off; too tired from the heat of the day.  The two young men slowly drained a cask of water as they watched the street empty and the suns sink below the sands.

Anakin chose from among the thousands of questions he had pondered since meeting the Jedi.  He looked up as the stars came out and gestured to them with an open hand.

“How many have you been to?” he asked Obi-Wan.

“A couple dozen or so.  This is only my third patrol.  I live at the Temple on Coruscant now.  Before that I was at the training center on Ilum.” Obi-Wan said.

“There’s a training center for Jedi?”

“It’s where younglings are taught.  I grew up there.  When I was old enough, Qui-Gon accepted me as his Padawan.  That’s when I started to travel.”

“Where’s your family from?”

“Jedi don’t have families.  We don’t believe in getting attached.  They discourage family ties, relationships, that sort of thing,” Obi-Wan said.

“That’s got to be tough,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan turned to look at him, “Truthfully, I don’t think about it.  At least the family thing.  It’s not in my frame of reference.”

Anakin nodded and went down another path, “I’ve heard a few wild stories about the history of the Jedi.”

Obi-Wan reclined a bit, “Stories of the last war.  There are many ways to study the Force.  The Jedi follow one path, we try to be selfless.  Try to show compassion and kindness.  We try to at least.  Not everyone agrees.  There are those who use the Force for their own ends.”

“The Sith?” Anakin asked.

“They believe in power for its own sake.  Strength as its own end.  They crush the weak to make room for the strong.” Obi-Wan said.

“What was the war like?”

“You’d do better to ask Qui-Gon.  I only know what I’ve read in the archives.  He was there, at least at the end.  He wasn’t much older than I am now.”

“It must have been horrible,” Anakin said.

“Religious wars always are,” Obi-Wan said.  “Still.  If there is such a thing as a good war, a cause worthy of…” Obi-Wan trailed off, “They rid the galaxy of an evil empire, an evil creed.  We all have to do what’s necessary.”

“Does Qui-Gon talk about it?” Anakin asked.

“Hardly ever,” Obi-Wan answered.

A beat passed in silence.

“Is it worth it?  The life you lead?  Being a Jedi?”

Obi-Wan shrugged, “I just worry that my stories will never be as interesting as the ones that Qui-Gon’s.”

* * *

The podracer garage smelled of machine oil, fuel, and ozone.  Welders and engineers scurried around pods in various states of readiness.  To Qui-Gon, it reminded him of life aboard a Republic carrier during the Sith War.  For Obi-Wan, it smelled like the docks on Coruscant.  Padme had never smelled anything quite like it.

Qui-Gon spotted Watto and Anakin looking over the little podracer upon which so much was riding.  The design had traded size for speed.  Other racers had big engines that they used to muscle around smaller pods, but Anakin’s goal was to fly past them all while they battled it out.

Padme and Obi-Wan went to speak to Anakin.  Watto pulled Qui-Gon aside.  The little Toydarian looked a bit nervous.  “I’ve instructed the boy not to unduly risk his life.  This race is not worth dying for.”

“And certainly not worth losing your property over,” Qui-Gon said.

“That’s not…” Watto started.

“Racers are entitled to a share of the winnings, yes?  A Pilot’s Purse, it’s called.  Am I correct?” Qui-Gon said.

“That’s true,” Watto said.

“If he wins, would the money be enough to buy his freedom?” Qui-Gon asked.

“He’s worth a lot to me,” Watto said.

“Even the Hutts have respect for the emancipation prices,” Qui-Gon noted.

“If he wins, yes, he could buy his freedom.  But he won’t,” Watto said.

“I think he stands a better chance than you imagine,” Qui-Gon said.

“No, I mean, even if he wins, he won’t buy his freedom.  I’m sure of it,” Watto said.  “He’d never abandon his mother.  If I own her, I own him.  Simple bit of finance.”

Qui-Gon resisted the urge to flatten the Toydarian’s face.  He rarely felt so strong a rush of dark side anger, but this was certainly enough to trigger it.  Remembering his teachings, he gave himself a moment of pause before he spoke.

“You would do well not to underestimate him,” Qui-Gon said.

“We shall see.  I’ve placed my wagers on Sebulba.  The boy is impressive, but he hasn’t a chance against speed and experience.”  Watto paused for a beat as they pondered the events to come.  “I assume if he prevails, you’ll want to spend your share of the winnings on the hyperdrive components?”

“That’s correct,” Qui-Gon said.

“They’ll be ready, but I suggest you start to consider other ways to finance them.  That girl you travel with would fetch a fine price,” Watto said, looking over at Anakin and Padme.  Qui-Gon’s anger flared again.  Rather than resort to violence, he walked away.

* * *

Obi-Wan gave Anakin a good pat on the back.  Padme chose to deliver a kiss to the boy’s cheek.  Both admonished him to drive safe.  Qui-Gon wanted a moment alone with Anakin.

A pair of droids escorted the podracer to the starting block.  Per the rules of the competition, they placed it precisely and backed away.  Padme and Obi-Wan went to the viewing platform to sit with Shmi and the invited guests of the other drivers.  The viewing platform offered spectacular views of the Boonta track, which extended well into the valley outside of Mos Espa.

The Jedi Master walked with his young friend out to the starting line.  The sands crunched sharply beneath their boots.  Anakin listened carefully to the wisdom of his new idol as he glanced around the field of racers.

“Concentrate on the moment.  Feel, don’t think.  Let your instincts guide you,” Qui-Gon said, helping him to secure the racing harness.

“Qui-Gon, thank you for this chance.  I’ll do my best for you,” Anakin said.

“I know you will,” Qui-Gon smiled.

It was up to the Force now.  Qui-Gon tried to transmit his inner calm to Anakin.

Alone with his thoughts now, Anakin watched Qui-Gon walk to the viewing platform and then saw the platform ascend.  He felt cool and relaxed.  He’d only been in this cockpit once before, but it suddenly felt like a place of safety.  He ran his gloved fingers over the controls and felt the stir of vibration from the idling engines.  This racer would bring him home, hopefully with a victory.

The booming voice of the announcer barely got through his helmet.  His goggles offered a clear line of sight and he concentrated just on the pod itself.  Vaguely he heard the crowd begin counting down.

Chartreuse light bathed the starting gate and the world began to move slowly for Anakin Skywalker.  He pushed forward on the engine controls and felt the pod sling away, drug along by its engines, buoyed by the repulsors.

The fifteen podracers all sped away at the same moment.  The opening to any podrace was an exercise in nerve, skill and speed.  The fight for the holeshot was the battle to merge twelve tons of engines and pods into one small curved space at a high rate of acceleration.  Anakin had seen racers die in the attempt to be first through the corner.  He knew his little racer lacked for mass, but made up for it with speed.  Still, he sensed that this was not the time to make his big move, so he didn’t slam the throttle full force.  He was content for a slow start and came out of the corner with at least a dozen other racers ahead of him.

The first corner handled, he pushed the throttles forward and concentrated on the pod in front of him.  He saw the silver and gold markings and the bulbous engines and knew that he was looking at Wan Sandage.  Sandage was an old-timer.  He’d won three Boonta Eve Classics before Anakin was born, but these days, he was slower and more cautious.  Anakin pulled back on his right throttle a bit and let the pod curl around, then gunned both engines and maneuvered around the aged Devlikk pilot.

As they entered the desert flats, he pushed his engines to the limit and the field spread out a bit.  Everyone would have to converge at the canyon entrance, but there were several miles of open desert before the racers would come together.

To his left he could see Ratts Tyerell.  On his right, Teemto Pagalies.  As the instrument display showed him passing seven hundred kilometers per hour, he could see the two racers falling behind him.  The flats were perfect for a pod like his that was designed to be light, fast, and non-threatening.  Other racers used the bulk of their engines to push around smaller pods, but this pod was supposed to be fast enough to get around the brawlers and pull away.

Much faster than he realized, the cliffs approached from ahead.  He could spot the dark notch of the canyon entrance a little to the left and he redirected his racer towards it.  As the world contracted to that aperture of stone, he heard a dull roar build to an intolerable scream.  To either side of him were two massive green engines.  He had outsped Mars Guo to the entrance, but Guo’s Plug-2 Behemoth engines had him bracketed as the field slowed to enter the canyon.

A little faster than he would have liked, Anakin entered the canyon and its shadowy paths were lost to him for the briefest of moments as the transition from burning daylight to shade rendered him blind.  He knew the track well enough to bank left and brake hard, but not everyone was so ready for the change.  Behind him there was an explosion that heralded the end of one of his competitors.  Podracing was a dangerous profession.

The canyon offered a series of switchbacks that made any attempt at passing somewhat academic.  Anakin’s only goal here was to not lose a position, lest he be run down by those big engines of Guo’s and sliced in half by the power couplings that held the big vehicle together.

Halfway through, he had to choose the left branch or the right.  Going left was shorter, but the canyon’s walls tended to close up.  The path to the right was easier, but longer.  Not ready to face the more difficult road, Anakin pulled back with his right hand and made for the right-side entrance.

He was concerned that no other racers seemed to be on this branch and felt a shiver of panic, thinking that perhaps he’d somehow miscalculated and missed the course route altogether, but there was nothing to be done about it.  This branch was empty and he used the open path to feed a little more fuel to the engines.  He banked hard and swept through the tight turns, pushing the pod as fast as he dared, then a touch faster.

The branching paths reconverged after a moment and as Anakin came into the wide, sweeping exit of the canyon, he saw a circular cockpit tumble by him, spinning at an alarming speed.  To his right, blaster fire came in from the cliff face and he realized that another competitor had been knocked out of the race.  This time the culprits were vengeful Tusken Raiders who did not take kindly to this use of their territory for something as blasphemous as a sporting event.  Tuskens thought of this desert as sacred.  They had no patience for the cities or their games.

Young Skywalker had no time to mourn his fellow racer as the arches came into view.  By far the most beautiful part of the course, these arches had stood for millennia and, in passing around and under them, Anakin gained an understanding for why the Tuskens cared so fiercely about the natural beauty of this sandy, little planet.  The archways were older than every civilization represented here today.  It would have been inspiring if they didn’t also serve as an obstacle for the course.  Anakin saw a smaller arch near the end of the rocky plain and made for it.  He was followed by Ben Quadinaros and his four sleek engines.  The extra power had done little to give the Toong better position in the race.  As Anakin sprinted through the little opening, Quadinaros gave chase.

Anakin wondered if the little arch would be big enough to accommodate all four engines on Ben’s racer.  It was not.  He heard the screech of metal tearing on stone and the detonation of fuel.  Quadinaros was down to two engines and with the unexpected damage, he was barely able to keep the rest of the vehicle together.  His day was done.

Past the arches, the field of racers entered a clearing.  Up ahead was the stadium that held the finish line.  The big sweeping curve of onlookers passed by in a flash and he started the next lap of the race.  One down, two to go.

Just behind him, Mars Guo still challenged for his position.  It was clear that Guo was on the move, but Anakin’s racer was fast enough to keep him at bay.  On the flats ahead, he spotted Ody Mandrell, who he had known for years.  Ody was a common fixture among Mos Espa scrappers.  He had built his pod himself and was competing in his second Boonta Eve Classic.  Anakin had always been impressed with his skills, as an engineer and a pilot.  He hoped that it wouldn’t come down to a battle between Ody and himself.  Partly because he had no desire to beat him, partly because he doubted he could.

Ody wasn’t in the lead.  Ahead of him, Anakin could see two other racers battling it out.  The big yellow engines of Boles Roor were clunking against the hot rod red ride of Dud Bolt.  And beyond the two of them was the big split-X orange and black racer that belonged to Sebulba, last year’s champion and by far the most fearsome pilot on the course today.

He focused on the pod in front of him.  Fifth place wouldn’t be good enough to help his new friends.

Weaving back and forth he tried to find a way around Ody Mandrell.  The wily little Er’Kit gave Anakin some trouble as he tried to pass.  Through the canyon turns, the blue-grey racer managed to stay in front of Anakin and when the branching paths reemerged, Skywalker was shocked to see Mars Guo sweeping in from the right-hand path, having somehow gotten ahead of Ody and himself as they dueled for fourth place.

In the arches, Anakin branched out, taking a path that he thought might be more direct.  It was tough to tell.  The arches were a labyrinth.  As he came out and saw the finish line looming beyond the sandy plain he looked to his left and saw Guo.  To the right was Mandrell.  They ran through the stadium turn three-wide.

Anakin smiled as they entered the desert flats for the final time.  If this was a test of pure speed, his engines were up for the challenge.  His little silver pod got the advantage and slowly opened the distance, leaving Mars and Ody behind to fight for fifth.

Ahead, he saw Boles Roor’s big yellow engines screaming over the dry valley.  Suddenly, an acrid cloud of brown smoke billowed from the right engine.  Roor was still running side-by-side with Dud Bolt, but with his right engine sputtering, the race would be over for him shortly.  He peeled off and Anakin saw a clear path to Sebulba in the lead.

Bolt made his move, swinging around to Sebulba’s left side.  Anakin maneuvered towards the right, following the pair as they entered the canyons.  The Tuskens gave a few shots as they passed by.  Anakin found an opening as Sebulba dodged an incoming blaster bolt.  As he pulled even, he looked over and saw the Dug pull a lever on his cockpit controls.

A blast of fire emerged from a vent on the side of the left engine.  Before Anakin could react, his right engine was on fire.

He cut the fuel to the flaming engine and kicked the rudder pedals to keep himself on course.  As he entered the arches he was able to activate the foam safeties to put out the fire, but doing so caused his right engine to sputter and die.  That sleemo Sebulba had gotten the best of him, but the race wasn’t over yet.

Anakin slammed down the primer and pushed both throttles full forward.  The right engine came back to life and made up for lost time.  He weaved through the rock bridges and could see Sebulba doing the same, just a few lengths ahead.

And as he came through the last arch, in the sandy clearing ahead, he saw the colossal form of a krayt dragon.

Krayt dragons, once thought a myth, were the unseen terrors of Tatooine deserts.  They could grow to the size of a starship and their primary source of food was wayward desert travelers.  The beast’s spiky tail swished menacingly and it turned to bare its massive teeth at the oncoming racers.

In his mind, he knew he should panic, but instead, Anakin felt a sense of calm wash over him.  He could see that the beast was ready to consume any racer that strayed too close, but there was another way.

Sebulba broke off taking Dud Bolt with him.  They headed right, perpendicular to the course.  Anakin wanted to win, but didn’t want to tangle with a mad desert beast.  Behind him, the other racers began to peel away, intending to go around, rather than up, over, or through.  Surely the race planners had expected all the racers to peel off.  A little surprise for the pilots and fans alike.  Anakin didn’t want to chance his rickety right engine any longer than he had to.  It was time to go for broke and make for the finish line.

The Krayt shuffled a bit and roared in anger at the fleeing podracers.  Anakin ignored the chill that rattled his bones as the beast voiced its rage.  The four legs that supported the creature gave him the opening he had been looking for.  At a blistering speed, he made for the rear haunch.  The beast’s leg was angled out, ready to run.  Anakin pulled the throttles back a bit and spread the intakes.  The little racer tilted up at just the right moment and ramped up the dragon’s leg, speeding narrowly between a pair of the large spikes that ran along the animal’s spine.

He launched high into the air, over the creature’s back.  The massive head turned whip-fast and he looked over and saw the teeth snapping down in a futile attempt to make him a meal.  The engines whined as they defied gravity.  Anakin felt the freedom of weightlessness for a moment, the clear blue sky above him.

The world tilted and he spotted the finish line and the cheering crowds ahead.  The little pod smashed back to the sands, held up only by the straining repulsors.  Behind him, Sebulba and the field jockeyed for second place, but he pushed the throttles forward and sped across the finish line, sparing a moment to wave to the cheering crowds as he circled around and pulled off his goggles and gloves.

He coasted around to the starting line and cooled the engines.  They gave a sweet whine as they wound down.  In the distance, he saw some organizers wrangling the krayt dragon and he was able to see the last of the racers come in from the course.

Before he could step out of the cockpit a crowd had formed around him.  Qui-Gon offered him a friendly hand to help him out of the cockpit.  He found himself smothered in kisses from his mother and a few from Padme as well.  Obi-Wan pulled him into a hug and the flock of onlookers chanted “Skywalker” as he and his entourage walked back to the garage.

From a shadowy outcrop near the first turn a cloaked Zabrak with fierce red and black markings watched the victory celebration.

* * *

With a victory wreath around his neck, Anakin was presented with a sack of coins.  The reception of the Pilot’s Purse was a tradition as old as the Boonta Eve Classic itself.  He took the proffered bounty and shook it with a broadening smile.  His companions patted him on the back and cheered his success.  In the corner, a stunned Watto looked on in silence.

Qui-Gon’s sense of timing had come into play on half a hundred worlds since he had become a knight.  He used it here to great effect as he sidled up to the stone-faced shopkeeper.

“The funds have been transferred to your account.  I’ll send my people to collect the hyperdrive components.”

Watto turned to protest, but found he had nothing to say.

Qui-Gon’s smile rivalled the brightness of the desert suns.

Watto could not let that sanctimonious grin go unanswered, “How did you know he would win?”

The Jedi gave a light laugh, “I didn’t.  But clearly I believe in that boy more than you do.  I did warn you not to underestimate him.”

Watto scoffed, “I’m still sure he’ll never leave his mother behind.”

Qui-Gon nodded towards Anakin and Shmi as they spoke on the other side of the room, “Now you underestimate his mother.”

Anakin handed his mother the prize money and was speaking at a pace used only by the young, “We can get a protocol droid to help you around the house.  With this we can find one that can handle the cooking and the laundry…”

Shmi held up a hand, “Not a chance.  No one washes my clothes but me,” she said with a smile.

“How about a speeder then?  Something to get you around town so you don’t have to carry groceries?”

Shmi laughed, “I’d run a speeder into a wall before I ever made it to the fruit stand.”

“Then what are we going to buy?” Anakin asked.

“Your freedom,” Shmi said.

Anakin looked stunned, as though she had proposed he grow a second head.

“Mom, what about you?  You’ve been a slave your whole life!” he said.

“So have you!” she replied.

“But…” Anakin started.

“And you’ve got a much bigger life in front of you.  You’re going to be free and you’re going to do great things with your freedom,” Shmi said.

“But…”

“I won’t hear of anything else.  You’ll go free and you will fly away from this awful place.”

“What about you?” Anakin asked.  “You’ve got to come with me.”

“Oh, and flit around the galaxy in a starship.  I should say not.  My place is here and so is my future.  Your destiny is out there.  You must know this by now.  You must have felt it.”

Anakin nodded, “I don’t want to leave you behind.”

“Every child of every mother has to go and find their destiny.  This is the way it’s always been.  Every world, everywhere.  You are no different.”

“Where will I go?” Anakin asked.

“With us… if you wish,” Qui-Gon said, entering the conversation with a broad smile.  “I have a feeling the Jedi may have a place for you.”

“Really?” Anakin asked.

“It’s your choice.  Training to become a Jedi is no easy challenge.  Even if you succeed, it’s a hard life.”

Anakin paused.  He looked back to his mother and then at Qui-Gon again.  He could feel the universe shift under his feet, like a great tide that would sweep him into the stars.

“I want to go,” he said.

* * *

                Qui-Gon covered his eyes as the twin suns glinted off the chrome starship in the distance.  With Mos Espa at his back and Anakin at his side, he pulled out his comlink and raised Obi-Wan.

“How go the repairs?” he asked.

“We’ll be ready to fly shortly.  The engineers are quite happy with the new parts.” Obi-Wan answered.

“That’s good.  We can see you in the distance.  Let’s be ready to go as soon as Anakin and I are aboard,” Qui-Gon said.

“Oh, he’s decided to join us?” Obi-Wan said, biting back the urge to start an argument.

“We’ll be there shortly,” Qui-Gon said in reply, trudging through the hot sand.

He turned to steal a glance at his young friend.  Anakin was making a point to not look back at the city he left behind.  Anakin slung a small pack over his shoulder with a few keepsakes from his youth.  He’d insisted on leaving his prize money behind with his mother.  Shmi had accepted.

The tearful goodbye at his mother’s home had been sweet and mercifully short.  Shmi Skywalker had struck him as a kind and caring soul.  Qui-Gon himself felt a tinge of regret at having to leave her behind.  And that was just after knowing her for a few days.  Anakin was enduring his anguish in silence.  Qui-Gon didn’t envy him his feelings.  He was grateful to have been spared the emotions of separation, never really knowing the family that had sacrificed him on the altar of peace and justice so long ago.

He felt a ripple of anger wash over him.  Anger at this planet and the callous nature of its systems.  Anger at the Hutts for allowing slavery and suffering.  Anger at the Republic for not doing anything about it.  His fist clenched tightly as he turned to look back at Mos Espa.  Before his eyes could focus on the horizon, he spotted a dark shape on the bright sands.  A shape that was coming straight at him.  Suddenly he realized that the anger he felt was not his own.

“Anakin!  Run!  Get to the ship!” he called, turning to face this attacker.

The swoop bike charged for him straightaway.  The little sickle-shaped hoverbike carried no weapons, but its intent was clear.  He could feel the wrath of its rider even from this distance.

Qui-Gon took a combat stance and lit his saber.  There would be no parlay.  This rider had no intention of talking.  As he dug his heels into the sand, he heard the familiar snap-hiss of a lightsaber.  He saw a crimson blade project from the rider’s hand.  He’d not seen a crimson lightsaber in three decades, but the rush of memories it triggered told him all he knew.

With a barbaric howl, the rider flung himself at Qui-Gon, leaping off of the bike and whirling like a maelstrom.  Qui-Gon sidestepped the incoming warrior and slashed at his dark cloak, slicing nothing but air.

The old familiar crackle of saber on saber drowned out the hum of the royal starship taking off.  He could see the ship rise slowly off its landing legs and took heart that the mission was likely safe, even if he was not.

This Zabrak assassin possessed a demonic visage.  The angry reds and jagged blacks that crossed his face in ancient patterns were terrifying.  Even the typical crown of horns carried by all Zabraks contributed to the menacing countenance.  The yellow eyes glowed with a fiery passion that rivaled the red saber he wielded. Qui-Gon had to keep a check on his faculties to remember that he faced a cunning and calculating opponent and not a wild beast.

The Sith swung from above, attacking with a raised blade intended to split his target in half.  Qui-Gon was stunned at the ferocity and sheer power and retreated to absorb the blows.  The man swung his saber with an energy that was only found in youth.  The techniques and tactics were vintage Sith, with a few creative flourishes.  This was a prideful man who wanted to enjoy his kill.

Suddenly a spray of sand kicked up around him, kicked up by the Force.  Qui-Gon shielded his eyes, but was blinded by sand nonetheless.  He barely managed to avoid a thrust of the crimson blade.  He spun away, but the Sith was faster.  A scalding heat singed his arm and scorched both sleeve and skin.  The cut wasn’t deep, but it was no less painful.

The longer this fight went on, the less optimistic he would be about its outcome.  Qui-Gon was holding off the feral Zabrak with distance and experience.  His body remembered the defensive rings by rote and he was able to fend off the strikes as long as he kept giving up ground.

From behind him, a familiar voice cried out, “Come on!” and he glanced back to see Obi-Wan standing on the landing ramp, one hand on a strut, the other held out for Qui-Gon’s rescue.

Qui-Gon made no valiant attempt to wave off his rescuer, or to attempt to find an opening against his attacker.  The right move was to escape and he did not hesitate in doing so.  A quick thrust from his opponent’s blade narrowly missed him as he leaped up and tumbled messily onto the landing ramp.  He turned to see the black cloaked nightmare staring back at him from the ground.  The frustrated rage manifested as another howl that would have struck terror in a Krayt Dragon.

Gingerly, Obi-Wan helped him aboard and the ship ascended into the crisp, blue sky of Tatooine.  Anakin brought him a drink of water and Qui-Gon caught his breath as Obi-Wan slapped a bacta patch over the cut on his arm.  He could feel the ship climbing out of the atmosphere and each moment carrying him away from that terrible foe.  Within moments the ship had entered hyperspace and Qui-Gon felt himself once again.

Obi-Wan had waited before interrogating him, “Master, what was it?”

Qui-Gon shifted, a tremor ran through him as he recalled the face that had wanted him dead.  “I can’t be sure.  He said nothing.  But he was trained in the Jedi arts.  I’ve not seen anything like that since the war.  That was a Sith assassin.”

“A Sith?  Aren’t they supposed to be dead?” Anakin asked.

“That one certainly isn’t,” Obi-Wan quipped.  He continued, “How could they have returned?”

Qui-Gon took another sip of water, “I haven’t a clue.  But a sneak attack on an unsuspecting target, the way he moved, the way he used the Force.  That was no bounty hunter or gun-for-hire.”

“Do you think he’ll follow us?” Anakin asked.

“He doubtless knows our destination.  But once the Queen has reached Coruscant, she’ll have much more security.”

“He looked like he could shred a phalanx of Senate Guards without a second thought,” Obi-Wan said.

“You may be right,” Qui-Gon acknowledged.

“So, what are we going to do about it?” Anakin asked.  Obi-Wan’s face showed a bit of incredulity at the boy’s implication.  Qui-Gon quenched the fire before it flared up again.

“We will be patient.  And ready for the next strike.”

* * *

                The whirling random patterns of lightspeed were always soothing to Obi-Wan Kenobi.  He sat on the bridge while the rest of the ship slept.  In the morning, they would arrive on Coruscant.  He had volunteered to stay awake for the course change at the D’rinba system.

As the ship emerged from hyperspace, he set the computer to calculating the next jump.  He took a beat to check in with the pilot who was trailing them in the N-1.  He watched the little yellow fighter fly off to scout ahead, but he felt no concern.  The D’rinba system was relatively quiet.  That was why they’d chosen it for a waypoint.

He transmitted the navigation information to the starfighter and set the computer.  The big chrome ship lazily turned and rolled and he sensed a presence.

“Obi-Wan?” came the voice from behind him.

He smiled, turning in his chair, “Padme.  Can’t sleep?”

She shook her head, “Nervous about the morning.  I’ve never been to Coruscant before.”

“We’ll make sure the Senate guards take care of you.”

“Sure.  I meant more the Senate and the city.  It’s daunting.”

“Well, I don’t think they’ll force you to speak,” Obi-Wan said.

“True,” she took a beat, sitting down at the life support station behind his chair, “I just wanted to say thanks for taking such good care of us.  Getting us out of there.  The Queen, the handmaidens, the crew, we all appreciate what you’ve done for us.”

Obi-Wan nodded, waving off her thanks, “Thank you for getting me out of that bar back in Mos Espa.  Besides, we couldn’t have left you to the Trade Federation.  Alderaan is far too beautiful to suffer that fate.”

Padme sat in the empty chair at the life support station, “I always thought of the Jedi as scholars and monks.”

“I always thought of handmaidens as errand girls or scenery,” Obi-Wan replied.

“I’m glad I was wrong,” she said.

“I’m glad I was too,” he said.

* * *

                From orbit, Coruscant glittered like a jewel.  The lights of a planet-wide mega city shone like a beacon as the royal cruiser emerged from hyperspace.  The big silver ship glided through the atmosphere, escorted by patrol ships from the Senate Guard.  They swept over Monument Square and were shepherded to a landing platform not far from the Capitol.

Supreme Chancellor Valorum led the welcoming committee.  He was accompanied by the Alderaanian delegation and diplomatic corps.  A few of the high-ranking Senators from some of the more important worlds met the Queen and a small cadre of journalists observed the formal pleasantries.

“Your Highness, I’m so relieved that you have arrived safely.  I’ve scheduled a special session of the Senate to hear your perspective on this distressing situation.”

Leaving the politicians to their words, Anakin and the Jedi slipped away.  Obi-Wan had tried to spot Padme in the crowd of handmaidens, but, per her training, she blended in so perfectly he couldn’t spot her.  He felt a pang of sadness as the speeder pulled away, making for the Jedi Temple.

He shook away any thoughts of Padme and brought himself back to the moment.  Qui-Gon sensed the conflict in his mind, but said nothing, focusing on the critical conversations that were coming.

Anakin pulled an overcoat around himself and stared out from the hood, fascinated by everything he saw.  Any of the buildings he could see would easily hold the population of the planet on which he’d lived his entire life.  He was surrounded by layers of flying traffic.  Speeders and spacecraft swarmed through skyscrapers.  Everywhere he looked there were signs of life and activity.  He was overwhelmed by bright advertisements and squealing alarms.  In less than a day’s time on Tatooine, he’d gone from a barren rock to a bustling metropolis, and carried there in a big, gleaming starship.  This was the greatest day of his life.

                The entrance to the Jedi Temple was flanked by enormous statues.  The columns of the atrium were tall enough to make any species feel dwarfed.  Every aspect of the architecture was designed to evoke contemplation of the self and one’s place in the galaxy.

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon flanked Anakin as they entered, a quiet signal to the Temple Guards that he was not a threat.  A Selkath acolyte came forward to welcome the trio.  With a clipped Coruscanti accent, the aquamarine alien greeted them.

“Master Jinn, Padawan Kenobi.  You are requested to make your report to the council as soon as you are ready.  Would you kindly introduce me to your travelling companion?”

Qui-Gon spoke for the group, “This is Anakin Skywalker of Tatooine.  I’ve asked him to join us that he might be presented to the council.”

The Selkath rocked back slightly, “I see.  Would you like me to inform them of this or would you prefer to do that yourself?”

Qui-Gon didn’t flinch, “I’ll handle it.”

* * *

                Alderaan’s delegation to Coruscant was led by Senator Bail Antilles.  He was a distant relative of the royal line, but had been duly and fairly elected to the Galactic Senate.  This was his second term as a Senator and there was talk of him running for the position of Supreme Chancellor at the next opportunity.

He received Queen Organa with all the graciousness and class that was required for such an occasion.  When the pleasantries had been handled, he sat with his advisors to counsel the Queen.  Her handmaidens observed in a silent phalanx.

“Your Highness, we have received the following transmission during your journey to Coruscant,” Antilles said.  He nodded to an aid who queued a hologram in the center of the table.

The mayor of Aldera City was pleading for help under the sights of a blaster rifle held by the cold mechanical hands of a battle droid.

“The death toll is catastrophic.  Each day they destroy more lives.  Return or we shall all be lost!”

The collective shudder that moved through everyone in the room gave way to an impromptu moment of silence for the fallen.

“We must have intervention,” Queen Organa said.

“Your Highness, with deference, I regret to tell you that I see very little chance that the Senate will take appropriate action for our situation.  The Chancellor simply does not have the political capital to overrule the lobbying arm of the Trade Federation.”

Queen Organa’s face had the typical stoic countenance that she projected whenever possible, “Then why would Chancellor Valorum schedule a forum for us so quickly?”

“He is eager to get this situation sorted out and move on.  The Chancellor is the leader of a body of squabbling delegates, far more interested in their reelections and covering their assets.  The Chancellor isn’t corrupt, but he is surrounded by Senators and staffers that are.  The average Senator is funded by a variety of special interest groups, and so many of those can trace their funding back to the mega corporations.  There is a consensus among a large cadre of Senators that Alderaan must be sacrificed on the altar of corporate profits.”

“What options have we?”

“We could make an appeal to the Judiciary.”

“The courts will take twice as long to intercede,” Queen Organa said.

“And even still, it’s unlikely that our attorneys could match theirs,” Antilles agreed.

“What do you propose?”

“Stall for time.  If I can rally a faction of our own, even a handful of well-placed Senators may be able to swing the vote for us.”

“Time is the one thing we do not have, Senator.  You have seen the same transmissions I have.  The Trade Federation decimates our planet and our people more and more with each passing moment.  We have to have support immediately.”

“Your Highness, I don’t think we can have the outcome you’re hoping for in the short term.  We may have to play a long game and ready our response.  Until then, we will have to accept the Trade Federation’s occupation of our world.” Antilles said.

“That is something I simply cannot do.”

* * *

                The Jedi Council chamber was stately but not opulent.  The ring of a dozen chairs were backlit with sweeping bay windows that took in streaming sunlight.  Each chair was custom designed for the Master that sat upon it.  The center of the room was bare, all the better to accommodate anyone who needed to address the council.

Of the twelve chairs in this reverent chamber, only ten were occupied today.  Qui-Gon noted the absence of the Nikto Master Ima-Gun Di, whose seat was nearest the entrance.  Also unoccupied was the smallest chair, at the center of the ring.

Qui-Gon wrapped up his summation of the pertinent events since they had been ordered to respond to the distress signal.

“… I am convinced, based on my experiences during the war, that my attacker was a Sith Lord.”

A wave of disturbed silence washed over the ten seated Masters.  Plo Koon’s breathing pattern changed under his mask.  Master Windu, occupying the other center seat, was the first to respond.

“A Sith Lord?” Windu asked, with an eyebrow raised in incredulity.

“That’s simply not possible.  The Sith were driven to extinction more than a generation ago,” chimed in the Duros Master Cei Vookto.

“It seems unlikely for the Sith to have returned without our knowledge,” Windu said.

“Perhaps you faced a Force-sensitive mercenary,” said Plo Koon.  Qui-Gon turned to his left to face the Kel Dor.  “There are other groups that cultivate Force-sensitives.  Not all of them are altruistic in nature.”

“I can only offer my account.  My instincts on the matter tell me that this was nothing other than a Sith.  Perhaps if I could relay my account to Master Yoda…” Qui-Gon said.

“Master Yoda is currently restoring balance to the ruined ecosystems on Saleucami,” Master Windu said, cutting him off.

Qui-Gon gave a silent nod and a beat passed.  Master Yoda’s name was never mentioned without a moment of veneration for his centuries of incredible service in the Force.

The first to recover was Xarai, the Falleen female who had ascended to the Jedi Council three years ago.

“Clearly more information is needed.  We must draw out this attacker and discover his identity and origin.”

A chorus of assent followed this wisdom.

“Master Qui-Gon, clearly this enemy has chosen either you or Queen Organa as his ultimate target.  Your new assignment is to protect the Queen and discover the identity of your attacker.  If at all possible, preserve his life that we may gather more information about this threat that has emerged from the shadows.” Master Windu said.

Qui-Gon gave a deferential nod, but made no move to bow or exit.  He had a vague unease about the conversation that was to come.  Such unease shone like a light in the darkness to the Jedi that were accomplished enough to sit on the council.

“What is the other matter that has you so rankled, Master Qui-Gon?” Xarai said.

“In my travels on Tatooine, I have encountered a concentration in the Force.”

“How do you mean?” Windu asked.

“I met a young man with a strong sensitivity and certain skills.  His name is Anakin Skywalker.  He knows little of the Jedi or the galaxy itself, but I’ve never encountered a stronger presence in the Force, save perhaps for Master Yoda himself.” Qui-Gon said.

“And it’s your desire that this young man be trained?” Windu asked, again with a look of skepticism.

“I have brought him here for that purpose.  It is my wish that he become my Padawan learner.”

Plo Koon spoke up, “You have a Padawan already, Master Jinn.  You cannot take on another.”

“Obi-Wan is ready to face the trials,” Qui-Gon said.

“He still has much to learn,” Vookto said.

Qui-Gon shifted his posture, “I’ve learned far more about being a Jedi in my time instructing Obi-Wan than I ever did as a Padawan.  When Obi-Wan himself has a learner, his wisdom will grow as mine has.”

Windu’s face barely contained his emotion, “Master Qui-Gon, this is highly improper.  The instruction of a Jedi is not something that can be improvised.  For a thousand generations Jedi have been trained within a structure that has been honed and perfected.  Whenever those methods have been violated, disaster has followed.  You have made a grave error in meddling with these traditions.”

Among the more passionate Jedi, the room was affectionately known as the Ring of Fire.  Qui-Gon had received more than his share of admonishments from the occupants of these chairs.  As a result, he felt no qualms about explaining his actions.  He had been guided by the Force and the mission had been accomplished.  Everything else was just detail.

“Masters, I have endeavored all my life to understand the living Force.  I can say with confidence that meeting Anakin was no random encounter.  Finding this young man was the will of the Force.”

With a sigh, Windu looked around the room.  He had sat in this room long enough to know when to push and when to relent.  “Bring him before us.”

* * *

                The corridor was dimly lit, a silent signal to anyone in the outer chamber that the Senate was already in session.  The Queen’s handmaidens had prepared a regal outfit of pure white with a few focal points in stark red, all the better to remind the Senators that she was a representative of a peaceful people who were facing bloodshed and terror from an external aggressor.  She walked with the grace of a monarch, alone, with Senator Antilles two steps behind, in deference to her station.

“Your Highness, please allow me to make your introduction, per the Senate’s procedures,” he stated, guiding her with an open hand towards the platform that was reserved for the delegation from Alderaan.

The Queen acknowledged his request with the slightest of nods and passed through a dark aperture to enter the chamber of the Galactic Senate.

Befitting a room where epic conflicts were inaugurated or ended, the Senate chamber was a massive arena, circular, with a dazzling array of platforms arranged in precision around a central pillar on which sat the Supreme Chancellor, his Vice Chair and a small cadre of staffers and droids.

With a glance, Queen Organa could take in the platforms of dozens of worlds, representing an enormous variety of species, cultures, beliefs and customs.  Had the occasion itself not been so grave, she might have found the room itself to be daunting.  As it was, her only task was to wait for the proper moment.  Senator Antilles, a proper step behind her, took his place on the platform and signaled the Chancellor.

A booming voice sounded through the chamber, “The chair recognizes the Senator from the sovereign system of Alderaan.”

Under her feet, Queen Organa could feel the platform shift.  When a delegation was recognized, it would detach from its slot on the outer wall and float in position in front of the Chancellor’s platform.  Queen Organa felt the motion and steeled herself as the stage took up its proper position.  The voice of Senator Antilles then boomed through the chamber with the same volume as the Chancellor’s had.

“Supreme Chancellor, my fellow Senators, a tragedy has occurred on the peaceful world of Alderaan.  Our dear homeworld has fallen victim to the lecherous greed of the Trade Federation.  Alderaan rises to demand recognition of the crimes of the Trade Federation and to implore the Senate to take action to resolve the current crisis.”

As Antilles spoke, another platform floated into view, hovering at the same level, the lights on the craft seeking acknowledgement.  The slimy, green, Neimoidian visage of Lot Dodd, Vice President of Political Affairs for the Trade Federation, proceeded to interrupt Antilles before he could finish his statement.

“Objection, Chancellor Valorum!  I object to these outrageous allegations!  The Senator from Alderaan must be silenced at once!”

Valorum, ever the diplomat, spoke in an even tone that nonetheless commanded attention, “The chair does not recognize the delegate from Cato Neimoidia at this time.  Return to your station immediately.”

“To state our allegations and provide testimony regarding the crimes of the Trade Federation, I hereby present our monarch, Queen Organa, ruler of the peaceful planet of Alderaan.”

With the poise that had been instilled in her from her earliest days, Queen Organa took a breath and spoke to the galaxy.

“Chancellor Valorum, honorable representatives of the Republic, I come before you today to inform you of a grave injustice.  Alderaan has been invaded by a hostile corporate army which seeks to aggressively annex our world.  Our citizens have been held hostage, many killed, all in the name of corporate expansion that this body has failed to keep in check.  For too long the mega-corporations have achieved profits by nefarious means.  This body must not let Alderaan become yet another victim of the voracity of the Trade Federation.  Action must be taken, not only for Alderaan, but for the Republic itself.  For while today it may be my world, who can say which system the Trade Federation will target next.”

Again, Lot Dodd spoke against the rules of the Senate, “Chancellor Valorum, I call for these remarks to be stricken from the record.  What proof can Alderaan offer for its allegations?  Without independent verification, these presumed crimes are nothing more than rumor!  I call for a commission to be sent to Alderaan to uncover the slanderous lies that have been asserted by the delegation from Alderaan!”

Entering the Chancellor’s orbit was another platform, this one held a cadre of humans, some in formal business attire who were flanked by others in military garb.  The central human, a starkly dressed female addressed the room.

“The representatives of Dulllar concur with the honorable Senator from Cato Neimoidia.  A commission must be appointed to ascertain the truth.”

Antilles spoke softly into the Queen’s ear, “Here we have the Senator from Dolor, headquarters of the Czerka Corporation, which sells the Trade Federation its blaster rifles.”

Chancellor Valorum strained to maintain control, “The point is acknowledged.  Will you defer your request for intervention until the Senate can confirm the veracity of your statements?”

Queen Organa spoke again, “I will not defer!  This body must approve of an intervention immediately!  The people of Alderaan cannot and will not be slaughtered while you debate this crisis in a committee!  Alderaan demands action be taken before the sun sets on this day!”

Within moments, objections had been heard from the Gran people of Malastare, the Skakoans and the Muuns.  The Grans had long been in debt to the Trade Federation.  The Skakoan’s Techno Union supplied hardware for the Neimoidians and the Muun’s banking interests would be devastated without the profits that would surely come from the annexation of Alderaan.

The Chancellor called for the Sergeant at Arms who used the ceremonial horn of the Senate to call for order and silence the gathering cadre.  As the other delegations returned to their station, Queen Organa realized the futility of the situation.  She could speak until the fires of the stars burned cold and nothing would move this body.  Greed and power held far more influence than nobility and altruism in this chamber.  The vote to come was already a foregone conclusion.

* * *

In the anteroom of the Jedi Council, Obi-Wan and Anakin observed the messy, tragic floor fight that had broken out in the Senate chamber.  The delegations had listened to the Queen’s eloquent plea, but her words had fallen on deaf ears.  Even through the viewscreen, Obi-Wan could feel the frustration of the Queen.

Senator Antilles was making a valiant effort to have the Senate accept the recording of the Aldera City mayor’s pleas for help.  The Skakoans were arguing that the recording itself was a fake.

Obi-Wan shook his head and sighed, his gaze not leaving the viewscreen.  “The truth is no match for politics,” he said.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” came a voice from behind Obi-Wan and Anakin.  Obi-Wan turned to face the newcomer.

“Secretary Palpatine!  Good to see you, sir,” Obi-Wan said in greeting.

Up to the pair strode a man a bit younger than Qui-Gon.  He was meticulously kempt and walked with an air that showed class and affability.  A politician to the core and a smooth talker by nature, Palpatine was never found out of his element.

He spoke to Obi-Wan in the refined accent that marked a life spent mostly in Coruscant’s halls of power.

“Obi-Wan, it’s good to see you as well.  I heard you had a spot of trouble after I rerouted you to respond to that distress call.”

Obi-Wan smirked, “That would be an understatement.”

“Well, I’m glad you made it out safely.  I had been hoping to speak with Master Yoda to get him to weigh in on some matters of concern.  They tell me he’s not available, so I thought I’d ask for an audience with the Council.  Who is your friend here?”

Obi-Wan smiled, “Oh yes.  Secretary Palpatine, meet Anakin Skywalker of Tatooine.  Anakin, this is the Secretary of Jedi Affairs for the Republic Senate.  Secretary Palpatine acts as the embassador between the Republic government and the Jedi.”

Anakin bowed by way of introduction.  As Obi-Wan was starting to explain Anakin’s presence, the door to the council chamber opened.  All three men turned to face the entrance.

Qui-Gon’s head poked out from the door.  He waved a greeting at Secretary Palpatine and then spoke, “Anakin, they are ready for you now.”

Anakin shrugged at Palpatine by way of an apology and made his way to the door, calling back a simple, “Nice to meet you!” as he entered the council chamber.

Obi-Wan’s face fell a bit as he watched the young man exit.  Palpatine had been observing behavior long enough to know something was amiss.

“You seem troubled regarding that young man,” Palpatine said.

Obi-Wan blushed slightly, “I’d prefer to think that I’m conflicted,” he said.

Palpatine made no effort to disguise a smirk, feeling comfortable in this company, “And what is the nature of your conflict, Obi-Wan?”

“Qui-Gon brought him here for training.  He wants to take Anakin as a Padawan,” Obi-Wan said.

“The council will not take kindly to that,” Palpatine said, staring at the closed door that led to the Jedi Council.

“That hasn’t stopped Qui-Gon in the past,” Obi-Wan said.

“It certainly has not,” Palpatine agreed.  After a beat he continued, “One cannot simply replace a Padawan, nor certainly one as accomplished as you.”

“Still, I must admit, I’m a bit jealous that the boy has captured so much of Qui-Gon’s attention.  I feel like it’s a judgement about me,” Obi-Wan said.

“Be mindful of that, young Jedi.  Your emotions are natural, but they can be dangerous.  Jealousy is the start of a long path that leads to the dark side.”

* * *

In the offices of the Alderaan delegation, Queen Organa bit back her rage at the uselessness of the day’s events.

“Your Highness, there is still hope.  We can take a two-pronged approach.  I’ll have our attorneys prepare a challenge in the courts and at the same time, I’ll rally what support we can in the Senate.  Chandrilla has already expressed backing for our cause.  Senator Mothma has many allies to call upon.  Give me a few days and I’ll have a voting block that may be able to rival the corporate interests…” Senator Antilles said.

The Queen shook her head, “I fear that nothing can be said or done on this world to have any positive effect.  I must leave you to your politics, Senator.  My place is with our people.”

“Your Highness, you must be reasonable.  If you return, the Trade Federation will force you to sign the contract,” Antilles said.

“I will sign nothing.  I’ll share the fate of Alderaan and her citizens,” Organa said.

“Your Highness, they will kill you,” Antilles said.

“Then perhaps the Senate will accept my body as sufficient evidence of the crimes of the Trade Federation,” she said.

“Please, Your Highness, stay here, where it’s safe.”

“Senator Antilles, how could I possibly do that?  Captain Panaka?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Panaka said, snapping to attention.

“Ready my ship.”

* * *

At the landing pad, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan waited for the Queen’s entourage to arrive by air speeder.  The bracing air of Coruscant bit at their robes, but they maintained a stoic watch for any potential assassins, Sith or otherwise.

The silver ship with its huge swept wings stood behind them, ready for the journey back to Alderaan.  The technicians were finishing their final checks and pulled away shortly before the Queen’s speeder came into view.

“Here she comes,” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon nodded an acknowledgement.  He took advantage of their isolated wait to broach the subject they had left behind.

“Obi-Wan, regarding Anakin,” Qui-Gon said.

“I think that matter is settled now,” Obi-Wan replied, cutting him off.

“I only wish circumstances had allowed me to handle things differently,” Qui-Gon said.

“Did I displease you in some way?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Why would you…”

“Because you wanted to replace me,” Obi-Wan said.

“That’s simply not true,” Qui-Gon said.

“Isn’t it?”

“I couldn’t leave him to rot in that desert.  I saw something in him,” Qui-Gon said.

“Something you’ve never seen in me,” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon turned, facing his student, “No.  What I saw in Anakin is what I have always seen in you.  What I saw in you the day we met.”

Obi-Wan met his gaze, “And what is that?”

“Greatness… and purpose.”

Obi-Wan’s speechlessness was rendered moot as the air speeder with the Alderaanians pulled up to the landing pad.  Chivalrously, Obi-Wan offered a hand to the Queen and her assortment of handmaidens.  The small band of royal guards formed a phalanx around Her Royal Highness and escorted her to the ship.

As the last of the handmaidens stepped on to the platform, Obi-Wan saw that he was helping Padme herself out of the air speeder.  She flashed a smile at him and spoke in low tones as they walked across the platform.

“Where’s Anakin?” she asked.

“The council tested him.  They think he has potential, but they aren’t letting Qui-Gon train him.  Anakin is being sent to our academy on Ilum.  The instructors there will determine what to do with him.”

“What do you think will happen?”

“If Qui-Gon’s instincts are right, it won’t take long for him to prove himself,” Obi-Wan said.

“So, what do you think will happen?”

“Qui-Gon has a nasty habit of being right at the most inconvenient times.  I’m sure we haven’t heard the last of Anakin Skywalker.”

* * *

                The lights of Aldera City were dim.  The cool night air carried almost perfect silence.  Much of the city’s population had been evacuated to encampments and the droids were sweeping the last outlying neighborhoods.

The ridiculous aesthetic of this shining city was enough to give Nute Gunray a headache.   The entire planet was devoted to harmony and natural beauty and had given no effort to efficiency or profit.  The streets of the city curved in ludicrous sweeps.  Buildings were constructed to be visually pleasing, without any thought to their economic impact.

Soon, Aldera would serve as the new regional headquarters of the Trade Federation.  Its tall white towers would be razed to the ground.  In their place, stock durasteel boxes would house the offices of the new Neimoidian staff.  Staff that would ensure a steady and massive flow of goods and treasure for Cato Neimoidia.  Currently the Alderaanian settlers were being tested to see if any of them could perform useful work for the Trade Federation.  Those that were useless would be swept away.

Gunray sighed, looking out on this useless architecture.  So much of this could have been avoided if the young monarch had simply signed the contract.  The Trade Federation was, above all else, practical.  If Queen Organa had merely consented to the purchase, then she could have remained a figurehead and her capital might have been spared.  With her resistance, she had ensured that the Executive Board on Cato Neimoidia would make an example of this little prairie planet.

A protocol droid approached him on the balcony.  He was tired from the day and in no mood for interruption.  Conquering a planet was heavy work.

“Viceroy, there is an incoming transmission from Lord Sidious,” the droid said.

The Viceroy followed the droid to a banquet hall that had been converted into a conference room.  His lieutenants were already seated, looking nervously at the empty holopad on the far side of the table.  As Gunray approached the end of the long banquet table, the hologram lit up with the image of his mysterious benefactor.

“Lord Sidious, preparations are still ongoing for the destruction of Aldera City,” he said.

“I care not for your insignificant projects.  You have failed to keep this matter from the attention of the Senate.  You have failed to secure the Queen’s signature on the contract.  You have failed to kill the Jedi and you have failed me.”  Sidious’s sneer from under that black robe was more than enough to make Gunray shiver.  He wasn’t sure if not being able to see Sidious’s face made the effect better or worse.

The dark lord continued, “The only reason you are still alive is that I know there is not a being on your staff who has the capacity to carry out my orders properly.  The Queen will be returning soon, escorted by the two Jedi.  Since you are clearly incapable of handling the Jedi, I will be sending my apprentice to save you from your incompetence.”

                “My lord…” Gunray began.

                “Darth Maul will kill the Jedi.  I hope you will be able to deal with the girl.  If not, Viceroy, you shall deal with me.”

* * *

                The flight from Coruscant to Alderaan allowed the Queen time to confer with her advisors.  Gathered in the ship’s main audience chamber, she met with Captain Panaka and the two Jedi.  Her handmaidens served as silent sentinels, ringing the room.

Captain Panaka looked stricken as she spoke, “Your Highness, I must tell you that we do not have the resources to mount any kind of a challenge to the armies of the Trade Federation.”

“I must concur.  Obi-Wan and myself can protect you, but we can’t fight a war for you,” Qui-Gon said.

“I won’t ask you to, Master Jedi.  We need not defeat the droid army to defeat this scheme,” Queen Organa said.

“What is your plan?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Viceroy Gunray speaks for the Trade Federation.  It is he and he alone who commands the droid army.  He ordered the invasion, he can order their withdrawal.”

“How do you plan to persuade him?” Panaka asked.

“I’m going to start by pointing a blaster at his head,” the Queen replied.

“The end of a bold plan.  What is the beginning?” Qui-Gon asked.

Queen Organa smiled and told him.

* * *

In their escape from Aldera City, the pilots of the royal cruiser had scanned the formations of the Trade Federation’s blockade.  In an unsurprising development, the single-minded Neimoidians had failed to cover the polar approaches to the planet.  With the three-dimensional thinking that was required of every deep space pilot, Captain Ric Olie brought the royal cruiser in at a high angle and the big silver ship entered Alderaan’s atmosphere over the frozen southern pole.

Obi-Wan checked the readout again.  With the ship flying over the nightside, it was a bit disconcerting to look out the window and see nothing but black.  The plains of Alderaan had no signs of civilization, which also meant no lights to guide their journey.

“You’re sure these coordinates are correct?” Obi-Wan said.

Captain Olie nodded, “These are known to all our starship captains.  From time immemorial, the Gungans have declared this spot off-limits to settlers.  We’ve never known why.  We just stay out of that area.”

“You really think this is a good idea?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I think I have my orders,” Olie answered.  “Besides, we’re not going to land there, we’re landing right outside.”

* * *

                As the dawn light began to break over the horizon, Queen Organa and her entourage stepped out onto the grasslands.  They walked through the clearing, arms up, hands empty.  Ahead loomed a large stone monolith, like a fabulous bird had laid a massive stone egg on the prairie.  As they approached the stone, the Queen spoke for the first time.

“Master Jedi, would you care to make our introductions?” she asked.

Qui-Gon nodded and called out, as if addressing the stone itself, “I am Qui-Gon Jinn.  We travel here in peace.  I am a friend of Nass and Ankura.  We’ve come to request your assistance.”

A lone Gungan came forward, emerging from the rocks ahead.  He carried a spear.  He held up a single hand and the group halted.  Qui-Gon sensed tension, but not hostility.  After a beat, the Gungan held a hand to his snout and emitted a whistle.

Suddenly, from all sides, a group of Gungans rose from the grasses.  The group had somehow been surrounded without ever knowing any of them were there.  Each Gungan extended a spear in the group’s direction.

The two Jedi could feel the party tense as a whole.  For a long moment, no one made a move.  Qui-Gon grimaced.  Obi-Wan turned slowly to survey the ring of Gungans.  The winds howled.  After a beat the Gungan spoke, “Eta neeya myacosa.  Eta neeya myacosa, kai halyn.” 

“I need Ankura,” Qui-Gon said, “Do you speak Basic?”

The lead Gungan spoke again, this time he sounded more aggressive.  “Dargo!  Te falna crais.”

                “This was not a good idea,” Qui-Gon muttered.

“No, it was not,” came a voice from behind the Gungan.

Nass stepped out from behind the monolith.  “This is not a place for you.  This ground is sacred.”

Qui-Gon started to speak.  The Queen cut him off, addressing Nass directly, “I am Queen Organa.  I speak for Alderaan.  Do you speak for the Gungans?”

“The Gungans speak for themselves,” Nass replied.  “The Gungan chiefs are in assembly.  You are not permitted.”

“I understand.  I’ve come to ask for their help,” Organa said.

“The Gungans have been driven from their camps.  The various tribes took refuge here in the hopes that the droids would not follow.  Your arrival will surely lead the droid armies here.  You have destroyed their last hope,” Nass’s voice was laced with anger.

From behind him, Obi-Wan sensed movement.  He turned as Padme moved from the rear of the group to step in front of the Queen.

“Padme,” he started, trying to will her not to make the situation worse.

“And who are you?” Nass said, as Padme made her way in front of the Queen.

“I am Queen Organa,” she said.  “This is one of my most loyal bodyguards.  I often employ decoys in dangerous situations.  I am sure you understand.  I apologize for the deception, but these days, one can’t be too careful.”

A chitter of talk moved through the ring of Gungans.  They spoke quickly to each other and to Nass, who replied back to them in their language.

Queen Organa gave them a beat to process this revelation, then continued, “The droid armies have driven all of us from our homes.  They have ruined the peace we’ve shared.  They have destroyed homes and lives.  All I seek is your aid in defeating them.  If we are successful, the Gungans will have a friend in the Royal House.  If we are not, then none of this will matter.”

Again a conversation ran through the ring of Gungans.  Queen Padme Organa and her company waited patiently.  The Gungans that ringed them took a few moments to confer.

Next to Nass, the first Gungan who had halted them spoke in perfect Basic, “Gungans have a great respect for concealment.  And we understand friendship.  While we have a common enemy, we stand together.”

Padme bowed in deference to the Gungan.  The others in the group did likewise.

“Let me tell you of my plan,” she said.

* * *

                As Padme walked through her plan with the Gungans, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon watched from afar, reading the various players in the conversation.

“Did you see that coming?” Obi-Wan asked.

“No,” Qui-Gon offered.

“On Tatooine.  On the flight back.  All the hours we spent together…” Obi-Wan said.

“Never,” Qui-Gon said.

“What does that say about us, Master?  About our insight?” Obi-Wan said.

“Only that we are fallible,” Qui-Gon said, in his most reassuring tone.

“With a Sith Lord waiting for us, we can’t afford to be,” Obi-Wan said.

“Be without fear in the face of your enemies,” Qui-Gon said.

“Your first lesson,” Obi-Wan smiled, “I remember it well.”

“There’s no one else I’d rather have beside me,” Qui-Gon said.

* * *

                At the war council, Panaka voiced her concern, “Milady, it still seems a risk.  We can send, at best, a few Gungans and a few guards up against the entire might of the Trade Federation.”

“This is no frontal assault, Captain.  We only need to take the palace, not the city.  You and I know every corridor, every hallway, every secret passage.  Our guards can handle the cadre of droids around the Viceroy, and even if he calls in his entire force, they can’t mass against us.  The palace isn’t big enough for the entire army.”

“But how will we even get to the palace without drawing attention.  The royal cruiser is fast, but the starfighters guarding Aldera are faster.  They will shoot down anything with an engine,” Panaka said.

Nass smiled, “Then they’ll never see us coming.”

* * *

                Gungan thrantas were silent as they lofted over the grasslands.  A grand pack of them, lumbering mothers and quick, agile juveniles, carried three teams through the golden clouds of an Alderaanian sunset.  The large mother beasts carried gondolas to contain the ground fighters.  Flanking them, Gungan riders swept back and forth in dizzying patterns that guided the group towards the capital city.

Aboard a grand blue beast, Qui-Gon meditated as he prepared for the night assault.  Obi-Wan, ever the restless youth, found himself with Padme, looking out of the open windows at the rolling clouds that concealed their flight.

“Your Highness,” Obi-Wan began, barely able to stifle his smirk.

“So much for the famed Jedi perception,” Padme said.

“Rather too much to say for the royal handmaiden corps,” Obi-Wan returned.

“The Gungans get an apology.  You, Padawan, get my mockery,” she said, flashing a grin that outshone the sunset.

“I bear it gladly,” Obi-Wan said.  He paused and asked, “Were you ever going to mention it?”

“A girl’s got to have her secrets,” Padme said.

“A covert assault on the royal palace might be secret enough,” Obi-Wan said.

Padme’s smile was steady, “A girl’s got to have her fun.”

Suddenly, the cloud cover cleared away and Aldera City came into view.  The sudden revelation stopped their conversation.  Padme was in awe of the view and Obi-Wan could hardly blame her.

Qui-Gon interrupted the moment.  He pointed a bony finger off to the left, “Here they come,” he said.

A pair of droid flying platforms swept up from the valley below, making for their position.

Behind them, Nass flashed a signal light at a pair of thrantas on their left.  The Gungans flying them took off, heading for the incoming droid patrol.  Padme watched as the young Gungans drew the attention of the droids and engaged them.  The riders did their best to shield the mother beast and allow her to stay on course.

                Obi-Wan winced as he saw one rider struck with a blaster bolt.  The Gungan slumped and slipped over the wing of his beast, falling to the valley below.  In anger, his wingman hurled a spear at the guilty droid who had slain his friend.  The mechanical soldier was struck through the head.

The second droid took revenge for his fallen companion and lit into the other thranta with blaster fire.  Rider and beast were helpless.  Mercilessly, the mother beast carried Padme away before she could witness their long fall to the grasses below.

As the grand animal flew over Aldera, Padme finally spotted the palace overlooking the water.  She signaled to Nass who was already speaking to the mother beast’s pilot.  The oncoming twilight made it difficult for the droid to target the air whale, but not impossible.  A deafening shriek announced that she had been hit.

“Get us down,” Padme said, shouting as the gondola shook from the mother beast’s pain.

“We’re almost there,” Nass yelled back.

“We can’t stop.  We’re going to have to cut loose so she can get away,” Padme said, waving to indicate the thranta.

“That’s going to be rough,” Nass said in reply.  “What about the other assault teams?”

“No time.  We’ll just have to hope,” Padme called back.

Ahead, the palace neared.  She could spot the flat rooftop that was their target.

“This wasn’t the plan!” Nass said.

“No choice!  You’ve got one shot.  Bring us down,” Padme said.  She stepped to the corner of the gondola and put a hand on the rope that led to the thranta’s harness.

Nass himself called the descent.  The Gungans and Padme made ready to cut the lines.

“Three, two, one, release!” Nass called.  As one, the three Gungans and Padme cut the lines that held the gondola.  The vessel separated from the thranta and plunged to the rooftop below.

The screeching of the gondola against the palace landing was almost as painful to hear as the mother beast’s cries of pain.  The landing, such as it was, jostled everyone on the assault team.

Obi-Wan got to his feet.  Somewhere behind him, Padme shouted, “Everyone okay?” to a chorus of groans and affirmations.

As the Gungans, guards and Jedi picked themselves up, Obi-Wan heard a snap-hiss that was as familiar to him as his own voice.

An angry red light cut through the dust that was blowing off of the rooftop.  The Queen’s company moved to guard her.  Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan stepped out in front.  As the smoke cleared, a dark-cloaked figure emerged.  The same evil red and black face that had confronted Qui-Gon back on Tatooine.  The yellow eyes filled with fire and rage.

The pair of Jedi blocked the Sith Lord’s path.  He stood steady and whipped off his cape, allowing it to fly away in the wind.  He took the measure of his opponents.  The Sith warrior levelled his crimson saber at Qui-Gon Jinn, then twisted his arm slightly to point the blade at Obi-Wan.  He brought the saber level, as if presenting it for their approval, then a second scarlet blade emerged from the other end.  A fearsome weapon for a fearsome enemy.

The royal guards formed a phalanx around Padme, shielding her from this potential assassin.  Maul barely took notice, keeping his yellow eyes firmly set on the pair of Jedi.

Qui-Gon put a reassuring hand on the shoulder of the nearest guard, stepping between the Alderaanians and the villain, “We’ll handle this,” he said.

Obi-Wan moved to join his Master.  As he did, Padme caught his eye from behind her guards.

“Obi-Wan… be careful,” she said.  He could hear the pain and fear in her voice.

A moment of understanding passed between them as he replied with a slight nod and a look of determination as he turned to face the Sith Lord.

Qui-Gon shed his cloak and Obi-Wan did the same, the material fluttering away over the windy rooftop.  Maul swung his weapon out in a sweeping gesture of invitation.  The smile across his face told both Jedi that he had waited for this moment longer than they could know.

* * *

                “We can’t drop in on them from here.  Everybody come this way,” Panaka said to the assault team, sweeping her arm for emphasis.

Panaka led the guards to a shattered skylight and Padme’s assault team entered the upper level of the palace via descent ropes.  The Gungans followed them down soon after.  With spears and blasters at the ready, they made their way to the end of the hall.

A few blaster bolts took care of the lonely battle droid patrol that guarded the door.  Only two levels down would be the throne room, where they expected to find the Viceroy and his sniveling underlings.

With feline stealth, the assault team made its way to the next level.  As they came to the landing, an alarm sounded, echoing off the stone walls of the palace.

“We’re made,” Padme said.

“Let’s cross at this level.  They’ll be expecting us to go straight for Gunray,” Panaka said.

Padme nodded her concurrence.

“Red group take the lead.  Blue group on rearguard.  We’ve got to get to the handmaiden’s chambers,” Panaka whispered to the team.

Padme opened the door and watched as half her guards went through.  When they had streamed into the corridor, Panaka put a hand on her shoulder and she followed, listening carefully for droid footsteps or blaster fire.  The dimming evening light was supposed to confound the droid sensors, but she had little faith that it would be enough to fool them entirely.

The grand corridor was wide enough to fit a dozen battle droids shoulder to shoulder.  As the red team tiptoed down the passage, she tensed with every step.  The guards at her back would protect her, but without the Jedi, this could all go very bad, very quickly.

The alarms faded as they passed a branching corridor, which could mean only one thing.  The droids were on their way.

* * *

Qui-Gon Jinn was regarded by many in the order as one of its most skilled swordsmen, a rival to Cin Drallig himself.  Jinn had studied under the tutelage of Count Dooku, who had mastered Form II and its elegant motions.  In his youth, Qui-Gon had sparred against Dooku hundreds of times and had adopted Form IV, the guard of the Hawk-Bat, to counter his Master’s precise, classical defenses.  Decades ago, in the terrible final battle of Korriban, Qui-Gon had ended two Sith apprentices with his aggressive, acrobatic attacks.  His skills with a lightsaber were one of many reasons he had survived this long.

Now on this rooftop, he found himself in the fight of his life.  The Sith that he and Obi-Wan faced was no wide-eyed student.  This was a lethal and hungry opponent who made up with youth and strength what he lacked in experience.  Against smugglers or the occasional mercenary, Qui-Gon’s age would have been of no concern.  His perception and knowledge allowed him to read their movements before they began.  Against a warrior trained in the Force, his edge, such as it was, dwindled to near irrelevance.

Obi-Wan brought his bottomless stamina and energy to the fight, but he had never faced an opponent like this.  Few living Jedi had.  A thousand sparring sessions in the cool comfort of the training halls of Ilum were no match for a deadly fight against a trained Sith.  Obi-Wan would have to learn by doing, a favorite teaching method of Qui-Gon’s.

Darth Maul was the pinnacle of a Sith Blademaster.  His training had been superb and intense.  His power and strength were at their zenith.  He had prepared for this day, this moment, this fight, for his entire life.  For years Sidious had restrained his bloodlust and his fury.  Now they were unleashed with a mighty vengeance.  Qui-Gon could sense the focus, could feel the hatred waft off of the young Sith.  There would be no surrender on this day.

Across the rooftop, the three combatants swung and wheeled and leapt, lightsabers flashing in brilliant blue and green and red.  Obi-Wan sensed his Master’s unease and knew that the safest approach would be to end this fight quickly.  With every moment came a loss of Qui-Gon’s energy and brought more danger to the fore.

Fiercely the two Jedi pressed the attack.  Maul swung his blades in careful arcs, keeping a slow retreat, drawing them in to ground of his choosing.  He moved fluidly between attack and defense.  Their counterattacks brought no challenge to the Sith.  His agility and deft touch were more than enough to handle the pair of foes he faced.  The glee in his eyes and smile told them that he was in the exact moment he had so longed for.  No Jedi wished for battle.  Every Sith wanted a moment like this.

With their strikes failing to create a quick resolution, they silently drew back into attack patterns that were more comfortable.  This was hardly the first opponent they had fought together and they worked to create an opening.  Maul was too smart to be drawn in.  He used his double-blades to fend off their attacks and control the combat.  When his blades were too slow, his feet were not.  Steadily he drew his opponents across the palace rooftop.  Qui-Gon sensed they were nearing an edge and that the battle would likely turn on what happened there.

* * *

From a side corridor, a contingent of thirty battle droids charged at Padme’s assault team.  Turning to face them, Panaka and the guards exchanged fire with the oncoming machines and Padme led the blue team further down, trying to create an escape route for the group.

The lights at the end of the hall were dimmed.  The shadows swallowed her Gungan escorts.  Padme was ready to follow them when she heard a repetitive ticking.  The tap of droid legs on the marble floors in quick succession was followed by the sharp squeal of blaster fire.  Angry red bolts lit the dark corridor.  She could see a pair of guards and a Gungan hit with blaster fire.  From the light of the energy shots, Padme could see three destroyer droids, slowly walking towards the assault team.

“Captain!” she shouted, signaling the threat to Panaka.

Panaka and the guards disengaged from the advancing droids and turned to face the new threat.  Padme fired her blaster pistol at the incoming destroyers, but her shots fell uselessly against their shields.  Steadily the droids closed in, trying to form a pincer.  Padme pulled a couple of the guards back, attemptng to retreat the way they had come.  Panaka turned to follow her.

Suddenly, from the dark corridor, as fast as the blaster fire had come, it stopped.  The group wheeled at the silence.  The destroyer droids were there, but their blasters had stopped.  Instead, all three mechanical assemblies shook and sputtered.  By each destroyer stood a Gungan, holding a spear that impaled one of the war droids from the top down.  Padme could see two more Gungans clinging to the stone ceiling above them and suddenly gained a new respect for the climbing abilities and weaponcraft of the Gungans.

A moment passed as the assault team took in the impressive work of their Gungan allies.  Padme allowed them a flourish before starting again, “Let’s move.”

* * *

Obi-Wan circled to his left as Qui-Gon steadily pushed the Sith to the edge of the rooftop.  The Zabrak had made a steady, battling retreat.  Qui-Gon again wasn’t sure if he was commanding the battle, or being drawn in to a trap.  Obi-Wan’s unease was easily sensed as the youth circled around.  Maul managed to keep an eye and a blade in both directions and seemed unconcerned that he was running out of room.

At the precipice, the Sith Lord again flashed a wicked grin and a snarl.  He swiped his dual-blade and pushed Qui-Gon’s green saber against Obi-Wan’s blue, binding both together for a beat.  As the Jedi recovered, Maul took a leap and reverse somersaulted off of the palace roof.  Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan rushed to the edge and looked down to see their opponent standing on top of a cold grey starship that had been parked of a landing below them.  With a sweep of his double-sided saber, he beckoned the Jedi to him.

Obi-Wan had the enthusiasm of youth to rush him forward.  He leapt from the edge and flung himself at the sinister Zabrak.  Qui-Gon had no time to correct him.

“Obi-Wan, no!” Qui-Gon shouted, already too late to stop his Padawan’s momentum.

From below, Maul raised his empty hand to the flying Jedi and emitted a surge of Force Lightning.  Obi-Wan had no time to make a defense and was struck hard in the chest.  The wave of energy pushed him against a wall and he slumped to the landing near one of the starship’s wings.  Qui-Gon saw his student move, but it was clear he was singed and stunned.  The blow had been more embarrassing than fatal, but it had had the desired effect of splitting Maul’s opponents.

Unlike his charge, this was not the first time Qui-Gon had encountered a Sith with that power.  He levelled his blade at the warrior and leapt from the rooftop down onto the starship.  Maul didn’t bother with another burst of lightning.  Qui-Gon suspected that the Sith may have lacked the energy for another burst.  Maul’s reserves of energy were vast, but not limitless.

He took a moment to note his surroundings.  He stood on the nose of a long, sleek grey starship with curved wingtips.  His opponent closed the distance towards him, steadily, not hurried.  Below him, Obi-Wan was collecting himself and no doubt now resolved to be a bit more careful.  In his leap, Qui-Gon noted a vast skylight ahead of the ship.  The glass roof that was now behind him could have swallowed this ship had it landed there.  Whatever room was below the transparent ceiling would have to have a marvelous view.

One step at a time, Maul closed in on the aged Jedi that stood before him.

* * *

Padme allowed herself a glimmer of hope as they moved towards the throne room.  The team was down to about half its original strength, but they were still alive and nearing their target.  She passed a corridor that led to her private office and quickened her pace, guards meeting her speed at her side.  Behind her, Panaka kept a rearguard moving as they closed in on the Viceroy.

She was a bit concerned as they hadn’t encountered more resistance on this level.  There had been a couple of droid patrols that had been dispatched with no difficulty.  She was hopeful that Gunray had deployed his droids all over the palace in a vain effort to engage her team.  Perhaps another assault team had managed to make it through the air patrols after her team had landed.

At any rate, Padme’s team was still intact and she was ready to put an end to this.

Behind her, she heard the now familiar tone of a droid blaster firing.  Suddenly, the corridor was filled with a cacophony of fire, seemingly from all directions.  She turned and saw a pair of Gungans fall victim to blaster bolts.  Turning again, she saw two guards fall.  Before she could recover, she found herself at blasterpoint, a battle droid stood over her.  Two more closed in.  Panaka was similarly confronted.

The tinny voice of the droid before her gave the command, “Halt.”

Padme stopped, too stunned to do anything else.

Panaka looked at her and sighed.  She nodded and Panaka dropped her blaster.  She had a duty to keep her loyal servants from dying needlessly.

“Put down your weapons,” she said.  “They win this round.”

From behind the contingent of droids, a pair of Neimoidian hands began a slow, wet clapping.  Padme rolled her eyes as she lowered her blaster and dropped it to the floor.  She turned to face Nute Gunray as he emerged, walking around the droids that kept his hands clean and his money safe.

“Your highness, I’m so glad you have returned to us.  We have some business to discuss.”

* * *

                With an escort of armed battle droids, Padme and the remaining members of her assault team were brought into the throne room.  At any other time, Padme would have felt calm and comfortable here.  With her Jedi gone and her guards decimated, she honestly wasn’t sure how she was going to make this work.

Gunray seemed rather pleased with himself as he had one of his slimy Vice Presidents bring him the contract that he wanted her to sign.  He started rattling off some details about the ownership and transfer of Alderaan, but Padme didn’t listen.  She was studying the situation.

The throne room was expansive and its views were the finest in the palace.  A handful of droids guarded the doors, but otherwise gave her some space.  Gunray sat in her chair and his underlings stood flanking him.  Their blasters had been confiscated, but these battle droids hadn’t exactly been fearsome opponents.  She considered charging Gunray and trying to throttle him, but dismissed the idea.  The droids would cut her down quickly if she completed the deed or not.  And the Trade Federation would surely find someone else to sign the contract if she was killed.

Panaka had her back to the queen, but Padme knew the captain was looking for an opening just as Padme herself was.  A wry smirk barely flashed on the queen’s face.

“I’ll sign your little contract, but I’m still the Queen of Alderaan.  Get the hell off of my throne.”

With nauseating graciousness, the Viceroy rose and swept his arms from her to the chair, inviting her to take her seat.  With as much bearing as she could bring, she settled on her throne.  She began to calculate once again when a commotion came from the hallway.

“Viceroy!” shouted Sabe, who was running down the hallway towards them, flanked by eight Gungans.  She wielded a blaster rifle and sniped the two battle droids nearest the door.  Sabe had been her double on several occasions.  This time she was dressed in one of Padme’s more conservative royal outfits and her makeup gave her quite the regal look.  It was enough to fool the Neimoidians.

Gunray looked shocked as his neck swiveled between Padme and her handmaiden.  Padme just smirked.  Sabe had been with one of the other assault teams and could just as easily have been sitting here herself if fate had ordained.

Gunray, not content with holding one queen, decided he needed another, “After her!” he shouted to his droids, turning to Padme, “This one is a decoy!”

The security droids gave chase as Sabe turned and fled back the way she had come.  The move was reckless.  Only two droid guards now stood watch over the room.

Padme knew her chance when it came.  She opened the concealed panel on the side of her throne and withdrew a pair of chromium-plated blaster pistols.  She levelled one at the nearest battle droid and put a bolt through its head.  Before the second could reply, she had sent a blast of energy into its center.  The droids hit the floor with a pair of cold, mechanical thunks.

Panaka wasted no time, prepared for her move.  Padme tossed her the spare pistol and she put a round into the control panel of each door to the throne room.  The doors swung shut, jammed with the loss of power to their terminals.

As she had promised she would, Padme leveled a gun at Nute Gunray’s head.  “Viceroy, I believe the price for Alderaan has just gone up considerably.”

* * *

More and more, it seemed like Maul was drawing this out.  He had failed to stop Obi-Wan with his Force Lightning, but his plan seemed to be to wither Qui-Gon’s strength through attrition and then defeat the Jedi in detail.  Qui-Gon felt no shame in admitting that the plan might work.

Obi-Wan had leapt atop the starship after he’d regained his bearings.  In response, Maul had again pulled back and continued a blistering defense against the pair of them.  For every attack, there was a parry and a counterthrust.  The motions of the Sith were as fluid as water, and his attacks were as hard as carbonite.  Qui-Gon continued to search for a weakness that seemed all but nonexistent.

Pushed yet again, Maul used his blade to parry Qui-Gon’s blade sweep, while simultaneously sending a booted foot into Obi-Wan’s chest.  The young Padawan staggered and was knocked back.  Maul made another grand backflip out over the skylight that Qui-Gon had taken note of a few moments ago.

Qui-Gon knew he must change the rhythm of this fight before he was lost to it.  That would require surprise.  Rather than pursuing Maul, he reached out with the Force and slammed a wave of energy into the glass skylight where Maul would surely land.  Rather than a graceful descent onto the roof, instead, Maul slipped through a ragged hole of shattered transparisteel, his dual-sabers cutting away more of the skylight, leading to more jagged shards accompanying him on his fall.

Wary of his last flying leap, Obi-Wan looked to Qui-Gon first.  The older Jedi grinned and swung himself through the new hole in the roof.  If Maul was still on his feet down there, he would surely be stunned.  Now was the moment to press the attack.

* * *

Padme watched as her guards separated Gunray’s lieutenants from their boss and herded them to a corner.  Gunray himself had his hands in the air and she was looking forward to turning the tables on him.  Truthfully, it would do no good to end him, but she was considering a contract that would make the Alderaanian government a new majority shareholder in the Trade Federation.

She ordered Gunray to step back and to give the order to shut down his droids.  As she was in the middle of speaking, from the far end of the room came the sound of shattering glass.

Obi-Wan followed his teacher through the hole in the roof and landed on his feet with a jolt.  Ahead of him, the Sith arched his back and used the momentum to recover his legs, landing in a ready position and eager to restart the duel.  Qui-Gon was circling around.  Obi-Wan moved in the other direction to try and split Maul’s focus.  Instead, what caught Obi-Wan’s attention was the scene at the other end of the chamber.  He saw Padme with a blaster pointed at Gunray and his heart swelled.

The commotion presented Gunray with his last chance.  As the Alderaanians turned in unison to see the blur of lightsabers and bodies that had fallen from above, he bent down and pulled a hold-out blaster that was issued to all high-ranking members of the Trade Federation.

In his years of service to the company, he’d never had cause to pull it out of his boot, let alone fire it.  And Gunray was less of a marksman than even his worst battle droid.  He aimed for Organa, but she was turning to face the sounds of the fight and he fired a bolt into her upper arm.

Obi-Wan heard Padme’s cry of pain and it sent a tremor through his core.  He heard the clash of Qui-Gon’s blade against Maul’s but he moved in the other direction.

“Padme!” he shouted, running over to separate her from danger.

Panaka crash-tackled the Viceroy before he could make another move.  The other guards were too enthralled at the sight of the duel to do much more than watch.  Obi-Wan raced to Padme’s side.  He caught her as her legs gave out from the pain.  She crumpled into his arms at the foot of the throne.  He settled her on to the plush carpeted floor and looked at her wound.  She would live.

Qui-Gon kept his focus on the Sith and the clash of the sabers.  Obi-Wan was young and impetuous but this was no time for admonishments.  The elder Jedi moved to a defensive stance and deflected a series of swipes from the Zabrak.  Again the perfect form.  The calculating motions and the hardened impact of the sabers as Maul moved in.

He parried Maul’s thrust and moved to counter with an overhead swipe meant to cleave the Zabrak at the shoulder.  Instead the assassin whirled and Qui-Gon’s swipe separated nothing but air.  The Sith’s free hand found the older Jedi’s belt as he twirled around Qui-Gon’s flank and buried one of his sabers through the Jedi Master’s back, clean to the hilt.  The crimson blade skewered cloth and flesh and bone.

From the base of the throne, Obi-Wan saw his Master gasp with pain and shock.  He heard Qui-Gon’s scream reverberate off the walls of the grand hall before realizing that it was in fact his own scream.  A roar of fury and pain.

Maul flashed another wicked grin as Qui-Gon’s body folded in front of him, revealing the back-stabbing Sith.  Panaka sent off a flurry of blaster shots in Maul’s direction, but they were returned with ease and when he saw one of her fellow guards fall from a deflected bolt, her own pistol fell silent.

It took only a moment of shock for Obi-Wan’s grief to turn to anger.  He charged at the Sith, lightsaber hissing to life, and aimed straight for Maul’s heart.  Jedi were not vengeful, but Obi-Wan would have his justice now, and would pay no heed to mercy.

With a mighty hatred, he struck at Maul.  The Zabrak seemed to revel in this newly energized battle.  Obi-Wan felt stronger with each blow.  He hammered at Maul’s torso and brought his blade crashing down when the Sith countered.  Each failed attack only increased his resolve and his frustration.  Qui-Gon Jinn would be avenged.

Maul’s bloodlust was up, now that he had killed a Jedi.  The feeling was so delicious that he knew he must have it once again.  Ever loyal to his Master’s plans, he knew that Gunray could not meet his end in this room.  The machinations of Lord Sidious did not allow for the Viceroy to perish at the hands of the Alderaanians, nor to suffer the sanctions of the Senate.  If the Queen had turned the tables, he would simply knock over the board.

Another wave of Force energy erupted from Maul’s hand as he pushed Kenobi aside.  Maul’s lightning was fledgling and untrained, but he had used the Force to move objects and opponents since he was a boy.  With Kenobi hurled against the far wall, Maul saw his escape and flung another wave of energy into the doorway behind him, shattering the ornate structure of the door into splinters.  The sight would surely intimidate the young Jedi.  Gunray managed to deliver a meaty punch to the captain of the guards and fled through the open doorframe, making for the starship on the palace rooftop.

Maul gave a salute with his blade and followed Gunray down the hallway.  The younger Jedi would surely chase him, but with Maul between Gunray and the Jedi, Lord Sidious’s plan was not lost.

Gleefully, the Sith met the attack of the charging Jedi.  The young Padawan was reckless and impulsive, but his form was quite good.  Maul had focused so much on the Master that he had not yet learned the patterns of the student.

Obi-Wan had always been a quick study.  He saw the fleeing Neimoidian but gave him no thought.  Instead he did as Qui-Gon had always told him.  He kept his focus in the here and now.  The living Force moved through him as he sought the kill.  Obi-Wan reached out and found peace at his center.  With his temper cooling, he traded strength for precision.  His movements now were as accurate as his focus.  When the Sith made a swipe for his head, Obi-Wan remembered the counter that he had just learned.

With a ducking motion, Obi-Wan circled around the flank of the Sith, letting the angry Zabrak overextend himself.  Obi-Wan fell to his knees, going low as the Sith went high.  In a single sweep, the azure blade swung clean through Maul’s waist.

A pained groan came from the rounded mouth of the Sith as he came to a sudden realization about his own fallibility.  The young Jedi had used his own move against him.  It would be embarrassing if it wasn’t also a fatal error.

Obi-Wan was not one to savor a victory, no matter the circumstance.  With an eye to safety, and knowing that a defeated opponent and a dead opponent were two different things, he used the Force to shove Maul’s upper half off of his separated legs.

The bisected Zabrak emitted a yawp of shocked pain as what was left of his upper half slammed into the stained window of the royal palace.  The beautiful mosaic shattered around him as what was left of him was pushed all the way through the window.  Maul had time to twist his torso and saw the waters of the lake rising up quickly to meet him.  There was nothing to say and no one to say it to as everything from the waist up became a victim of terminal velocity.

Obi-Wan was already walking away when the sound of the splash reached the high floor that housed the throne room.  Nute Gunray had fallen to the floor when Maul was bifurcated and the Neimoidian was backpedaling on his hands.  A pair of royal guards came to drag the Viceroy back to the throne room.  Obi-Wan barely took note.  He made straight for Qui-Gon who laid on the floor.  It took only a moment to confirm what he already knew.  The wound was mortal.

The student moved to the teacher, kneeling and cradling his Master’s head, “No,” Obi-Wan said, trying to hold back his tears.

“It’s all right.  It’s…” Qui-Gon said, ever patient with his young charge.  His breath was fading.  Nothing could be done.

“I’m so sorry,” Obi-Wan said.

“Obi-Wan… you must promise me… train… Anakin.”

“He needs someone better than me,” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon smiled, “You’ll do fine.  You taught me… so much.  You’ll learn together…. He must become a Jedi… He must.”

Obi-Wan nodded an assent and Qui-Gon Jinn closed his eyes for the last time.

For the years, for the lessons, for the moments, for the pain, Obi-Wan Kenobi surrendered to his emotions and let out an anguished howl that echoed through the royal palace.

* * *

With all of the local docking bays filled with relief ships, the delegation from Coruscant was forced to land on the widest street in Aldera City.  The Path of the Heroes, so named for the statues of Alderaanian champions that watched over it, cut a wide swath through the center of the city, starting at the Southern Gate and leading straight to the Royal Palace.

Queen Organa and her various guards and staffers had waited at the foot of the palace steps as they watched the Republic shuttle glide down to a gentle landing a respectable distance in front of them.

Flanking the street was a veritable army of Aldera citizens, Gungans and Republic Aid workers who had arrived in the previous days to help restore Aldera City from the destruction the Trade Federation had wrought.  The clean-up efforts had already begun.

The fires had been extinguished, the debris was being swept up.  Alderaan was resuming her royal demeanor.  Padme herself had shunned her formal regalia for this meeting.  She had spent the morning helping to patch and paint a school that had been deemed unprofitable by the Trade Federation.  She was glad to trade her makeup for the dirt and grime of the recovery.

The shuttle’s egress ramp extended and a pair of Republic guards exited and gave a salute to the Alderaanians.  Captain Panaka and the guards dutifully returned the courtesy.

Next stepped out a steady stream of Jedi.  Padme recognized Master Windu from one of Obi-Wan’s descriptions.  The others were unknown to her.  She counted almost a dozen.

Following the Jedi was a political triumvirate.  She was familiar with Secretary Palpatine and of course she knew Senator Antilles.  They flanked the Supreme Chancellor himself.  His entourage of staffers and sycophants trailed out only after he’d approached the Queen.

“Your Royal Highness, the Republic congratulates you on expelling the Trade Federation invasion.”

“I’m just glad the Senate has acknowledged there was an invasion,” she replied.

“A terrible error on our part, Your Majesty.  One the Senate will do its best to rectify, I assure you.”

“Well, we’ll be needing some equipment, but I think we have enough scrap metal,” Padme said, smiling as she nodded towards a pile of deactivated battle droids.

“Just so, Your Majesty,” said the Chancellor.

“I leave it to you and the Senator to work on an aid package.  I’m afraid I must speak with the Jedi who have accompanied you,” Padme said.

She gave a polite nod, but turned to address Master Windu, “Sir, I’m Queen Organa.  On behalf of my people, you have our sincerest thanks.  Without the help you provided us, we would have perished at the hands of the Trade Federation.”

Mace Windu seemed a bit surprised to have the Queen’s attention, “Thank you, Your Majesty.  We’ll continue to help in whatever ways we can.”

“You can start by ensuring Nute Gunray will face justice,” Padme said.  Behind her, a pair of guards handed the Viceroy over to the Republic Guards.

“It will be done.  Could I trouble you for the whereabouts of Padawan Kenobi?”

“Obi-Wan is in mourning.  He accepted an offer from the Gungan chiefs.  They are preparing the body of Master Jinn in accordance with your traditions.”

“May the Force be with him,” Windu answered.

A moment of silence passed between them as they honored the fallen hero.

Windu’s look moved from sadness to tension as he broke the stillness.

“Milady, there is one more thing we would appreciate,”

Padme smiled, “By all means, what can I get for you?”

“I’m told this palace has a fine observation hall,” Windu said.

“With a grand view of the city and stars,” Padme confirmed.

“Might we use it for a short ceremony?”

* * *

The city lights were not as radiant as they once had been.  As such, the observation hall was not drowned in light, but had a rather muted feel.  Aldera City and the valley and mountains beyond spread out like a carpet from under the large windows that ringed the room.  Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself nervous as he entered the space, unsure of what to expect.

When the door shut behind him, for a moment he was blinded.  The dim light would take a moment to adjust to.  Before he could focus, suddenly the room was lit with the glow of lightsabers.

Each member of the council stood in a ring around the young Padawan.  All held their sabers up in salute.  As Obi-Wan turned to see each one, a booming voice from ahead of him gave him instruction.

“Padawan Kenobi, step forward.”

Reverently, Obi-Wan came to the center of the room and settled on one knee.  As he lowered himself, the various sabers that surrounded him completed their salute.  Master Windu approached to stand before him.  His purple blade, singular among the Jedi, moved slowly to Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“Be without fear in the face of your enemies.  Be brave in the light of the Force.  Defend justice, wisdom and the helpless.  Walk in peace and honor life.  That is your oath.”

Windu moved his blade to Obi-Wan’s opposite shoulder and with a quick swipe, cut the Padawan braid that Kenobi had worn for years.  Obi-Wan tried not to flinch as the blade singed his hair.

“And that is so you remember it,” Windu said.  “By the will of the Force, rise a Jedi, and Knight of the Republic.”

Under the light of a thousand stars rose Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight.

* * *

                Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile as he stepped off of the shuttle and onto the crunchy snows of Ilum.  Ahead stood the academy.  It had been years since he’d seen this place, but he knew every inch of it by heart.

He came through the main entrance and the doors closed behind him.  He took a moment to shake off the snow and let the warm air wash over him.  He was pleased to see Master Kelleran Beq approaching.  Master Beq had been a mentor to him in his years of study.  Now he was the leader of this academy.

Image Credit: Kala Elizabeth

                “Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi!” Master Beq called, approaching his old student with arms open, taking him in with a warm embrace.

“So good to see you again,” Obi-Wan said.

“And you as well, my first student.  When you left here you were only half this height,” Beq said with a grin.

“And you were a third year instructor on Jedi history,” Obi-Wan said.

“It seems the Force has smiled on us both,” Beq said.

“I’ve come for…” Obi-Wan started.

“Oh, I know why you’ve come.  Your young friend has impressed all of his instructors,” Beq said, walking down the main hallway with Obi-Wan at his side.

“Qui-Gon saw potential in him,” Obi-Wan said.

“As do we,” Beq replied.

“Is he ready?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Were you?  Was I?  What did we know of ‘ready’?” Beq said, spitting out the last word as if it had left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Your impression of Master Yoda needs work,” Obi-Wan said with a grin.

“Well, if there was ever a place to improve one’s skills…” Beq said, letting the thought hang.

“True,” Obi-Wan said.  “Did you tell him about Qui-Gon?”

Beq shook his head, “He told me.”

“He sensed it?”

“Strong in the Force, that one,” Beq said, by way of explanation.

Obi-Wan reevaluated the young man that he’d come to collect, “May I see him?”

“Of course.  It’s time,” Beq said, gesturing towards an open door.  Obi-Wan saw Anakin, his face shielded with a blast helmet, defending himself from a swarm of remotes.  His blue lightsaber was darting back and forth with amazing speed and accuracy as he deflected the bolts that were randomly spat at him.

As Obi-Wan entered, Anakin turned off his blade and removed the helmet.  The half-dozen training remotes rose to the ceiling.

Anakin moved to Obi-Wan and hugged him just as Master Beq had.

“I’m so sorry about Qui-Gon,” he said.

Obi-Wan nodded and patted the younger man on the back, “The Force will be with him, always.”

As they disengaged, Anakin looked and saw the singed wisps of Obi-Wan’s hair.

“You’ve been knighted,” Anakin said.

“The council considered the defeat of a Sith to be enough of a trial,” Obi-Wan said.

“Does this mean…?” Anakin asked.

“I have a promise to keep, to an old friend.  Let me teach you, my brother in the Force.”

Together, Obi-Wan and Anakin departed to meet their destiny.