The Hidden Side - Nanaille - Star Wars (2024)

Chapter 1: A conclusion

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan crashed against the wall and coughed blood.

Dust fell, swirling lazily in the crepuscular sunlight. He righted himself gingerly while swallowing the metallic tang invading his mouth. Air was saturated by the smell of ozone and the sweetness of decay. Marking the use of the dark side.

Everything was under control.

Huddled in a heap against the luxurious paneling, dignity and false politician veneer completely forgotten, Sidious considered him with a piercing stare. The yellow of his eyes was shining with a furious intensity. Anger, disdain, hate. All those emotions were clear in the Force, and potent enough to saturate the air with their stench.

The Sith Lord swiped his eyes free of blood.

Obi-Wan was injured, but his opponent wasn’t faring much better: Obi-Wan had scored a few lucky hits.

Sidious wasn't invincible after all. Obi-Wan had so doubted his ability to change things that he had almost come to believe that fighting was futile. He let out a sudden mirthless laugh, the surge of emotion irrepressible despite the stinging pain searing his ribs.

Sidious snarled, and reacted to his provocation by launching a lightning attack, the strike crisscrossing the air in a violent crack.

With a sudden breath, Obi-Wan straightened his saber to absorb the hit, directing the surge of energy down to the ground with a quick flick of his wrist. Sidious was an expert in illusions and combo attacks, and while Obi-Wan focused on defusing the electricity, he had to divide his attention to deflect psychic assaults raining down non-stop on his mental shields.

Gritting his teeth, Obi-Wan seized a chair with the Force, hurled it at his opponent, and leaped a split second later to engage in close combat.

When at a disadvantage, attack. There was no higher ground here, and he couldn't afford to stay on the defensive.

Not with an enemy like Sidious.

Obi-Wan launched a series of randomly paced attacks, some strokes being so fast that his blade became blurred with speed. Sidious responded in kind, perfectly able to follow his pace while throwing random psychic attacks at Obi-Wan. Sidious was a powerful enemy: besides being an outstanding duelist, he was a master of psychic combat.

The fight occurred simultaneously on the physical and mental planes, and the slightest lapse in focus could lead to Obi-Wan’s demise.

But Obi-Wan had been waiting for this moment all his life.

He had come prepared.

Drawing on the vast resources and knowledge he had accumulated over his two lives, Obi-Wan threw back his share of potent spells to deflect the onslaught. His long studies of the dark arts and the ancient artifacts he had patiently collected had given him the means to overcome this battle.

Or so he hoped.

His mask, for instance, and the particularities of his mind were helping him defuse parts of the psychic onslaught.

And Obi-Wan knew his opponent well.

Sidious couldn't say the same about him. He was a total unknown, until ten minutes ago when Sidious had decided to attack him while Obi-Wan had hoped to lay one more step of his carefully thought-out plan. Obi-Wan hadn’t wanted to engage Sidious this early, but the circ*mstances had decided otherwise.

And here he was, finally in the heart of the battle he had dreaded and waited for all his life.

Sidious was a formidable opponent. Obi-Wan couldn’t have dreamed of defeating him without his extensive preparation. The Sith Lord wielded his fury and hatefulness like weapons to power his relentless attacks.

One slipped by his defenses, and crashed against one of the spiritual pillars supporting the edifice of Obi-Wan’s psychic fortress. It destabilized him and made him lose his pace. Obi-Wan struggled to regain his balance, and broke the engagement with a backward flip to gather his diminishing strength.

"You, pathetic lifeform. I’ll take great pleasure in breaking and sullying everything you are and hold dear,” Sidious sneered. “You will pay for your hubris and insolence. But first, you will drop this ridiculous mask and show your face!" he yelled, sending a forceful Force thrust to remove the garment, concealing Obi-Wan’s features and protecting his mind.

Obi-Wan responded with an opposing shove in the Force, and for a few seconds, they struggled, locked in a duel of will. Sidious added to his attack a mental assault, like a cloying mist functioning as a corrosive agent, insidious in its action. It permeated psychic walls, finding the finest cracks to seep through, which proved very effective in the long run against the best mental defenses. His mask would be ineffective against it. Obi-Wan recognized the attack for what it was: a run against time.

He had to end the confrontation, and soon.

He gathered all of his strength, physical and mental, and activated the Kyber shard he wore as a pendant with a slight mental push. It discharged twenty years of carefully stored energy in the form of a pure beam of plasma, so powerful it blinded like a sun. At close range, Sidious had no time to dodge and chose to raise an impenetrable shield instead, a potent Sith spell that nothing could break through for a limited time.

The dark lord chuckled, mocking. “Ooooh, what a shame, all this effort for nothing. I recognize you have talent, my young friend.” A cruel smirk distorted his face, “We could dominate the galaxy if we join forces. You may consider becoming my apprentice, and you shall have power.” He punctuated his tirade with a new lightning attack that somehow escaped his shield. “Far more power than you can imagine!”

These meaningless promises were a cheap attempt to buy time, Obi-Wan knew. Maintaining this powerful shield required all of the caster's resources. But Sidious had only to wait for his psychic curse to take hold, and Obi-Wan couldn’t afford to play the long game.

He directed his attention to the room’s various elements, outrageously luxurious goods and furniture in the process of being thoroughly ruined. Pushing through the mental destabilization, Obi-Wan connected fully with the Force, took hold of all he could seize with his mind, and projected rubble and material against Sidous’ shield to explode. He turned the debris into a howling whirlwind of destruction that forced the dark lord to hold his spell for a few more seconds. The psychic attack was taking effect: Obi-Wan sensed his defenses crumbling et dissolving.

The heaviness of despair rose in him, threatening his capacity to maintain his nimbleness and flexibility in combat.

He could not fail, not so close to the goal. He had a duty, a mandate to the galaxy. The fate of everything was holding with the last thread of his will. He closed his eyes, and chose to put all of his resources in a last bet. He drew the dregs of his waning mental strength to give him a boost of energy, and instantly deployed it to fracture the permacrete floor to destabilize his enemy's footing. The building shook, ominous creakings vibrated through the structure, and then the floor collapsed. Sidious roared in rage and launched himself into the air, instantly dropping his shield to pursue Obi-Wan who had taken refuge on a steel beam.

The howling wind rushed into the devastated room. Obi-Wan could vaguely hear screams beyond the door he had taken care of barricading before attacking Sidious.

He flew to meet his opponent and released his blade with a powerful blow, which Sidous stopped with his red saber in a shower of sparks. Sidious’ frail appearance was only an illusion, the dark lord had long resorted to enhancing his body via Sith alchemy. Locked in a standstill, Obi-Wan took the opportunity to free his left hand and apply it to his enemy's face. As soon as their skins made contact, Obi-Wan launched a last psychic attack, powering it by drawing the energy contained within his soul-kyber. In doing so, he was putting everything he had on the table, in this last bet for victory. He felt his mind fracture, dangerously weakened by the strain, but chose to go further and didn’t stop his assault.

Powered by the crystalline puissance, the battering blow finally crushed his enemy's mental defenses. Sidious let out a howl of agony that echoed through the Force itself, his eyes rolling back and lighting up as if burning from within. Pure malevolence exploded, directed at Obi-Wan, whose spirit was entangled with the mind of his enemy. He preferred to maintain his attack rather than disengage. He began to scream himself, pain, rage, and grief fueling the final seconds of his assault. In a last-ditch effort, he unpowered his blade for a microsecond, only to reactivate it immediately. Sidious’ blade sank deep into his left shoulder, but Obi-Wan twisted to minimize the range of the blow while he operated a blind, desperate swipe of his lightsaber.

An instant, suspended in a moment of eternity, as Sidious’ head detached from his body.

Malice and hatred erupted and expanded brutally while the corpse fell into oblivion. Too weakened to dodge, Obi-Wan endured the full force of the death curse, adding dangerously to the severe damage he was already sporting. He dropped to his knees on the thin ledge hung over the howling void, in a precarious balance, his vision blurring and graying out.

He wouldn’t, couldn’t pass out.

Badly wounded, his shoulder burning terribly, he tried to gather a fortifying breath. The pain spiked, and an uncontrollable spasm shook his body, which tilted dangerously. Obi-Wan took a desperate hold of a crevice to right himself. He waited for the wave of pain and dizziness to recede. He could hear the sirens of the security forces approaching by air, and the frantic shouting behind the office door. A distant part of his brain continued to supply him with strategic details. The logical next step was for the security forces to use explosives to break into the chancellor's office. He was too deeply wounded to care much about that.

Obi-Wan pressed his right hand against his shoulder wound, but he couldn't summon enough power to initiate a healing spell. His fractured mind lacked the footing to grab even the lightest wisp of the Force, even if he vaguely perceived the ever-present danger and the intense sense of urgency pressing against his tattered shields.

A deafening explosion knocked down the massive double doors, and a contingent of clones entered the room in a coordinated and efficient manner. They situated themselves on the border of the pit, ripping open the area and keeping thankfully Obi-Wan at bay. The yellow radiance of his saber offered a fair counterpoint to the failing rays of twilight.

“Freeze! Drop your weapon!”

Obi-Wan hadn’t a single witty line to offer, too exhausted to think. He doubted he could muster the strength to power his voice to get audible over the furious howls of the wind anyway. He couldn’t afford to get captured and interrogated, not while rendered almost delirious by his injuries. He let go of his hold and tilted backward, dropping suddenly into the void, followed by blaster shots.

]o[

Obi-Wan ducked into the shadow of a parapet, letting a patrol pass. He couldn't remain static, as he no longer had the strength to maintain a stealth spell or his glamour. All security forces were probably searching for him. The Jedi had to be involved already, and they were likely able to track him with the Force. He was leaking on the psychic side, shields in tatters, and a deep slash on his thigh was bleeding profusely. An architectural ridge had ripped his leg open during his first less-than-controlled fall. His makeshift bandage was doing a poor job of staunching the flow.

Anyone with a modicum of tracking skill would be able to follow him, and Obi-Wan wasn’t okay with that.

He was trying to scramble his trail by operating drops to sink as far as possible into the depths of Coruscant. He was aiming for one of his safe houses, but was disoriented and needed directions. He had lost his secured comm in the confusion, and feared he had left it where someone could retrieve it. He would worry about it later. The pain and nausea induced by the psychic shock kept him from ordering his thoughts. He had to stay out of sight and out of surveillance systems, which were sadly ubiquitous on Coruscant.

Taking off his mask was too risky right now, the artifact helping him to keep his frayed mind in one piece. He had no doubt he was now recognizable, since the clones would have immediately broadcasted a visual of their target. He had to keep moving.

Every movement sent a jolt of pain, despite the general numbness gaining his body. He had suffered too much damage and needed urgent care. He dropped in a more or less controlled fall into a small alley, which was unfortunately not empty of passers-by. He absorbed the kinetic energy with a roll, jostling his shoulder, and crashed into a group of persons with a pained cry. There were yelps of anger and surprise, while Obi-Wan tried to disentangle his limbs from one humanoid to stand back up. He growled in anger, and violently pushed the person away.

“Hey, excuse yourself!” the being cried, radiating aggression in the Force. Obi-Wan was too rushed to exercise patience and diplomacy, and kicked back the being in the face with a satisfying crack. The other passers-by ran away with frightened cries. He rolled his victim over and stripped them of their hooded jacket. He could use it to obscure his silhouette.

Obi-Wan walked briskly out of the alley while draping the jacket over his shoulders and head. Despite his limp, he mimicked the confident gait of someone who knows where they are going and has every reason to be where they are. He wouldn't be able to hold the masquerade for very long. He just needed to access a wider artery to find his bearings. He emerged onto what looked like a boulevard, mildly crowded at this hour, and squinted through his mask in an attempt to catch a glimpse of a familiar landmark or indication. He headed for a public transport stop, which was bound to have a map.

Suddenly, general sirens blared, covering the constant hustle of the city. Passers-by stopped to express fear and confusion. The giant advertising billboards went dark, and flashed back to display Obi-Wan’s image, taken a few minutes earlier.

“Attention citizens, an extremely dangerous individual is on the loose. Please, report immediately to the authorities if you have sighted them.”

Obi-Wan swore, lowered his head, and rushed toward the station. The adrenaline was helping him keep his focus, but his energy reserves were dangerously low. The map showed a part of the city he was reasonably familiar with, and he took a few seconds to orient himself. He would need to continue toward the south, and drop two more levels. He would soon find himself in the alley he was looking for.

Fearful cries rang out, and Obi-Wan suddenly felt the attention on him. Someone had spotted him. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, keeping the pain and exhaustion away. For a limited time.

The Force was screaming confusing and contradictory messages at him, and his trashed mind could no longer defend itself against its battering. The elation he had felt at Sidious death was tainted by fear, anger, and exhaustion. Despite his extensive preparation over more years than Obi-Wan could care to count, a part of him still hadn't really believed he could finally accomplish his goal. He hadn't thought about the rest of the operations if, by chance, he succeeded in his plan and survived it.

There he was, running the street of Coruscant like a criminal. He did not doubt he would be treated like one if caught. The exhaustion was so intense that he was tempted to give up, just to have a chance to rest. Obi-Wan fought against the idea but feared his mind and body would not allow him to continue running much longer. He could think about his plans later, when he's gotten out of trouble.

He shoved passers-by in his haste, slicing through the crowd, keeping his frame sideways to protect his injured shoulder. He perceived the concern of the population, set in an aggressive seething which prevented him from clearly reading the intentions and the people’s movement and intentions. Obi-Wan continued losing blood, but he couldn't do anything about it. He could only focus on his escape.

He was finally approaching a point of the square that gave him an extensive view of the surroundings, and he recognized specific landmarks. Despite his limp, he began to quicken his pace in preparation for a dive, when several military speeders suddenly loomed up in front of him, pointing blinding searchlights in his direction. The Force hadn’t warned him.

"Down!"

The civilians screamed and scattered, mostly obeying the order and leaving Obi-Wan exposed and vulnerable. He was in the middle of a square, far from actual cover and ten meters off the edge of the street.

Obi-Wan froze and unclipped his lightsaber, unable to protect his eyes from the aggressive light, and unable to use or read the Force. Fine, he would resort to pure instinct and experience, he had those in spades. He had to flee before the Jedi were deployed in pursuit.

“Drop your weapon now, or we will fire!”

Obi-Wan raised his hand and tried to use the Force to send one of the speeders flying at the other, but his move lacked power and only contributed to slightly destabilizing one of the aircraft. The clones didn’t delay before retaliating by opening fire.

Obi-Wan activated his saber, and fell automatically in the well-known moves of Soresu, the defense form. He could execute the most subtle and complicated maneuvers flawlessly even when badly injured, and keep up the pace for as long as necessary. Well, he was right now far beyond the state of “badly injured” and didn’t have much endurance just to continue walking. He had to break the fight fast. He didn't want to return blaster fire to the clones, and directed all the bolts to the same harmless point on the floor.

Despite his wounds, he found his footing, allowing him to move slowly toward the edge of the street again. He had to pull through, but exhaustion threatened, and the temptation to surrender grew stronger.

He gathered his strength and as much control as he could, and performed a desperate Force leap that landed him on top of one of the speeders, amid fumbling soldiers. He rolled and slammed against the control panel, causing the device to spin the aircraft immediately. Taking advantage of the confusion, he took the opportunity to knock one of the clones down, and grab his blaster. He fired into the fray without taking care to aim precisely, solely to sow chaos in enemy ranks. In the same motion, he jumped to the other side and dove right through the pile of busy lanes. The air hissed in his ears as he picked up speed, and he focused all his attention on deviating minutely from his course to dodge the numerous speeders and aircraft. He had left his enemies higher, but the clones were fast and quick-thinking. He knew they were still after him.

]o[

After controlling his fall to crash into a leisure boat, and intimidating the occupants and the driver droid, Obi-Wan disembarked in a relatively quiet street. Staying out in the open wasn’t the smart choice, and he needed to find cover. A crowd in a building would do. He scanned the surroundings, and located various recreational establishments nearby. He tried to control his limp and walked into what seemed to be a bar or a nightclub, not filtering entries. Strobing colored lights and heavy beating sounds welcomed him. People of diverse and dubious origins packed the place. It was sufficiently into the bowels of Coruscant to be under most of the Judicial radars. Law enforcers would not be welcome here.

Perfect. Obi-Wan could move more easily here, and, with a bit of luck, not raise suspicion. He knew his trail was fresh and would not deter his pursuers. He only had a few minutes to find a place to change clothes and alter his silhouette. He was currently wearing a form-fitting black and his full mask. He had penetrated the Chancellor’s office with heavy and fashionable robes, which he had got rid of as soon as the battle had begun to keep his movement the less impaired. He was reluctant to take off his mask. In a city like Coruscant, it was impossible to know what was recording your image or your voice, and Obi-Wan couldn't afford to take that risk and see his public image be associated with the murder of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. He would need something different to camouflage his face, and make the transfer in a quiet corner. A helmet or a respirator would do just fine.

Obi-Wan shivered. He was cold despite the overheated atmosphere of the club. He knew he was in a state of general shock, and was running purely under adrenalin. He had to get to safety before unconsciousness caught up with him. Grimacing, he made his way through the crowd, and reached the opposite side of the entryway. He walked toward what seemed to be part of the building housing accommodations and dressing rooms. The loud music was muffled when he let the door close behind him, but not enough to drown the commotion and clamors that erupted suddenly. It wasn’t necessarily linked to his escape, but he would not take the chance.

Obi-Wan had to hurry. He entered an empty dressing room lined with mirrors, cluttered with different outfits. He was lucky. He selected a cloak and a respirator while trying to assess whether an electronic device was recording, but the response he expected from the Force was confused and unreadable. He still could not rely on his Force skills. He pulled off his torn and bloodstained outfit, as carefully as possible, to look at the damage. The wound didn’t look good, and that was an understatement. A wave of dizziness immediately hit him.

He let his brow fall against the cool, metallic surface of the cupboard. He wished he could just stop and let oblivion take him, adrift in the flow of the Force. Control slipped away from him, as if he were the most noxious of initiates. The delicate dexterity required for most Force techniques was impossible for him to achieve in his condition.

Despite his preparation and the mask that had diverted the brunt of Sidious’ assault, the psychic battle had cost him dearly. His soul-kyber was wounded, and Obi-Wan would need rapidly to assess the damage. He felt that the dissonance emitted could be harmful in the long way. It certainly didn’t help to relieve his nasty headache.

All in all, he was in awful shape. But the whole undertaking was worth the sacrifice, even if he ended up losing his life. He had accomplished the main objective.

He let out an irrepressible cough, and the tremors that shook his body revived the pain. He had a few Force infusions on him, but they were sadly not healing spells. He hadn’t found the right formula for stabilizing Cure infusions. Granted, he hadn’t seen himself quite in this type of predicament before, and it hadn’t been a priority while doing his diverse research. He was paying dearly for his oversight, but regrets wouldn’t help him right now.

He tucked his mask away, safely in an inside pocket of his tunic, and put on the respirator. He covered his shoulders with the cloak. He could go back with the flow and try to mingle with the crowd, but he feared a systematic search. The establishment would have several entrances and exits; he simply had to navigate with intelligence, and in the least remarkable way possible. Illuminated panels mentioned an emergency exit nearby, and he followed a deserted corridor.

Obi-Wan kicked open the emergency door, leading into an alleyway cluttered with containers, garbage, and, sadly, a squad of Clones. They aimed immediately at him.

“Halt! Hands up!"

Obi-Wan swore silently and closed his eyes in despair. Exhaustion won over him. He didn't want to play his last card, but it seemed he would not have a choice. This solution was a last resort, a fail-safe he had put in place to foil the one trump card of Sidious’ plan.

He raised his hands as ordered, not without a grimace of pain when the move strained his shoulder.

"What is this about?"

“Hands against the wall, now. We will proceed to a body search. Resist, and we will arrest you, by exceptional power granted by the high command of the senate.”

“You waste your time with me, gentlemen,” Obi-Wan desperately tried to deploy the Force suggestion, but he felt the idea fail to take in the Force. “I”m not the one you’re looking for. Let me pass.” He took a step in their direction.

“Scans show right thigh and shoulder wounds. It matches the description. Neutralize the target!” The soldiers opened fire without further warning.

Thanks to decades of keeping his back and trusting his instincts, Obi-Wan reacted in pure reflex. He activated his saber to deflect the bolts, all in the blink of an eye.

The shots rained down on him like a storm. His precarious position, added to his many injuries, impaired his speed and flexibility. One of the bolts hit him in his wounded leg, foiling his balance. He grunted as he stumbled on his knees.

He had to react or give up. Shutting his eyes and swearing in despair, he cried:

“Execute Order alpha-sigma-theta: override !”

Instantly, the clones ceased their attack and reared up, at attention.

“Good Soldiers follow orders,” they shouted in unison.

Exhausted and overwhelmed by pain, Obi-Wan no longer had the resources to maintain the iron control he usually exercised in all circ*mstances.

He whispered, grief-stricken, “You shall get me to safety for as long as I need. No one should know where I am.”

“Yes, Overlord.”

Chapter 2: Repurposing

Chapter Text

The squad consisted of five men. They had supported him all the way through the safe house, a tiny apartment in a residential area. With their comm, they were able to trace the movement of the other deployed troops and choose a safe pathway. He knew he needed to send them back quickly, because their behavior was deviating obviously from the intended path. Undoubtedly, the person in charge of the coordination and deployment would soon notice that something was amiss.

Obi-Wan lay on a makeshift bed fashioned out of an old sofa, where a soldier tended to his injuries. He had lost consciousness halfway through the procedure, but he hadn’t been out for long between the injected stim and adrenaline. He still felt an odd feeling of disorientation in his psyche, and it worried him. Dissonance pervaded his mind, feeding the awful headache. He examined one of his pendants and scrutinized his Soul-Kyber crystal in its bluish glow. To his dismay, he detected several small cracks that hadn't been present before, and it was concerning. His physical state prevented him from conducting a thorough analysis, so he placed the crystal against his chest and let it rest there.

Sense of safety eluded him; he wasn’t comfortable sharing the space with Clones troopers.

Each clone in the grand army had their own unique way of standing out from one another, often derived from a personal experience that led to their chosen moniker. However, as he looked upon their frozen and emotionless faces, he couldn't discern any of these individual traits. In a single sentence, he had reduced them to mere automatons, devoid of any sense of identity.

They seemed like simple, personality-less entities, devoid of individuality, responding instantly without discussion to any of his wishes. The perfect slaves.

With a heavy heart, he clenched his teeth and let out a deep sigh, berating himself for his decision. Though he couldn't think of any alternative courses of action, he still felt responsible for the outcome. The thought crossed his mind that it might have been better to end their lives instead, allowing them to die as free men.

The Force continued to elude him, but its tumult was noticeably less chaotic, and he could sense some information that made sense again. The five men facing him and standing at attention were empty in the Force. They were alive, but they lacked the vibration of intention, of free will that characterized all sentient creatures.

Obi-Wan had committed a grave offense against his values by this regrettable decision. Throughout his extensive life, he had made countless choices that slowly pushed him closer to the very thing he was fighting against.

He closed his eyes, fighting nausea and dizziness. He knew he needed to regain his strength first to analyze the situation more effectively and decide what to do next. Regardless of the numerous intricately laid plans he had formulated over the years, he had failed to consider this aspect of the situation. Doubts had always lingered in his mind regarding his ability to achieve his ultimate objective. As a result, he had never allowed himself to ponder what would happen after Sidious' demise.

Despite the dark lord being finally out of the game, he couldn't help but feel an odd sense of emptiness. After achieving his ultimate goal, his euphoria was short-lived, replaced by a pressing need to save his life and maintain appearances. He had a whole organization to repurpose now that his enemy was eliminated. It would have to wait. For the moment, he knew that he needed to focus on rest and recovery, rather than devising complex strategies.

Obi-Wan got up gingerly, and went to the ‘fresher to splash cold water on his face. He took the opportunity to rinse his hands and his blood-covered chest. He dried himself off, gently dabbing a towel around the edge of his wound, and pulled on a fresh linen shirt. He completed his outfit with his leather belt and woolen robe, and examined his appearance in the mirror. His features were pale and drawn, and his eyes were bloodshot. He carefully replaced the neural-headband, which was designed to prevent the onset of an epileptic seizure. He pulled on his hood to obscure his features and sighed. To regain some semblance of good health, he knew he would have to abstain from social activities for a while.

He turned to the men who hadn't moved an inch, rigid in their armor.

“Your orders are to return to your unit and resume normal activities, without disclosing what happened. You must follow your superiors' orders, except those that may put me in danger. Do you understand?”

“Understood, Overlord.”

Clenching his fists, he silently vowed to find a way to make amends to these men. But even with the direct order, he wasn't sure if they could ever return to a semblance of normal life. What was done was done, and Obi-Wan knew he couldn't undo the past.

]o[

In the Force, the city vibrated with an unusual clamor, subdued and oddly frantic at the same time. Civilians had mostly evacuated the streets. Those who remained walked quickly with their heads bowed, eager to regain some semblance of safety by returning to their home. Obi-Wan blended in, adopting their hurried gait despite his wounds, exhaustion and pain. He was used to operating under duress, and his respite had done wonders for his general efficiency. Finally, he reached a taxi station, and tried to hail the few remaining vehicles, but they were closed off or already occupied.

Obi-Wan stifled a curse. He didn’t look forward to the long walk but seemed deprived of a choice here. So he undertook the grueling journey of long walking episodes interspersed with taking the elevator to return to the upper district. The pain radiating from his shoulder was still acute despite the earlier sedation, and his headache wasn’t faring much better.

His grip on the Force had improved marginally. He was still at the point where maintaining his most basic shields was difficult. But, given the circ*mstances, it would suffice for the moment, the priority being not leaking with problematic emotions and thoughts. He couldn't afford to draw attention to himself. All these years, he had taken care to remain as discreet and as unremarkable as possible. He wasn’t keen on throwing all his efforts into the water.

After a long hour that seemed endless to him, where he dragged his carcass through the streets of Coruscant, he finally arrived in the temple district. The area was, unfortunately, close to the Senate, whose surroundings were cordoned off by security forces. However, his appearance and status allowed him to pass through without difficulty.

The architectural spires loomed in the night, projecting deep shadows in the moonlight. He grimaced at the prospect of climbing the many steps to the Temple porch. Sweat covered his brow, and he had trouble regaining his breath. One idea monopolized his mind: reach his humble accommodation and let sleep soothe his screaming mind and body. He paused to take the time to release his pain and exhaustion in the Force, and entered the Temple.

The Force that swirled through the high halls of the Temple radiated conflicting emotions. The Jedi as a community was seemingly affected by the events. The waves of power stirred from restlessness, turmoil, and anticipation. Obi-Wan's flimsy shields were not enough to keep these emotions at bay, and his throbbing headache intensified with renewed strength.

As he walked past the familiar faces of his fellow Jedi, none of them stopped to acknowledge him. To almost everyone, he was just an anonymous Corpsman, who was occasionally spotted in the Archives, having spent the majority of his recent years in the distant Outer Rim. He was seen as a quiet, bookish figure who preferred to remain in the background, far from the spotlight and any notable accomplishments

This suited him just fine. He preferred to remain anonymous rather than be the sole survivor of the entire Order. He had long come to terms with the isolation he had imposed upon himself. The true friends he had known had perished a long time ago, victims of betrayal and blindness.

The present-day counterparts of those lost companions, who roamed the lengthy halls of the Temple, were merely shadows of their former selves. They were all on suspended sentences. Had been , he corrected himself. Despite the pain and exhaustion, a faint smile crept onto his lips. With Sidious no longer in power, perhaps he could start to view them in a new light. Anyhow, he had more pressing matters to attend to than ruminating on his personal relationships, or as he hesitated to say, his attachments.

He, at last, reached the Temple Corps section. It was a little removed from the heart of the building, and was occupied by the various trades keeping the community in working order, like a small village. This area was filled with anonymous like him, defined essentially by their specialty. They were all essential cogs in the smooth running of the micro-society that constituted their Temple.

The Jedi had a culture and a language of their own, spanning across millennia. Deeply linked to the existence of the Republic, it nevertheless pre-existed and remained stable thanks to the transcendence conferred by the cult of the Force. The traditions were strong, like the trunk of an ancient oak. Jedi had prevailed, protected by habits and customs, until they could not save themselves. The Sith had cleverly, insidiously hollowed out the oak, until the final hit, which ended the Order in a spectacular, dramatic collapse. Traditions had preserved them, but also constituted their weakness.

Years of exile in solitude had enabled thinking and studying. Obi-Wan had understood that immobility and centralization had contributed to the Jedi Order’s fall. Sidious, through the institutions of the Republic, had slowly reduced their prerogatives and autonomy. If the Jedi wished to perpetuate the precious culture that shaped the soul of every being who had set foot in this temple, they had to consider a more flexible tradition and accept the risk of a schism. United, they were robust but easily targeted. Divided, they would have less power but would be more resilient. Obi-Wan had seen many occurrences of various Force sects during his extensive travels, but sadly often weakened by rigid traditions. With the Empire, many had been hunted and reduced to nothing. Sidious had wielded cultural genocide with masterful cynicism.

He crossed the indoor square, decorated by a fountain, that distributed the many apartment sheltering his fellow Corpsmen, when a voice he knew well hailed him suddenly. “Archivist Kenobi!”

Obi-Wan cursed silently, closed his eyes to focus on composing his expression, and turned toward the fearsome Head of the Jedi Archives.

“Good evening Madam Nu. What can I do for you?”

“Where were you?” She asked. “I looked for you everywhere. I need the Sith Thesaurus for a translation, and last time I checked, it was in your possession.”

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing too dedicated Archivists and their obsessive-compulsive disorder. He knew perfectly well Madam Nu didn’t need the karking thesaurus. She just couldn’t tolerate knowing that one of her precious holobook wasn’t in its proper place. He snapped. “Can it wait until tomorrow? I'm afraid I'm suffering from a terrible migraine."

Madam Nu gave him a sharp look, her eyebrow raised. Since his return through time, Obi-Wan had been careful to cultivate a persona far from his real character. Obi-Wan Kenobi was known in this timeline for being an awkward person with poor social skills, afflicted by random epileptic seizures, and who needed a calm and low-stress life. This mask allowed him to slip away often: rarely seen and interacting, rarely in the preoccupations of others.

“It’s just…I’m counting on you tomorrow, then? Go and rest. You indeed look like hell.” She waved her hand in dismissal.

Obi-Wan knew she was caring, in her cold, distant way. He was too tired to smile properly, placating a fixed grin while he thanked her, before parting ways.

Finally, Obi-Wan arrived in the echoey corridor leading to his humble abode. He sighed in relief when the door closed behind him. The familiar space he was inhabiting since he got the job at the Archives was enshrouded in darkness. Despite being equipped with a cooking unit in a corner, it was more of a chamber than an apartment. It aligned with his preferences: better to have no unchecked space in his immediate vicinity. Since the decades spent hiding and fleeing, he was partial to easily defendable shelters.

The room did not have an actual outside window, unlike the larger living quarters accommodating more eminent members of the Order. At most, a screen could simulate the landscape outside, but Obi-Wan needed the stillness. Plain, opaque walls agreed with him. The burn of the tight knot of stress and the adrenaline coursing in his veins lessened, heightening the dizziness. He would not last much longer, and needed to prepare for a healing trance. He couldn’t even see himself summon sufficient energy to strip off his clothes and check his wound. He crashed on his narrow bed, enveloping himself in the blanket, and finally closed his eyes, letting the darkness swallow him.

]o[

Mace Windu was seated in his chair in the Council Chamber, and was massaging his temple. He was just beginning to recover from the severe migraine that had knocked him off his feet when the burst of the most significant shatterpoint he had ever experienced occurred. This event coincided with the assassination of Chancellor Palpatine, and while he wanted to believe that it would have a significant impact on the fate of the galaxy's inhabitants, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was something much more significant than just the loss of a prominent politician.

The High Council convened an emergency session for those who could make time, as many were absent due to the pressing circ*mstances. According to the initial reports from the security forces, the murderer of Palpatine was undoubtedly a Force user. They had no further information on the assassination itself, but they were able to view footage of the assassin fleeing and evading the soldiers who pursued them. Despite being visibly injured, the being displayed formidable skills and managed to disappear without a trace.

What the images showed pointed to an extremely worrying situation.

It was unclear who had injured the assassin despite their impressive abilities. There was speculation that they might be affiliated with the Separatists or another faction, but their agenda remained a mystery. What was particularly odd was that no terrorist group had claimed responsibility for the attack. The political ramifications of such a high-profile assassination would undoubtedly be significant, and any organization seeking leverage and reputation would not miss such an opportunity. However, it was still early, and only a few hours had passed since the event occurred. The night was still young, so it was possible that more information would emerge in the coming hours.

Mace had not yet had the opportunity to meditate on the full implications of the assassination of Chancellor Palpatine. However, he knew that its effects would be far-reaching and significant, impacting the galaxy in ways that were yet to be seen. The Force did not provide any specific answers, but the overall atmosphere had shifted dramatically, signaling that the balance of power had been disrupted in a significant way.

In the past few years, the Force had been shrouded in obscurity and felt murky, with a gradual change in its overall tone. The sudden tear in this insidious veil was revealing in itself, but Mace did not have any answers as to why this was happening. However, he couldn't help but feel that an oppressive lid had been suddenly lifted, and the Force had become considerably lighter since the shatterpoint occurred. Despite his reservations, Mace couldn't help but wonder why the death of the Supreme Chancellor was seemingly such good news to the Force. His thoughts were leading him down a dangerous path, and he wondered if there was more to Palpatine than the kind grandfather mask that he always flaunted.

“A Jedi matter, this situation is,” said Yoda. The wrinkles on his face were more profound than usual, and conveyed the preoccupied mood everyone was feeling.

"We can't waste any time," said Kit Fisto, he said urgently. "We need to send specialists to the scene immediately and collect any clues we can find."

Shaak Ti replied, "Palpatine's office is currently sealed by order of his security detail," . “Commander Fox seems ready to work with us.”

Windu nodded grimly. "We need to be assured that nobody will obstructing our investigation, and we have to begin now. The longer we delay, the more the traces we can collect will likely be disturbed and modified. This seems to be a complex affair, and we may be facing a massive conspiracy."

“Afford to wait, we can’t.” Yoda agreed.

Plo Koon spoke up. "The being didn't hurt anyone else besides Palpatine. We've seen the recording of the encounter with the Clone squad. It doesn't match what we know about dark side users."

"Our best specialists on the case, we need."

"I'll go, with Master Sinube," said Windu. "And perhaps Master Vos could join us, his talent with psychometry would undoubtedly be helpful. Master Tholme, could you contact him?"

"We also need to work with the Chancellor's security service," added Shaak Ti. "The Coruscant Guards are efficient and reliable, and Commander Fox could help coordinating the crisis center. We’ll need to pool all the elements we have."

"We'll meet again in a few hours," said Windu. "The rest of us need to be ready for deployment if the assassin is sighted. But do not engage. We can't afford to lose more Jedi in these troubled times."

]o[

Commander Fox, grim-faced, had been waiting for them at the Senate’s entrance hall, and had led them through the evacuated and secured corridors. Clones stood at attention outside the door, and moved aside when the Jedi team arrived. Mace tipped minutely his head in salute, and entered.

Palpatine's office looked like a battlefield. Lots of debris littered the rich carpeted floor. The monumental door was smashed in, and was only held together by a fragment of hinge. A pit ripped the floor open, and the transparisteel bay was gone entirely. Two clones were currently installing a tarp to block the yawning gap. Howling wind rumbled through the shattered room, stirring the dust and flapping the heavy hanging depicting events of ancient history. The furniture was turned over, broken, and sometimes clearly cut in two in what was distinctively lightsaber done. A smell of explosives permeated the air. Someone had installed spotlights in every corner of the room, and the harsh brightness left only a few deep shadows.

“We did our best not to modify anything in the scene.” Fox handed them a datapad. “We have gathered the elements that seemed relevant to us, in the recordings, so that you can also study them with your eyes.”

“Where is the Chancellor?” Mace asked while scanning the room.

“The body fell in the pit, and is currently two levels below. I have a team guarding the corpse. The Chancellor was beheaded. The first kinematic analysis indicates high probabilities that it had happened here.” He designated a yellow mark on a large steel beam sticking out of the floor and hanging over the void.

Mace approached, his companions flanking him. He peered down in the darkened pit. Unclear movement and light caught his eyes, but he couldn’t distinguish the details. He would have to go down later to inspect the body before its necessary removal.

Master Sinube thoughtfully hummed. He removed from his large robes a camera and set about taking pictures. Master Vos approached the wall decorated by the hanging and took off his gloves. He let his hands hover, not quite touching but more like soaking up the vibrations tinging the Force. "The Dark Side is powerful here.”

Mace felt it too. It wasn't the superficial scent that a dark side technique might leave. The darkness's influence was more profound than that, as if it permeated the Senate palace walls. Like in a Sith temple . But how could this be? The Jedi were regular visitors of the Senate, and they would have felt the peculiar coldness they associated with the Dark. Yet, no one had ever reported the slightest feeling of unease.

Without actually touching, Master Vos approached his hand of the various elements of the room methodically to scan everything.

Mace was reviewing the multiple footage sequences provided by Commander Fox: those recorded before and after the event. No doubt there were numerous hours of recording to examine, but the Commander had made an interesting preselection.

Master Sinube was eyeing a mound of broken wood with a bewildered expression, splintered beyond what could be salvageable. “I don’t know what happened here really, but I know it was violent, and I know it was not a one-sided battle. So, either there was a third party involved, either our good Chancellor was not who he appeared to be.”

It was very close to Mace’s own musings. The Force wasn’t clear, but the clues they had gathered tended to indicate only two protagonists in this affair. The beings that fought here were very powerful, and their battle had left clear imprints in the Force.

Master Vos abruptly halted along the woodwork behind the desk's original position. He traced the contour of a bas-relief. “There is something here,” he said while pushing the panel to reveal what appeared to be a safe door. He squinted to distinguish details. “Those lock dials… are those Sith characters?”

Mace peered above his shoulder and said: “I’m afraid so, my friend.”

“It seems Palpatine had a lot to hide. Or someone tried very hard to frame him.”

“I want our best analysts on the spot,” said Mace. “Commander Fox, this affair falls definitively in Jedi jurisdiction. This safe must remain untouched. I’m sure trying to open it could be hazardous. Yet, speed is important, and we must organize a crisis center. Master Vos, could you fetch Madam Nu from the Archives? We need her input.”

Vos groaned. “This late? She’ll have my hide.”

“Nonsense, this woman doesn’t sleep. Even so, we don’t have the luxury of waiting for the morning. This matter takes precedence.”

Master Vos grumbled but complied, and left the office briskly.

Mace turned toward Fox. “Commander, could you lead us to Palpatine’s corpse?”

The body had fallen two levels before crashing against the round table of a ruined conference room. The destruction of the ceiling had ruptured water canalizations, soaking everything. Someone had cut the alimentation, but they could hear the drip drip drip punctuating every second. The head had rolled to a corner, and rested in a puddle, the visage facing the wall.

Mace took a rapid look, releasing his disgust to the Force. A hideous grimace distorted the Chancellor’s features. They were scarred and deformed, barely recognizable. Palpatine looked like he had suddenly aged several decades in one go.

“I’m not that much into politics but… is the Chancellor supposed to look like this?” Master Sinube whispered. "What could have caused such a drastic change in his appearance?"

Mace knelt down in the water, and carefully extended his hand toward the body-less head. He closed his eyes to feel the waves of the Force, tasting its flavor. He had the impression of plunging his hand into a stream of frigid water. He hissed: “He reeks of the dark side.”

Master Sinube pressed a supporting hand on his shoulder. “I have trouble making peace with the idea, but everything seems to tell the same story. Maintaining the utmost prudence is paramount. Maybe we would need to keep…” Sinube paused, troubled. “...certain realities under folds. The Republic’s stability may be at stake.”

“We need to conduct a full inquiry on Chancellor Palpatine. Everything we can have on him. We’ll probably need a warrant to search his personal quarters. Commander Fox, could you fill an urgent request to the Coruscant Prosecution Service?” asked Mace. “We have to move the body to the Temple for further examination. We need to be wary of the possibility of a Sith curse, and isolate the body in a containment chamber.”

]o[

Obi-Wan woke up with a start. Someone was knocking hard on his door and saying his name urgently. He groaned and grimaced: his migraine had not subsided. He checked his timer: barely two hours had passed since his return, and his healing trance had only a minimal effect. At least the pain had receded a little, but his energy reserves were still dangerously low. He straightened up carefully, kept his left arm against his body, put on a large robe to partially conceal his condition, and walked to the entrance to open his door.

Madam Nu faced him, and Quilan Vos stood beside her. Obi-Wan stiffened. The shock felt like a jump of icy water thrown in his face. He checked his shield to keep him from leaking his turmoil to the Force. Quinlan Vos didn’t know of him in this timeline. Obi-Wan had kept his distance, but in the unfolding of his many plans, he had meddled a little to keep Quinlan from disappearing.

After all, he had amassed considerable resources to support his machinations, and a non-negligible part was devoted to keeping certain key persons safe. Including Qui-Gong and Anakin. So Quinlan still haunted the corridors of the Temple, and it was the first time Obi-Wan really faced him since his return. Naturally, he was somewhat wary of Quinlan’s psychometry. What information would he be able to pick if the Kiffar were too close to his Force Infusions? Or worse, of his Soul-Kyber?

"How can I help you, fellow Jedi? I reckon that you know of the ungodly hour?" Obi-Wan greeted.

“Kenobi, sorry to bother you, but this is a matter of galactic importance,” Madam Nu said, looking apologetic. “The High Council is requesting your presence. I know of your ailment, but, unfortunately, you cannot rest.”

Obi-Wan held his breath. Could the Jedi have uncovered his trail?

“We need your expertise in Sith language and artifacts,” said Quinlan. “We came across a…worrying collection here on Coruscant.”

Obi-Wan suppressed a sigh of relief, but he still couldn’t see why it would be this urgent.

"How is that a matter of galactic importance?”

Silence fell for a few seconds, until Madam Nu elbowed Quilan’s side. He said: “We need your help investigating Chancellor Palpatine’s murder.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “What?”

Chapter 3: To be of Service

Chapter Text

Silence fell for a few seconds, until Madam Nu elbowed Quilan’s side. He said: “We need your help investigating Chancellor Palpatine’s murder.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “What?”

“The Chancellor was assassinated in the evening, and it seems that it was the work of an unknown Force user, maybe a darksider. We have little time to gather as much data as possible before the track gets cold,” said Quinlan, his voice cutting through the tense silence that hung in the air like a heavy cloak.

Obi-Wan shut his eyes. He couldn’t believe it was happening to him. Unfortunately, though, he hadn’t quite anticipated making his move tonight. Sidious’ paranoia had made the situation go bad very quickly. Obi-Wan had planned to use one of his personas to plant a surveillance system in an antique. He had carefully constructed an identity that had regularly supplied Palpatine with ancient relics over long years. The Chancellor was a widely known amateur in history and showed his appreciation for rare artifacts and precious testimonies of a bygone era.

Obi-Wan’s alias was known to deal specifically in Force-related artifacts, and had been quite conveniently supplied by his Jedi position in ExplorCorps, Archeology section. He wasn't sure what had tipped off Sidious, but during their discussion of the price for his latest acquisition, Sidious had suddenly attacked. Obi-Wan made it a point of honor to always engage with Sidious fully prepared for the worst.

And it had happened tonight. And Obi-Wan still lived when Sidious was not.

Now, the Jedi wanted him to participate in his own hunt. Obi-Wan was sure that the universe was laughing at him.

Though badly hurt, Obi-Wan couldn't decline that direct request without drawing attention. He also feared that exposing himself to these investigators’ scrutiny could potentially put him in a difficult situation. He was sadly in a tight spot, and berated himself silently for his lack of forethought.

If only he could convey to the universe, fate, or whatever force controlled his life that all he desired, for now, was a chance for uninterrupted slumber.

"Just give me a minute," he muttered before slamming the door shut in their faces. He had no qualms about keeping them waiting outside in the dark.

He reached for the emergency safe under his bed, pulling out bacta patches and bandages to redress his wounds. The clone had done an excellent job, but changing the bacta regularly would speed his recovery. After securing the patches, he hastily wrapped a bandage around his injured shoulder and changed into a fresh tunic. Putting on the sleeves made him clench his teeth in pain, as he had to twist his arm to fit it in. He considered using a splint to immobilize the shoulder for a second, but he refrained from doing so as it would be too conspicuous and risked drawing unwanted attention.

Obi-Wan quickly washed his face at the sink to clear his thoughts, and considered the usefulness of throwing the usual glamor on his appearance. He quickly gave up: he couldn’t maintain a misdirection spell for more than a few minutes with the state of his Force control, especially in the presence of Jedi with a keen enough sense of observation to justify their title of investigators.

He finally opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Madame Nu raised an eyebrow. Leant against one of the hallway’s pillars, Quinlan huffed impatiently. "Let's go. No more time to waste."

“Where are we going?”

“Senate Building, Chancellor’s office.”

]o[

They had set the crisis center in the waiting room across the hall. Walls of monitors displaying recordings illuminated the darkened space. They had begun to inventory the numerous objects found in the Chancellor’s office, to classify and examine meticulously. Jedi Master Sinube was assisting them. The Jedi had approached Fox’s team respectfully, carefully maintaining a collaborative stance without exercising authority. Master Sinube integrated himself like another cog in the well-oiled partnership characterizing clones' work.

Fox was proud of his brothers. They would carry out their duty with skill and expertise, even if no one quite liked their posting in the senate. Fox’s brothers had been vocal on numerous occasions that they would rather be on the frontline to fight a real war with the other clones. The dull monotony of guarding the Senate was wearing on them, and the vode yearned for the thrill of battle.

Fox's emotions were in turmoil after the recent events. On one hand, he felt a deep sense of shame that someone under his protection had been so easily assassinated. It was a blow to his pride as a protector, and he couldn't help but feel responsible for the failure. Yet, on the other hand, an odd sense of relief pervaded his mind.

The Supreme Chancellor had a particular way of interacting with the clones. Without stating the fact out loud, Fox knew Palpatine belonged to the faction that considered Clones like less than humans, without the right to claim freedom and citizenship. Like mere cannon fodder.

As soon as the Clones were deployed out of Kamino, the Chancellor had replaced all his security details by the Coruscant Gard. It could have been a mark of trust and respect, but Fox knew better. During the few months of his posting, Fox had honed his political reading, and he had clearly seen the underhanded moves Palpatine had made to keep the pro-clones faction fragile and without much support.

Fox firmly believed that to attain such immense political power on a galactic level, one had to possess a deeply ruthless nature.

Occasionally, Fox couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine whenever he caught a glimpse of the rare, cruel smiles that would slip onto the man's lips when he thought no one was watching. Palpatine treated Fox and his brothers like they were little more than furniture or convenient accommodations, quickly forgotten when not in use. And to be honest, Fox preferred it that way.

Despite his mixed feelings about the recent events, Fox found some satisfaction in seeing the slimy man taken down this spectacularly. As a member of the Coruscant Guard, Fox took his duty seriously and was committed to upholding their honor. He and his brothers would not allow themselves to be associated with incompetence and would do whatever it took to fulfill their responsibilities in conducting the investigation.

Fox had claimed the desk situated in the corner overviewing all the room’s activity. He was compiling and organizing datapads in neat rows and piles, while mentally preparing a synthesis of the report he would soon present to Master Windu, who had stayed at the crime scene. The head of the Jedi Order had de facto replaced the Chancellor in representing authority in Fox’s mind. Master Sinube was with Rewind and Colorblind, and they were meticulously reviewing security footage.

The Chancellor’s office was not equipped with recording devices, but they had access to what had been recorded outside the room. They had images of Palpatine’s assassin before they had accessed the office, and precisely fourteen minutes had passed before the guards had successfully breached the door with powerful explosives.

Fox was rather put out that his team had been so useless against the being, but they were dealing with a force user, a highly skilled and dangerous opponent beyond the abilities of ordinary civilians or combat droids. In training, they had been coached extensively about the skills and battle capacities of the Jedi, the very Order that had commissioned their creation.

However, every force user was not a Jedi, and those who were not affiliated with the order tended to be of the violent and dangerous kind.

Palpatine’s assassin was clearly one of them, but they had been oddly mindful of not hurting the brothers sent in pursuit. Squads hadn’t reported a single death in the deployed units. There were still many details for them to review, but Fox had observed multiple instances where the assassin could have easily caused harm but didn't, even when it would have made their escape easier.

Rows of long tables had been set up for indexing purposes by Fox's team. As they carefully cataloged each object and piece of furniture, Fox couldn't help but notice the numerous odd artifacts with unknown uses among them. It wasn't until they reviewed the recording of the being who had accessed the Chancellor's office that they had a potential lead. The being, dressed in rich embroidered robes and wearing a hood and mask, had carried a mysterious case. The individual had transported something, which could be one of the retrieved objects. A long and fastidious work of cross-referencing awaited them. Fine by him. Fox was a firm believer in method and systematicity, and even though he didn't have all the answers, he knew it was his duty to formulate precise questions to understand the situation at hand better.

]o[

Mace greeted the newcomers, about an hour after sending Vos to fetch them. He raised an eyebrow when he saw that Madam Nu was not alone. She was accompanied by one of her aides, an archivist Mace remembered seeing mainly in between the library shelves. He did not remember his name, the man being rather discreet and avoidant, not socially engaging. Oddly enough, even though sickly pale and looking like he was in serious need of sleep, the man facing him tonight seemed to have much more presence than he remembered. Mace frowned as he shifted his gaze to Madame Nu, who answered the silent question: “This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, my top specialist. He knows much more about Sith artifacts than I do. He spent fifteen years in Explorcorp as an Archaeologist.”

“I thought I made it clear that the containment on the case should be as strict as possible, Vos.”

Vos simply shrugged. "I'd rather face your wrath than Master Nu's."

Mace glowered. Vos returned the look evenly, seemingly unfazed by his disapproval. Vos had a reputation for being reckless and impulsive, but Mace knew the man was fiercely loyal and dedicated to his work.

"We need all the expertise we can get on this," Mace said finally, sighing. He turned his attention back to Kenobi. "Welcome, Archivist Kenobi. I hope Madam Nu’s trust in you isn’t misplaced."

Kenobi nodded, his eyes flickering briefly with a spark of irritation. "I’ll not disappoint, Master Windu. I will do everything in my power to help."

Mace nodded. He hoped the aide would be up to the job and would not waste their precious time. "Good. Now let's get to work. First, we must assess the possible threats the safe poses and open it as soon as possible.” He turned toward Vos. “I believe Master Sinube has some items that could use a psychometry read; he’s waiting in the operational room across the hall." Vos nodded and vacated the office.

Mace motioned for the archivists to come over, next to the safe door sunk into the wall. "It’s covered with inscriptions characteristic of the Sith language, but that’s all the extent of my knowledge.”

Kenobi's voice, soft and unobtrusive, interjected. "Madame Nu?"

"Go ahead, young man." Madame Nu replied, her eyes fixed on the safe.

With a sure gesture, Kenobi placed a briefcase on the floor and opened it with one hand. He pulled out a long object that resembled a brush. Mace walked over to watch him work, intrigued.

As Kenobi passed the brush over one side of the safe's door, multiple sparks seemed to ignite from its contact. Although Mace couldn't see them with his eyes, he could sense them in the Force, and they appeared distinctly dark.

“Hm, this container is definitely booby-trapped. It's going to take me some time to defuse the whole thing. Do you think this will help you catch the killer?” Kenobi asked, his tone absent-minded.

"At this point, we cannot overlook any leads. Do what you have to do," Mace replied, his attention still fixed on Kenobi's work.

Kenobi rummaged through his gear and took out a pair of thick gloves, which he put on carefully. “It seems there is a multiple-layered trap. It could take a bit of time,” he said, donning a pair of magnifying optics that made him look slightly crazy. While kept back by a headband, his longish red hair was disheveled, contributing to the impression of nerdiness. As he worked, his forehead glistened with sweat, and his jaw was clenched in concentration. Madam Nu assisted with handling tools and occasional suggestions.

Mace's attention shifted from the archivists’ work when Commander Fox came to update him on the latest progress in the investigation. They moved by a few paces from Kenobi and Madam Nu to let them work in peace.

"Sir, we have taken several blood samples on the trail of the terrorist. They were obviously injured when they ran, and I reckon they got hurt during whatever struggle happened with the Chancellor: we combed through all the recordings provided by the soldiers' helmets, and not a single blaster’s shot had connected." Mace nodded, wondering how someone of this caliber could have been injured in a fight with the Chancellor. "How long for a DNA analysis?" he asked.

"I have already sent the samples to the laboratory. It should not take more than an hour. To have a conclusive result, that person has to be a citizen of the Republic to have an identity in the databases," replied Fox. “And databases can be tempered with, of course. But whether we have a lead or not will be telling in itself.”

Mace knew already that the investigation ahead would be challenging, and was glad he hadn’t hair remaining on his head to tear out. So, he would probably gnaw his nails instead.

Fox continued to update him on their progress, "We've tracked the individual's movements by gathering eyewitness accounts and reports. Unfortunately, we lost sight of them near a nightclub, where they blended in with the crowd to evade capture. We have nothing since then."

"Thank you for the update, Commander.” Mace recognized the need to proceed with care and method. “We need to transport some key items into the temple, and given the heavy implication of Force matters, a more thorough examination of the Chancellor's body within our facilities is necessary," Mace paused, as he considered the implications of their actions. "Do you see a legal difficulty there?"

"I think the Coruscant Judicial should be informed, but it seems there are texts that guarantee you precedence when the Force is so visibly involved in the matter. I will seek legal service with the proper department, if you’ll allow me."

"Good, do it as soon as possible. I’ll see what I can do with the council. Once we have the agreement, we will transfer the body."

“Master Sinube will solicit his network,” continued Fox, already moving on to the next step in the investigation. “He’ll see if he can unearth a lead. He has contacts in seedy corners of Coruscant where official agents aren’t—”

A sudden crack occurred, followed by a sharp snap. Mace turned in time to see Kenobi shake his right hand as if to take the pain out of it. The archivist stood up fluidly, but stumbled slightly before laying against the wall, clearly exhausted. He removed his goggles with a sigh.

“Okay, I think we can afford to open the safe, with all the necessary precautions. Madam Nu, your opinion?

“As I told you, I do not have your proficiency on these questions, even if I know a little about them. I trust you on this matter.”

“Master Windu, do you want us to do this now, or is it necessary to wait?”

“Go ahead.” Mace said, while turning toward Fox to thank him for his report.

Kenobi braced himself before seizing the handle. He twisted it, and the safe’s door opened. In it, enshrouded by shadows, laid a small ornate coffer. Mace wasn’t distinguishing the details, but Kenobi clearly was familiar with the kind of object it was. The archivist sighed. “Great, something to crack open, for a change. Those strongboxes are a pain, I’ll need time to study the cipher, and it would be more convenient to do that with proper installation, in the Temple. We need a containment box for the transport, though."

"How much time do you need to open it?" asked Mace.

"Hard to tell. It could be hours, or it could be weeks."

"Weeks! We do not have weeks!"

Kenobi shrugged, then winced. "We'll work as fast as we can. Do you want to come with us?"

"I'll stay here and act as liaison with the Temple. I'll contact Madam Nu if we need your expertise on something else, but you must focus your resources on opening the coffer. I want you to start working on the matter immediately.”

At these words, Kenobi grimaced. "Now? Could it wait until morning?" He sounded quite desperate. Perhaps the man imagined that he could go back to sleep when the Republic risked a collapse? Mace huffed, “We're all in the same boat. This case is a top priority, of galactic importance. You'll sleep later.”

"We'll do what's necessary," replied Madame Nu. She put a hand on Kenobi's left shoulder, and squeezed. The man quietly groaned and visibly suppressed a grimace.

Mace had previously expressed doubt about the Corpsmen's priorities. He understood that the Knights were naturally inclined to prioritize defending others and actively intervening in political affairs, but not all Force-sensitive individuals shared this disposition. Other Jedi, who were not Knights, tended to focus on more passive concerns such as preservation, research, and development. While they may appear less concerned with the present turmoil, their contributions were still valuable.

"Let's go, Obi-Wan. We shouldn't waste any more time," said Madam Nu, motioning towards a service droid carrying a crate.

Kenobi muttered something indistinct, except a derogatory bit about “galactic importance”. Using the Force, the archivist moved the coffer to nest it in the crate, without touching it directly. His control was clearly shaky. Mace tried actively not to feel disdain; he knew they all had their strengths and weaknesses, and an individual's worth went beyond their abilities in a particular area. He just wished that, in a situation like this, he would not have to worry about the competency of his teammates. He realized that he might hold certain undesirable preconceptions, and decided to meditate on them later.

]o[

Qui-Gon was having this dream again.

He had meditated at length about it. Its recurrence was concerning. He had never been very proficient in connecting with the Cosmic Force, his personnal tendency leaning frankly toward the Living Force. But recurring dreams were probably of significance.

The dream didn’t always appear in the same form. Qui-Gon recognized it by its odd quality, like he was observing the reality behind a panel of glass or crystal.

There was always another person in the dream, and it was his almost-have-been padawan. Obi-Wan Kenobi, that had eagerly accepted an apprenticeship after the unfortunate events of Bandomeer. Circ*mstances had entirely forced Qui-Gon hand’s on this matter, but, after initial resistance, he had taken things in strides, listening to the will of the Force.

But the Force had other plans, and his not-quite padawan had encountered quite a predicament when he had acquired his first Kyber crystal on Ilum.

The boy had decompensated an unknown affliction in the form of severe epileptic seizures, rendering his apprenticeship in the way of the Knighthood impossible.

The boy had severed their fledgling bond, and wished Qui-Gon farewell.

Since then, Qui-Gon was having the dream.

Qui-Gon had occasionally asked how was faring Obi-Wan, without finding the courage to ask the question directly. He knew the young man had spent significant time mid-rim and outer-rim with the ExplorCorps. From what Qui-Gon had understood, he had specialized in archaeology and studied old artifacts. He found that it suited the young man. It would undoubtedly have tamed his most unruly tendency.

The dream always put Obi-Wan in diverse outlandish scenes of battles and wars, and even desperate situations where everyone turned dead. In particular, the one where the Temple had been cold and dark like a mausoleum, corpses littering the hallways’ floor, had awoken a sense of dread that had permeated many of his nights for months. At times, he could see himself in the fragments, but the scenes he had witnessed were too disconnected to make sense. Maybe those fragments were snippets of a reality where he would have been Obi-Wan’s Master. If so, he was glad that didn’t work out in the end. Qui-Gon would have hated knowing that anyone could have lived that hectic and distressing existence. He hoped that was very far from what the young man was actually experiencing in his research and study missions as a scholar.

What was the Force wanted to tell him? It puzzled Qui-Gon, and every time he had the dream, his meditations were quite haunted by the questions and absence of answers for weeks after.

In this particular dream, Obi-Wan was an old man. He wasn’t sharing many recognizable traits with his young counterpart, but somehow, his Force signature remained the steady, warm glow firmly anchored in the Light that Qui-Gon had learned to associate with dream Obi-Wan. If Qui-Gon had been able to sense this aura in the young initiate that had attempted to make an impression with his martial prowess, he would not have hesitated to take him as his padawan learner. Fate had decided otherwise anyway.

Old Obi-Wan was hunched in front of a workbench, protective googles in place and tinkering with tools on what appeared to be shards of Kyber crystal. Then, something went suddenly off, and one of the shards shattered in an explosion, slightly burning Obi-Wan's beard. The man huffed with a sigh of exasperation, removed his goggles, and massaged his brow in a fatigued gesture, and the dream dissolved into pieces too disjointed to make sense.

Qui-Gon woke up with a start, an odd sense of restlessness remaining like an aftertaste. The dream always left strong emotional impressions that lingered for weeks afterward, and haunted his meditations, like he had to solve an important puzzle. The phenomenon had accompanied him for years and was today quite a permanent fixture in his life.

Maybe the Force was telling him to reconnect to Obi-Wan? If so, he had been a rather poor listener all these years. Maybe he would have to invite the man for tea one day. He had heard he was in Coruscant now, working in the Archives, and Qui-Gon happened to be planetside for once, not traipsing in galaxy-wide diplomatic missions.

Maybe he would invite young Obi-Wan soon, and they could share stories about their respective travels.

]o[

Tera Sinube had taken his airspeeder to Uscru District’s lower levels. He had an information broker there he could solicit as a first line. Tera was old, and was a respectable Jedi Master. He also happened to be specialized in investigating. He loved solving puzzles and following trails, until he cracked the questions like nuts to reveal the truth. The chase and the hunt made his blood sing like he was still a juvenile. He was pleased the Council had assigned him to investigate the recent events surrounding Palpatine’s demise. The affair would surely lead him to some savory and potentially world-shattering truths.

Indeed, there were many burning questions to answer about Palpatine’s beheading.

Who was the assassin? Their affiliations and their motives?

Who was really Palpatine? His true affiliations and motives?

Tera felt that the last point would be pretty interesting to uncover. So, with the help of Commander Fox, they had set up a team to retrace precisely all movements, all correspondences, and all meetings conducted by the late Chancellor to determine odd patterns, and explore underneath the underneath.

For now, Tera would mobilize his network to explore what they have on the presumed assassin. They had a picture of a masked silhouette and a name on a register, probably a fake. Maybe that could lead somewhere. The first rule of being an investigator was to never disregard any question with presumptions, but to verify everything and systematically follow every lead to its end, even if it turned out to be a dead-end.

Anyway, the case appeared to be quite fertile in clues. They had artifacts that waited to be identified in Master Vos’ care, and a safe whose content remained to be analyzed by Madame Nu’s team: plenty of potential crumbs to follow in the proverbial forest. Tera cackled while rubbing his hands with glee. He was a persistent individual—persistent and rather stubborn, he was told. He would find a trail, and he would undoubtedly uncover exciting truths.

Chapter 4: Work Ethics

Chapter Text

Psychometry was a valuable tool in Quinlan's arsenal, but like any tool, it could be dangerous. Dealing with psychic traces in the Force could be overwhelming, and Quinlan quickly learned that he needed mental discipline to cope with the emotions and memories that weren't his own. He had become adept at compartmentalizing what belonged to him and what didn't. The Jedi Order didn't have many members with his talent, and as a result, he was often recruited for investigations that required his expertise. His work as a Shadow kept him busy, but he welcomed the occasional break from the routine.

This particular mission was a refreshing change from the tedious ones that involved just waiting and maintaining cover. Psychometry was a strange gift that allowed him to connect the past to the present through the Force. Everything had a continuity in the inexorable flow of time, and psychometry allowed him to uncover the deeply buried history of things.

It was a burden that was often cumbersome, but it gave Quinlan a profound sense of the importance of context. He understood that nothing could exist without a beginning and that everything was connected in a path that was often ruled by chaos and happenstance. The slightest action could dramatically shift the course of fate, and Quinlan was acutely aware of this. It gave him an understanding of circ*mstances that was difficult to convey to others. They were blind to the vital sense that he possessed. Only the oldest beings could appreciate the depth of Quinlan's perception of reality when he chose to remove his gloves.

The weight of the past in everything was immense, and Quinlan found it too much to handle at times. The act of absorbing the memories of objects through touch often resulted in headaches and emotional fatigue. The stronger the memory, the more intense the associated emotions would be. Through experience and maturity, Quinlan had learned to detach himself from these emotions, but he was still cautious with his ability. He knew that he had to use it wisely to avoid the potential negative consequences.

Positioned between two rows of display tables, Quinlan raised his ungloved hand towards the organized objects waiting for his examination, without making physical contact. He hovered his hand over each item, feeling the Force emanating from them. Only the objects that resonated strongly with the Force caught his attention. Through years of practice, he had perfected his technique, which emphasized finesse and precision over brute force. By doing so, he could conserve his resources and pre-select which objects to examine more closely.

Several items had already piqued his interest, including an ornate paperweight, a wooden sculpture, and a luxurious robe. Despite having examined half of the gathered items from the ruins of the Chancellor's Office, there were still many more to investigate.

Quinlan had never needed to visit the Chancellor's Office before his death, but he could have warned his fellow Jedi of the danger lurking within. The nauseating Force impression he had sensed there without making physical contact was enough to indicate that something was seriously wrong. Though he had fled the room as soon as possible, he knew he would have to return and delve deeper into the currents that had barely grazed his awareness

But, one thing at a time, and he had some projects to keep him busy for the following hours.

Quinlan took the paperweight and the robe in his right hand, the one he kept gloved, and made his way to an unoccupied desk. He placed the objects carefully in front of him. The paperweight was made of glassy material, sculpted in intricate arabesques. The artificial light it captured was diffracted in tiny rainbows strewn in a halo around it.

As he looked at it more closely, the more he felt captured by a soothing feel. He distinctively felt how the compulsion acted on his general apprehension of the Force. Interesting.

The paperweight seemed to act like a shield, or more like a filter, transforming the ambient waves of the Force into something telegraphed as inoffensive. Quinlan didn’t need to dwell on the obvious use of such a Force artifact, and the fact that it was sitting on the Chancellor’s desk raised concerns. He made a mental note in the growing column of concerning facts about the whole affair.

Quinlan's attention then turned to the emerald robe, which shimmered like precious silk with silvery embroidery patterns. As Quinlan was not very knowledgeable about current fashions, he couldn't determine if the robe was a recognizable style that could provide any clues about its origin. It was a regular robe, and not a potentially harmful Force artifact. What interested Quinlan was that the garment probably belonged to the unknown Force user. The feel had a clearly different taste than the rest of the things retrieved from the office.

Quinlan removed his glove and buried his hand in the fabric of the robe, closing his eyes to focus his mind. He allowed his mind to fill with the images and impressions that marked the garment. Wariness, surprise, and alarm dominated the flavors. In the undercurrents, he could feel a cold, solid hate, closely tied to the gnawing chasm of grief and solitude. He captured images of a seated Chancellor, the amiable veneer of his behavior abruptly morphing into a terrifying howling face lunging at him.

The shock made him drop the fabric, adrenalin spreading to his extremities. After taking a deep breath to calm himself, he resumed his investigation, curious about the identity of the Force user who clearly knew about the Chancellor's true nature. If his suspicions were correct, Quinlan believed that they owed them big time.

]o[

Obi-Wan slumped heavily in the chair facing the workshop door. He closed his eyes as he massaged his temples. Pain pounded against the walls of his skull, and burned a fiery and inflamed furrow in his shoulder, but the most difficult thing to bear was the pure, heavy exhaustion that oppressed his mind. He still was under the psychic backlash, and he was beginning to suspect that his condition would not be easily solved. He still hadn’t had the time to examine the damage done to his soul-kyber, and would not until he was sure no one could observe him.

The irony of the situation did not escape him. He had managed to gather the full attention of not only the Jedi Order, but the Coruscant Guard as well. As far as he knew, no one had yet made the connexion between himself and the perpetrator, but he felt that was only a question of time.

He didn’t even know if it would be wise to flee and cut his losses, but he felt reluctant to leave definitely the Temple. Obi-Wan had appreciated the semblance of normal life he had adopted as an archivist. Being a guardian of knowledge agreed with him, and the quiet days spent studying ancient tomes with fellow scholars soothed his wounded soul.

Obi-Wan was paying for his poor planning. He should have thought about contingency plans, he had had more than two decades in this timeline to prepare.

He made a mental effort to stop his self-recriminations, but the fatigue didn’t enable much self-control. Self-loathing was a very old habit, an old demon that still came to haunt him in his moments of vulnerability. With his long years of existence, Obi-Wan had gotten good at handling self-doubt, but it had never completely disappeared. Time and wisdom had helped him to make peace with his mistakes and shortcomings.

However, having the opportunity to relive his life, and choosing a radically new approach to his decisions had reactivated his tendency for doubting and second-guessing everything. Returning to a child's body exposed you to internal fireworks as soon as you experienced the slightest emotion. Age’s benefit was learning to distance oneself from the more painful aspects of emotionality, but existence tended to get really dull after a couple of centuries.

Obi-Wan found it difficult to comprehend the Sith's fixation on achieving immortality. While he could understand their desire for control and dominance, he believed that time needed to be filled with meaningful experiences to have any real value. Simply accumulating wealth and power was meaningless without utilizing it to create and improve the lives of others. The true value of power lay in its ability to be harnessed for the greater good

Obi-Wan’s power had become meaningless without something to protect. Since the tragic day that robbed him of everything he held dear, Obi-Wan had been waging a constant battle against himself to resist the lure of despair. As a solitary witness to a bygone era and the last repository of a dying culture, he found himself struggling to find purpose and meaning in a galaxy that seemed to have lost its way. The temptation to give up on life, to let go and surrender to the darkness, had been a constant companion to him over the decades, along with the grief and solitude that seemed to follow him like a shadow. They were with him always, because Obi-Wan didn’t get along much with selfishness. He needed to feel useful. Maybe he could have made a difference with Padmé’s children, but the tragedy had continued in its absolute horror, and they had both died mere hours after their mother.

In that moment, he had felt his sanity slipping away, as the whispers of the dark side beckoned to him, promising comfort and an escape from the pain.

Obi-Wan let out a sigh, determined not to allow his mind to wander down that path, especially with the precarious state of his mental shields. He focused on reining in his emotions, taking a deep breath that he tried to make as deep as possible without agitating his wound. He reminded himself that he had achieved his most important goal, but there was still much work to be done. He needed to ensure that all the sacrifices and efforts made thus far were not in vain, and he had to bring an end to Sidious's reign and clean up the remaining Sith. There were still a few more out there who required his undivided attention, and he knew that being imprisoned would only hinder his plans. Therefore, he needed to secure the freedom to act in any way necessary.

Obi-Wan was currently alone in the room, surrounded by silence in the dead of night. The laboratory was deserted, devoid of the usual bustling activity of researchers lost in their work. Researchers were not a particularly quiet population. Normally, Obi-Wan enjoyed the lively chatter and banter of his fellow Corps members, finding comfort in their company. However, he knew that if he had to flee, he would not hesitate.

Madame Nu had gone to her office to gather supplies before studying the coffer in the proper setup. Obi-Wan surreptitiously checked his bandage and bacta patches. His work, done in a hurry, was falling apart. His lightsaber wound, while in part cauterized, still oozed blood. He would need to find a moment to reapply his dressing and attend to his injuries properly.

Gathering his meager strength, he sat up to study the coffer more closely. It was covered with Sith inscriptions, of which he had long mastered all the semantic subtleties. However, he would have to use subterfuge to hide his knowledge, for no one in the Temple was supposed to know as much as he did. In the wake of the current circ*mstances, it would be wise not to gather more attention than he had on him for now. The locking mechanism was probably based on elaborate encryption using both Sith language and the use of the Force, and Obi-Wan was a specialist in cracking those types of systems.

Obi-Wan replaced his optics in front of his eyes. They allowed him to magnify the micro-inscriptions that were hidden between arabesques. In these kinds of artifacts, it was essential to map out the least of the traced symbols with the utmost care, because a mere sign could upset the entire meaning of the whole text. The Siths were known to utilize this feature, a testament to their sad*stic nature. After years of exploring dark, deserted Sith temples, Obi-Wan was intimately familiar with their complexities.

The mechanism securing the device was a complex, multi-layered lock, complete with a failsafe that required a specific person's Force imprint. While it was a formidable lock, it was not impregnable, and Obi-Wan was confident that with careful and methodical work, he could eventually crack it. Of course, he would still have to be wary of traps, because Sidious was a bastard of the worst kind.

He would bend to the rhythm of Madame Nu to stick to credible skills. He struggled with conflicting desires: on one hand, he longed to slip back into anonymity and evade the weight of responsibility, while on the other, he recognized the importance of staying in control of the situation.

Obi-Wan pulled out a pad and made a show of taking puzzled notes. He scratched his short beard and ran a hand over his face, before exhaling a heavy sigh. Sometimes, he was really fed up with always having to put on a facade.

]o[

Fox was on his way to the medical wing of the barracks, which served as the living quarters for the clones stationed on Coruscant or on leave. The barracks consisted of rows of bunkrooms that could accommodate up to six clones, and huge mess halls that served meals in rotation to feed the impressive number of men that needed their nutrients. Compared to their life on Kamino, where they were closely monitored and restricted in their individuality, the barracks offered them a newfound sense of freedom.

Their quarters on Coruscant, or on board of warships, weren’t what natborn considered as decent accommodations, but they were truly luxurious for them. The natborns they were serving under were not very concerned about what private life the vode managed to have. Regulation and discipline were enforced by a chain of command consisting primarily of other clones, except for the high command. On the practical side, clones did not suffer unwanted interference.

On Kamino, clones were under constant surveillance, to quell any attempt at expressing too much individuality. They were regularly culled: defective units were sent to decommission, and their biological matter was probably recycled and reused. Kamino, their birthplace, was a living hell.

The outside world had given them a taste of freedom. They were together, and no one bothered to really inspect what they were doing in their free time. They had a realm that belonged to them, where they could enjoy themselves between battles and training.

Fox knew his brothers were adapting well to the life they had been engineered for. Kamino wasn’t a battlefield, and Kaminoans weren’t the most usual sentients populating the galaxy. Their conditioning had given them a minimal exposure to the outside world, and in the emptiness of their shared identity, something had spontaneously emerged. Their reduced lifespan had the paradoxical effect of enabling the foundation of a unique culture, complete with their own vocabulary, idioms, and customs. While some aspects were borrowed from Mandalorian tradition, the culture was fundamentally theirs.

Satisfying the clones was a relatively simple task: providing them with basic necessities and the camaraderie of their fellow soldiers. A bit of action added to the mix and they were content. Their design, geared towards regulated moods and behavior, made them an efficient and obedient army. The Republic had unwittingly acquired a perfectly convenient military force.

Fox made a deliberate effort not to delve too deeply into questions of free will and… free labor. He focused instead on doing his job conscientiously and finding freedom in his work ethic. By leading and looking after his brothers, he could make a positive difference in their lives. If he remained faithful to the path expected of him by the Republic, he would not have to question his own autonomy and self-determination.

A captain from one of the squads, along with the team's medic, had requested Commander Fox's presence. Their urgent tone and preoccupied air prevented him from telling them off. Even though he was in charge of the crisis center, he could not leave his brothers in distress, and it was his duty to take a few minutes to attend to their concerns.

As he stepped into the infirmary, Fox saw five brothers sitting on examination tables, all staring off into space. The medic, Surge, was hunched over a datapad, frowning as he examined the brother facing the entrance. When he noticed Fox, Surge's face visibly relaxed into a relieved smile. "Commander, glad to see you here," he said.

Fox nodded in greeting and asked, "What's the situation?"

“These vode are part of the same intervention squad. They returned from a mission a few hours ago. Their bunkmates called me, completely creeped out. According to the exams, they are in perfect health. But their behavior….” He trailed off, troubled.

“Surge?” Fox prompted.

"They're not catatonic; they respond when spoken to, but… How can I put that… mechanically? And they haven't taken the slightest initiative since they came back. Instead, they seem content to stare at nothing like that."

“Where were they deployed?”

“Senate sector, then into sector 7 in pursuit of a fugitive.”

Fox felt like an icy wave crashing over him. The events were necessarily connected. They have another lead. Fox just wished his brother wouldn’t have been involved.

“You need to continue the examinations and keep me informed as soon as you have more information. I’ll ask for the input of a Jedi Healer, as it could be the result of a Force technic.”

]o[

Mace rubbed the tense muscles at the back of his neck with his palm, feeling the knots beneath his skin. The night had been long, and unfortunately, it wasn't over yet. After several hours of tough negotiations, they had finally been able to take Palpatine's body to the Temple. It had taken a combination of persuasion and legal tactics to make the zealous authorities yield, and Mace was sure he wouldn't forget Wilhuff Tarkin anytime soon. The man had been deliberately difficult, and Mace couldn't help but suspect he was intentionally obstructing their efforts. However, the Jedi couldn't afford to waste more time, and Mace had resorted to using words like "obstruction" and "terrorism sympathizer" to win his case.

Now, Mace had to coordinate everything. He had competent and reliable personnel on hand, at least for those he could personally vouch for. The instructions were clear - disseminate as little information as possible to avoid hindering the investigation. They couldn't keep events a secret forever, but the longer they could delay speculation, the more effectively they could work.

Mace needed to brief the council on the latest developments and share his lingering doubts and worries about the situation. He believed that the matter was far more significant than it appeared and had the potential to cause considerable upheaval in both the Republic and the Jedi Order.

Although the security department had failed to apprehend the perpetrator, they still had plenty of testimonies and recordings to analyze, which would take time. Master Sinube and Master Vos were currently shouldering their share of the investigation, and seemed to have some leads to explore. Mace headed towards the Archives, hoping that Madame Nu and her team had made progress on the item recovered from Palpatine's office.

While en route, he had made a detour to the Temple's canteen to gather some pastries that he could offer to help alleviate some of the stress that was sure to accompany a night of little sleep. Mace liked Madame Nu, be he was wary of her legendary difficult mood.

Upon entering the Analysis and Research Laboratory, Mace found Madame Nu and Kenobi in the midst of their work. Madame Nu was typing on her datapad while Kenobi was writing on a flimsiboard. "Hello, Mace. It's good to see you. Kenobi has made some progress, but we still have a ways to go," Madame Nu greeted him with a smile. Her hair was disheveled, and her usually neat bun was on the verge of collapsing.

"I brought breakfast. I thought we could all use it," Mace said.

Madame Nu hesitated, eyeing the food dubiously. She was on the verge of saying something like "no food in my archives," but her silence revealed her exhaustion. Kenobi gave a slight nod and greeted Mace, but he looked no better than when they met in Palpatine's office, with bloodshot eyes and a sweaty forehead.

“A little break would indeed be welcome. I think we've gotten through the hardest part, Madame Nu, but we can't discount the possibility of an additional trap.”

“What could you share about your current findings?”

Kenobi shrugged, and seemed to suppress a sudden grimace.

“It is obviously a container, extremely secure. Unfortunately, at this stage, it is impossible to know what it contains. As Madame Nu said, we made good progress to decipher a portion of the code, but we still had a lot of work to complete the deciphering. The question, however, is why this artifact was located in Palpatine's office.” Kenobi paused, cast a troubled look at Madame Nu, and frowned. "Whatever we find in this object should be linked to the person of the Chancellor."

Mace acknowledged Kenobi's words with a grave nod. The thought that had been nagging at him since he became involved in this investigation had been verbalized, and the implications were staggering. He knew that he had to inform the High Council about this as soon as possible. Separating the Jedi Order from the Senate was becoming more and more likely, and Mace foresaw many exhausting discussions and debates in the coming weeks and months.

Kenobi grabbed one of the pastries with his right hand, before sinking with a sigh of relief into the chair that faced the bay overlooking Coruscant. The laboratory faced north, so it saw little direct light. However, a few clouds had caught the first rays of Coruscant Prime, the system star, and edged in a fiery pink that was almost painful to the retinas.

Mace took a seat on a laboratory stool, while Madame Nu scrutinized the food options he had brought. Finally, after some consideration, she settled on a spicy cinnamon roll, which happened to be one of Mace's preferred pastries as well. The cooks at the Temple varied in skill, but the pastry chefs were truly exceptional, and they were fortunate to have them on staff.

"We've never had the pleasure of interacting before, it seems, Archivist Kenobi," said Mace, picking at his pastry frosting.

The man shook his head, and a small, knowing smile, graced his lips, “I must have fetched holobooks for you once or twice in these past months, but I understand that I had not left a memorable impression. ”

Mace shifted uneasily. “Oh, pardon my faulty memory.”

Kenobi shook his head dismissively. “I have only been in the temple for ten months. I spent most of my career as an archaeologist with the ExplorCorps, very far from the Core.”

“Hm, that must change you; the work here surely isn’t as exciting as raiding abandoned ruins.”

“It has its charm. After all, I grew up here in the Temple. And I think I've wandered and explored enough in my life to earn my retirement."

“You seem a bit young to speak like that.”

“You know, some experiences age faster than others.” Kenobi smiled, showing his teeth. Mace found his smile oddly unsettling.

"I'm delighted to have Obi-Wan on our team,” said Madam Nu tiredly. “We've made leaps and bounds in our understanding of the Sith arts since he’s here."

“It seems to me that it takes a certain…mind to navigate the treacherous twists and turns of Sith semantics,” noted Mace. “Where does your fluency come from?

"I've always been a bit of a nerd at heart, and the subject has always fascinated me," explained Kenobi with a small shrug. "I find that research and puzzles suit me better than fighting. And my medical condition had not permitted me to follow the Knighthood path." A sharp glint flashed across the archivist's eyes, and he suddenly seemed less docile and unassuming, like he had some unresolved issue about this.

Mace felt a slight unease prickling at him, tinted with culpability. He was aware of how the current setup of the Order tended to render their non-combat forces invisible. Until recently, they had even tended to exclude from the Coruscant Temple and send elsewhere young initiates who hadn't been lucky enough, or competent enough, to catch the eye of a Jedi Master.

However, these non-combatants were the very backbone that held the entire organization together. They formed the support system upon which everything depended, without which no Jedi could survive and be shielded from external threats.

Yet, the Jedi themselves were not immune to the allure and natural glamour that knights and diplomats radiated, and it was the knights who often assumed positions of power within their ranks. They were, after all, the public face of the Order, and their image was more naturally associated with authority and influence.

Madame Nu quickly brushed off the awkwardness. "Luckily, you didn't waste your time on such trivialities, young Obi-Wan. It would have been a waste of your talents," she remarked, disregarding the unease in Mace's demeanor.

Kenobi nodded, graciously accepting the compliment, as he finished his treat.

Chapter 5: Infusing

Chapter Text

Seated before a low table, Tera savored a traditional meal with his information broker, a well-respected Pantolan he had known for decades. Ataxia Valtari was kind enough to accept to receive him at this late hour, but she had somehow learned about the Chancellor’s demise, and probably hoped he would have some pertinent intel to share.

Their communication was conducted in a peculiar, coded manner typical of the informant’s world. Information was never given freely and served as the currency of their relationship—aside, of course, the financial aspect of the trade—, which paradoxically made their interactions refreshingly straightforward and honest. However, the true challenge was discerning what was left unsaid, and Araxia Valtari was a master at withholding vital details unless prompted with the right questions.

Like many of her people, Ataxia sported golden tattoos on her brow and her cheeks, highlighting her skin’s natural blue tone. She was pouring him some tea in a delicate and translucid porcelain cup.

“So, about this Abner Ravenwood. You say this person specializes in antique dealing, and is probably working for a person named The Scholar?” Tera asked.

Tera was now experiencing the consequences of not asking the appropriate questions, realizing that a relatively prominent figure had been operating in certain circles for over a decade without his knowledge. Of course, he would have to inquire with other Shadows to see if they had heard of this individual, but it appeared that they did not operate in the circles that the Jedi usually monitored.

Their limited resources had been stretched thin in recent years, leaving them with the daunting task of overseeing an entire galaxy. As a result, they sometimes missed events that occurred right under their noses.

Ataxia hummed a confirmation. “Apparently, Ravenwood is known as a treasure hunter. He’s running around masked, and the chance is high that it’s a cover. He’s surely part of a much larger organization. The Scholar dips their fingers in a wide variety of businesses.”

“Isn’t that person a kind of sponsor?”

“That’s not this simple,” she answered. “Sponsoring is probably their most obvious action, but believe me, I know when I’m dealing with cover and obfuscation, and this person probably has a very extended network. To what ends, I don’t know precisely, but their influence is considerable, with an uncanny ability to place their pawns just in the right place at the right moment. So believe me when I tell you that this kind of person is always someone at least politically powerful or with the right kind of high-profile informants.”

“That’s the first time I heard of them,” said Tera, flabbergasted. How they had flown under the Jedi’s radar was a question a very much liked to be answered, but he would not say that aloud. He was sufficiently humbled by his utter lack of intel on the matter.

“They were probably meticulous in staying in the dark regarding the Jedi’s informants network. I tell you, Tera, that is rather concerning that someone knows enough to not, probably purposefully, raise your flags.” Ataxia smiled while blowing her teacup delicately. The steam swirled gently in the dim light provided by paper lanterns. “That fact is telling by itself,” she added.

He nodded, lost in thoughts. Someone knew enough of how the Jedi operated to set up a full, influential organization that was basically invisible to them. That fact, combined with what happened to the Chancellor—and with who the Chancellor happened to really be—raised concerns about the Order’s intelligence efficiency. Tera was sufficiently aged to know better regarding the capabilities of the Order, but it still remained rather vexing to be put in front of their shortcomings like that.

“It appears this person doesn’t want the Order to look closely at his activities,” he said, noncommittally. “They had financial backings? What kind of magnitude?”

“It’s hard to say, The Scholar is careful, and they cover their tracks well. Of what my agents have gathered, they have ties in a large and diverse panel of businesses, spreading the core to the outer rim.” Ataxia delicately put back her empty cup on its saucer. “Why are you interested about Ravenwood?”

Tera knew it was his turn to answer questions. “This man has apparently sold items to the Supreme Chancellor.”

Ataxia smirked. “Ah. I heard. It changes things.”

“What does it change?” Tera questioned, wary.

Ataxia took the time to eat a bit of fried nuna, before answering. “The cost of the information. Are you sure you have the means to pay this kind of tip? We deal in terrorism of the highest order here.”

Tera spluttered. “Come on; you didn’t know he was involved until now.”

“These are hard times.” Ataxia shook her head, tone regretful. “Who knows what’ll happen now that the Chancellor is dead? Who will run the Republic? Instability is bad for my kind of business.”

“Don’t you think that you are exaggerating? The collapse of the Republic is unlikely. Palpatine is just one individual, and ultimately the senate governs and manages the affairs..”

“Oh, I always thought the senate was only for show.” The Pantoran waved her hand in dismissal. “The Jedi Order gives a moral caution, though that has changed now you run a galactic army. Everyone with two brain cells knows perfectly that the Republic is a Republic in name only. The Chancellor had far too much power for that, and citizens aren’t really consulted anymore. There is unrest. And I give you this tip because I like you, and I owe you one, but in the last few months, someone has spread derogatory rumors about the Jedi. The general population shifted toward a rather negative opinion of the Order, and I think your Council would be wise to address this matter.”

“Okay, now, that’s preoccupying. Shadows have already alerted about this fact, but we thought Separatists spread it, mainly in the outer and mid-rim. We were certain it was surely a ploy of the Sith, like Tyrannus or the General Grievous.”

Ataxia shook her head in denial. “No, I know how those rumors are spread, and the source is far more central than that. I think it’s on Coruscant, and using efficient and well-established channels.”

Tera nodded, he would be wise to report those concerning facts to the Council without much delay, but he had much to learn still.

“So, this Scholar, what can you tell me about them? And what it’ll cost me?” Tera could still make a petition to ask for more funds. He had few doubts, in regards to the current circ*mstances, that his demand would be easily granted. The lead was probably solid, and he felt the Force nudging him to pursue it.

]o[

Obi-Wan was experiencing unbearable pain, feeling as though he was on the brink of collapsing. The colors in his field of vision were fading away. The agony had been slowly intensifying throughout his body and mind in these past hours. Obi-Wan had spent a long night fulfilling the demands of the Jedi Order, despite his exhaustion, wounds, and mental strain. As a result, he was paying a heavy price. Although he had managed to rest for a few hours, it was barely enough time to restore a fraction of his severely depleted energy.

Thankfully, Master Windu had finally allowed them to rest after Obi-Wan had emphasized the importance of clear thinking for their overall effectiveness.

However, it wasn’t quite the time to sleep. Obi-Wan needed to heal, and he was quite in a predicament. He had trouble using the Force, and felt he wouldn’t have the leeway to take the time to reconstitute his health properly.

The Order hadn’t finished with him yet, and he had many loose ends to tie before it exploded in his face. He knew he had left many clues in his wake that would undoubtedly be exploited by the competent individuals in Mace’s team.

Obi-Wan would have to find a way to heal faster, but his options were less than ideal.

First, to think efficiently, he would have to see about calming the raging tempest pounding in his skull. He needed to close his eyes for a few moments and assess the situation.

Right now, Obi-Wan urgently needed to gather his strength. He suffered not only from significant physical damage, but also psychic, rendering his apprehension of the Force elusive. He was obviously affected by the serious harm done to his Soul-Kyber, to which was most likely added a Sith curse.

Sidious’ death had created a shockwave that Obi-Wan had received with full force, unable to evade. Right now, he couldn't see where the problem precisely lay before doing a thorough assessment, but he sensed he was in a dangerous situation. Obi-Wan was drawing on his reserves to cope, and he had to deal with his psychic injuries, quickly.

Obi-Wan had returned to his quarters with a sigh of relief. The room was in a state of disorder, with bloodied bandages strewn across the wooden floor. He hadn’t had the time nor the presence of mind earlier to remove incriminating items. He took a minute to tidy perfunctorily the room, before slowly removing his upper garments. His wound looked maybe a little less frightening than earlier in the night, but was still needing proper healing. He replaced the old patches with new ones before settling down on his meditation mat.

Obi-Wan adopted a deep breathing rhythm, and focused on his sensations. The throb pulsated behind his eyes, and radiated throughout his torso. He knew pain well: it was an old enemy, always reliable, which could be used as an anchor to center himself in reality. Obi-Wan proceeded methodically to flatten the semblance of shields he had hastily erected to work with his fellow Jedi. Clumsy work, but enough to keep his emotions and pain from contaminating the Force around him. Sidious’ various mental attacks had left a field of ruin in the mental walls he had taken so many years to build and consolidate. Obi-Wan stood amid a blasted mindscape: crystalline splinters lay everywhere. The twists and turns of his mental labyrinth were still in place, but badly damaged.

There was something wrong with the Soul-Kyber; he could feel it.

When he had chosen to meet Sidious’ last attack head-on to complete his own, something had given in. He would need a proper deep meditation to check and hopefully restore whatever damage it had sustained.

But the focus required to do as such was currently impossible to attain. Everything that Obi-Wan needed absolutely to adress, like, right now, would have to be put on hold until he could adequately restore his abilities.

In the midst of the devastation, he spotted a long, sinuous writhing looking snake, half buried in the mound of shards and debris. A Sith mindcurse. He knew it. The thing was sapping his energy, and turned it against him, preventing him from recovering normally. Obi-Wan mentally gritted his teeth. The spell had had the time to sink into his psyche intimately, and tackling it without care would cause the harm he knew he couldn’t take in his weakened state. He had to act as soon as possible and find help. He knew what this kind of psychic attack could cause in the long run.

Obi-Wan felt something akin to despair trickle into his emotional well.

Everything seemed to stack up against him, and he was currently in a position where he couldn’t continue alone. He would need someone to heal him while he took care of terminating the worm.

He knew who to solicit, but that would put him in an even more precarious position within the Order.

But Obi-Wan was beyond caring at this point, and his survival mattered more than maintaining his secret identity.

He sat up, staggered, and headed for his comm.

]o[

Anakin’s friends repeatedly told him that he was a troll. Not like Yoda, though. But a troll nonetheless. It was true he tended to take some matters at heart, and the defense of the Jedi Order’s reputation was one of them. He was maybe a little bit addicted to social media, and liked to spend his time lurking in the holonet shadow to pursue and slay verbally those that spread unjust and uninformed opinions about the Jedi.

Anakin loved his family, and no one had the right to slander those he loved.

His master didn’t know about his hobby and, knowing him, would glower at him and find a cruel way to punish him for not putting his emotional rollercoaster at a distance.

Anakin quite liked his emotional rides, thank you very much.

He perfectly knew he wasn’t the paragon of the Jedi image, detached and serene. And maybe that was why he hadn’t been knighted yet. His master being the Head of the High Council was the reason he hadn’t been sent away much in his Padawan’s career, but he had made peace with this arrangement a long time ago. Anakin quite liked being here, with his friends and fellow knights, tinkering his droids and running pod races in secret.

He didn’t care much for the war, but he particularly missed Depa. He was quite sad to see friends and comrades frequently sent away. And bored, too.

So, social media.

Maybe Anakin could vent some of his pent-up energy with sparring, though, but he would have to find someone to give him some challenge. His master wasn’t very available these days, and the battle master was often occupied with teaching classes. Anakin went to give a hand sometimes, but drilling katas to young initiates tended to bore him to death.

Maybe he could call Obi-Wan and vent to him, the man always had the patience to listen to him rant about nothing and everything. Maybe they could go at Dex’ and enjoy some awfully nutritious food.

Anakin checked his chrono. Maybe it was a little early for that. He would wait an hour or two before looking for his favorite archivist. In the meantime, he would check the HoloFeed.

]o[

Quinlan was studying the sculpture intently. Its intricate patterns depicted a female figure holding a sword in her left hand and a weighing scale in her right, with her eyes hidden behind a blindfold. The carving suggested the blurred edges characteristic of a lightsaber's plasma beam, and her attire resembled that of a Jedi. It seemed that the sculptor had once viewed the Jedi as the embodiment of Justice: just and fair, blind to ideology, and immune to corruption.

But times had changed. The Jedi had become more like enforcers of the Senate and Republic's interests, rather than the guardians of Justice.

As a Shadow, he had gained a unique perspective on the Jedi's position and role in the galaxy. His various covers often required him to embrace a diverse range of values and ideologies, allowing him to develop a keen insight into the thoughts and motivations of others.

Quinlan understood that the Jedi's way of life was not easily comprehensible to the majority of beings. The Jedi were often perceived as enforcers for the privileged, rather than protectors of the downtrodden. The outbreak of war had only reinforced this perception, as the Jedi were increasingly seen as a military force and, as such, compelled to surrender their autonomy to the government.

In truth, this was indeed the case.

Anyway, now wasn’t the time to ruminate over the Jedi Order’s existential crisis. Despite feeling exhausted, Quinlan pushed himself to continue examining the object of his focus. Until now, the progress he had made on the case was satisfying, and he had some really interesting facts to share with the Council during their upcoming meeting. But the Force whispered, calling for his attention and urging him to continue his examination.

And Quinlan wasn't the type to antagonize the Force.

He would finish examining the most prominent object of his nightly selection before reporting back to the Temple. Unlike the Chancellor’s belongings, the sculpture didn’t give off a sense of darkness. It seemed as though it had only recently been placed in the office and had not yet absorbed any of the negative energy that surrounded all of Palpatine’s possessions.

Quinlan's interest was piqued; the sculpture was not as it appeared at first glance. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a nearly invisible seam near the socle and ran his finger along it. His intuition—the Force—told him that it was important, and he was right.

With a careful application of pressure, a hidden mechanism was triggered, and a tiny drawer opened to reveal an electronic device. Although he wasn't as technologically savvy as some of his colleagues, Quinlan was able to identify the device as a miniaturized recording device. The system had been flawlessly integrated, and it was only thanks to his psychometry that he had pushed his examination further. He would probably have missed it otherwise.

Quinlan knew that he needed to check whether the recording device was active and transmitting. Thankfully, he was sharing the room with men specialized in that kind of work. The men, led by Colorblind, were currently analyzing every footage available surrounding the assassination. It was obviously a slow and fastidious process, but the clones had a way with banter that kept the boredom at bay, and filled the soundscape rather pleasantly.

“Hey guys, I think I need a hand.”

]o[

At the tender age of twelve, Obi-Wan set out on a journey to Ilum with a singular purpose—to acquire his very first Kyber crystal. However, little did he know that this would prove to be a pivotal event, marking the end of his old life and the commencement of a new one.

The Kyber powering a lightsaber was like the heart and soul of the Jedi. The crystal resonated with—and within—the individual; through meditation, it became one with its wearer's intentions and desires.

Obi-Wan's crystal, however, was different.

It had been Infused, beyond time and space, and served as a spiritual bridge to a much older version of Obi-Wan. This version called himself Old Ben. Old Ben was wise, knowledgeable, and kind.

He was also bitter and miserable as sin.

Old Ben explained to young Obi-Wan that the Kyber would be used to imprint knowledge and memory on his young brain. It would be painful, but the entire galaxy's fate hung in the balance. He would also have to give up his most cherished wish, to become a Jedi Knight.

Old Ben knew things, but he couldn't decide what to do. Old Ben had no plan.

Old Ben said it was Obi-Wan's job to make decisions, but first, he would have to grow, learn, and, above all, remain discreet and invisible.

Terrible beings were lurking in the dark, waiting and plotting for the end of the galaxy.

To fight against them, Obi-Wan also would need to embrace elusiveness.

The Kyber, heavy and potent with the soul it was carrying, damaged the brain of young Obi-Wan.

This was the price to pay.

Obi-Wan developed a syndrome akin to epilepsy, with episodes of blackouts and convulsions. The healers never knew what caused the ailment, and Obi-Wan was careful not to tell them about the Kyber. He knew that he had to make this sacrifice, and that he could not turn back.

Master Jinn, the Jedi who had chosen him as a Padawan, was confused and saddened by the situation. Obi-Wan gave up his apprenticeship under his tutelage, citing his medical instability, and Qui-Gon let him go. Obi-Wan was heartbroken, but, as he began to integrate the memories of old Ben into his own memory matrix, he cherished the echoes of a relationship that could have existed for him.

Obi-Wan spent many years meditating with the Kyber to integrate Old Ben's memory impressions into his neurons. The transfer was not perfect, for even though they were the same person, Old Ben had lived through, and therefore stored, nearly two centuries of memories.

This had put his nervous system under extreme strain, and sometimes competing signals tried to override each other. The epilepsy was not massive, but it was troublesome, sometimes disabling, as the seizures came on without warning, but were often triggered by reminiscences of Old Ben's life.

With the Jedi Healers' help, Obi-Wan developed a headband that kept most of his neural activity below a certain threshold to avoid excessive excitability. Obi-Wan had to avoid stressful situations, and violent physical activity, until the device was perfectly adjusted to his needs. His headband resonated with the lattice of his Soul-Kyber, as he had dubbed it in his mind. This helped him maintain his neural stability, and made the seizures much rarer and much more manageable.

He just had to make sure the Kyber was always on him, and he had taken to wearing it as a necklace to keep it against his skin at all times. He couldn't use it as part of his saber, as the weapon tended to get lost too often. Obi-Wan had to get another crystal to power his saber. His Soul-Kyber had to be protected over everything else, and was more precious than a vital organ.

Obi-Wan knew that his brain had to mature and take the time to match his neural pathways into their desired form and lattice. To do this, he had to keep the Kyber with him, as close to his head as possible, and meditate as often as possible.

Most of the time, when Obi-Wan had not meditated adequately, he felt disjointed, a sense of disassociation that was growing stronger with time. Sometimes, he felt like he could almost converse with Old Ben, their two identities no longer merging sufficiently to help him maintain a coherent and whole sense of identity.

When Obi-Wan dove into meditation, he spent much of the session amending the crevices and fissures in his psyche, keeping it relatively smooth and unmarred with cracks.

It was a lot of work, and sometimes Obi-Wan felt he would never reach a state where he could do without this mandatory maintenance.

His mental landscape was peculiar, given how much time he spent there. He had come to visualize a kind of crystal palace, which resonated well with the part of his identity stored in the Kyber. He pictured the memories as so many mirrors and panels, which, accumulated, had created a labyrinth.

In meditation, Obi-Wan took the time to adjust the walls and doors, straightening and adjusting to restore coherence. With time, the exercise became easier and easier, for as he grew older, the junction between his organic and crystallized memory became more intricate and merged.

With the Knighthood no longer a possibility, Obi-Wan had chosen the ExplorCorps, archaeological research department, because it allowed him to spend long periods of time away from the Coruscant Temple, and gave him the legitimacy to explore the many archaeological sites from which he knew he could get weapons and resources.

Obi-Wan had demonstrated a talent for analyzing and exploring the many temples hidden throughout the galaxy, especially for Sith artifacts. He was quickly identified as a specialist in defusing the many booby traps that never failed to mark the tombs and shrines of dark force users.

Obviously, this had also been Old Ben's speciality, during the decades he had spent in hiding and searching for ways to compete on equal terms with the devastating power of Sidious and his under-dogs.

However, the means to fight back had not really been provided by these mysterious temples, but by the Guardians of the Whills, and the cult they maintained around the Kyber.

At a point in his long life, Old Ben had immersed himself in the study of Kyber and its nature, and quickly realized the vast possibilities of this crystal that resonated in the Force.

Kyber acted like a crucible, like a node in which the Force pooled and concentrated. They acted as a reserve of power, which was how these crystals could energize lightsabers.

However, the Force was not simply power. It could carry information, and intent that could cross space and time.

Old Ben immediately saw the infinite possibilities of this. If the Kyber could instantly convey information through space, it meant that this information could also be transmitted through time.

For many years, Old Ben buried himself in the study of Kyber and its applications. He designed devices that could anchor Force actions that could be delayed in time. With a peculiar meditation centered around a fragment of Kyber, Old Ben stored complex spells that could be suddenly deployed instantly and without effort. He called that particular technique a Force infusion.

Old Ben had picked up many shards in his travels, that many would have considered unusable, or at the very least, could be at most used as a rosary like the guardians of the Whills did on Jedha: a way to connect more easily to the Force, as the Kyber, even if impure, fractured or shattered, could act as a focus.

Feeding Kyber shards with power, which could be released with a simple mental nudge, was a tremendously powerful technique. Old Ben used the small shards as explosives. He had to recharge the shards regularly, usually during his daily meditations, to keep them filled with a high concentration of the Force.

With time, an idea, at first ludicrous, had slowly germed in his mind, to take precedence over everything else.

The Force lay on a plane beyond the dimensions of time and space.

The Jedi had long known that the Force could transcend these dimensions, for the Force made it possible to transmit information instantly between two beings, even though they might be at a staggering distance.

Likewise, visions of the future, and the talent for psychometry that connected with the past, transmitted information at the expense of the laws of causality. Space and time were no constraints for the Force.

Old Ben had the idea of infusing the first Kyber with all that was himself, and nudging the Infusion toward the past. After spending a few months on Naboo to retrieve his first Kyber lost the fateful day Qui-Gon died, Old Ben spent nearly a full decade in this endeavor.

And he had succeeded.

But the more complex the intent, the better the quality of the crystal had to be.

And a brittle and fractured Soul-Kyber was no good news.

]o[

“Master Windu.”

"Yes, Master Vos?"

“We found a recording…I think you should come to see this.”

"I’ll be by shortly, give me ten minutes."

Chapter 6: Reaching for Help

Chapter Text

Dooku's study was a sanctuary for all that he had gathered throughout his life, which, to say the least, was quite extensive. The room overlooked the soft hills of Sereno, with a breathtaking view of the lush forests below. As a man of refined taste, Dooku appreciated the finer things in life, including art, aesthetics, and intellectual pursuits. Although his time with the Jedi had encouraged him to abandon materialism, he never could quite rid himself of his love for exquisite and valuable objects.

Dooku had a penchant for antique books made of actual paper, as they resonated better with the Force than digital alternatives. The idea of knowledge being imprinted in living matter appealed to him, and he appreciated the weight and history associated with physical books. His study was filled with such items, as well as antiques and artifacts from past eras. Dooku was aware that he shared this interest with his former master, Sidious.

Count Dooku, otherwise known as Darth Tyranus, former Jedi Master and Councillor, gripped tightly the handle of his lightsaber, while balancing precariously in his desk’s chair. The news of Darth Sidious' death had caught him off guard and left him with mixed emotions. Dooku had never thought it possible for Sidious to be unexpectedly and permanently removed, after so many years of careful planning and deceitful maneuvers. He was hesitant to believe it and remained suspicious, questioning the possibility of it being a trap. Knowing Sidious' devious mind, he wouldn't put it past him to fake his own death if it would further his malevolent plans.

It seemed odd to him though, as Sidious’ grand plan was unfolding as planned. The Clone Troopers had just been deployed, led by their Jedi Generals, despite the fiasco of Geonosis. The steps had been unfolding as planned, even with the odd events derailing somewhat the outcomes of what had been planned.

Dooku knew that he wasn't privy to all of Sidious' objectives, as he had intentionally kept him in the dark to ensure his dependence. As the supposed antagonist in the war, Dooku's role was to exhaust the Jedi and confuse their values and morals. Dooku had taken on the role assigned to him, partly because he had long been disillusioned with the Jedi and their strict, unyielding ways. He saw corruption in their ranks and a lack of true justice, and believed that the galaxy needed to go through a cleansing fire to emerge better. But Dooku was not naive. He knew he was too old and knowledgeable to be a useful apprentice for long, and that once Sidious had no further use for him, he would dispose of him without hesitation. The Sith Master-Apprentice relationship was complex, built on deception and pretense, with each trying to outsmart the other. Failure meant death.

Dooku had taken precautionary measures to ensure his survival, knowing that his movements were being monitored by Sidious' spies and informants. Despite being located far from Coruscant, he had established multiple independent networks to increase his chances of disappearing if necessary. However, the news of Sidious' supposed removal from power raised questions, particularly about the identity of his killer. According to the intelligence and images he had obtained, the individual had engaged in a full-powered fight with Sidious, which was no small feat considering the immense power the Sith Lord possessed.

Dooku realized that this turn of events presented a new opportunity for him. His contingency plans had always included a way to break free from Sidious' influence, but he had never imagined a scenario where he would need to act quickly to seize power. Now, with Sidious gone, the path to ultimate control of the galaxy was open. The Republic was leaderless and vulnerable, with a Senate and a Jedi Order in disarray.

Dooku could use the full force of the Separatist Army to conquer Coruscant and destroy it, even if that wasn't part of Sidious' original plan for establishing his empire. Dooku wasn't concerned about the Core worlds, as he believed that the Confederacy of Independent Systems could thrive without them.

Moving the financial assets he controlled to other worlds would be relatively easy. Dooku planned to decentralize the seat of power and government from Coruscant to another location, such as Sereno or Raxus, to consolidate his control over the galaxy.

However, there was still an elusive obstacle that Dooku couldn't quite figure out how to deal with. The unknown player had intervened in a dramatic fashion without any warning signs, leaving Dooku with very little information. This being must have played their part shrewdly to remain so discreet. It was highly probable that Dooku had met this person before, and maybe they were another apprentice that Sidious was grooming without his knowledge. Dooku was aware that there was someone on Coruscant who had caught Sidious' attention, and he intended to assign a team of analysts to the task of investigating unexplained events from several years back, trying to find any clues that could help him identify this unknown force.

Meanwhile, the question of Sidious' legacy remained. Only a handful of individuals knew his true identity as Palpatine. Dooku was aware that Sidious possessed immense power and resources, which he could not let go to waste. The Sith had access to entire planets to advance their dark agendas, but these worlds were heavily guarded and not easily accessible. Dooku needed to obtain the key to these valuable assets.

Fortunately, he had a few trusted informants within the Jedi temple. He needed to cross-check their information and select a competent agent to carry out the mission in the heart of Coruscant. He had just the person in mind for the job - Mister Fett, who had already proven his zeal in opposing the Jedi on numerous occasions.

]o[

Mace entered the Head Quarter. Almost eighteen hours had passed since the event, and the Clones had made a tremendously efficient job at setting up a well-organized crisis center. Different teams worked on specific tasks to advance rapidly in the investigation, and the huge room had been divided into different zones to coordinate the various aspects of the investigation.

There was in particular the area used by Master Vos, who was, logically, directing the investigation mostly concerning items and objects found at the crime scene. The investigation had soon revealed that the affair had ties with Force-related clues, aside from the obvious fact that the perpetrator was Force-trained.

Another area was used to run and crossreference all recordings and testimonies that had been gathered, and a tactical holotable had been set up to pool relevant information. It was diffusing the probable course the criminal had followed during their escape.

The men looked quite fatigued, but efficient and focused, and quietly murmured in good humor to keep themselves alert.

Mace was running himself on adrenaline. He had naped previously, maybe a half hour, after his visit at the Archives, and, while the lack of sleep could be felt in the way his temples rumbled with disquiet, he felt sufficiently energized to continue like that for a while. A part of him thrived in these kinds of events. Despite being Head of the Jedi High Council, he quite loathed flimsiwork and tedious, neverending meetings that were part of his job. He far more preferred the times he took to run odd and far between missions for the Order, even if it was to fight. Mace was a man of action, but his capacity to sense how the threads of events weaved in a coherent tapestry was a skill too precious to waste in mere interventions. His vision was needed to help navigate the Order in these troubled times.

He was greeted with grim expressions, and he could feel great concern that radiated into the Force. Vos was blank in the Force, carefully tucking his emotions behind his shield, but Fox was distinctively troubled. The few times Mace had interacted with the man before the event had been characterized by an imperturbable and cool-headeness demeanor. Mace supposed that for bearing the quirks and whims of the politicians he had to put up with all day long, Commander Fox sure needed steel self-control.

"What is going on?" he asked in lieu of a greeting, not bothering for niceties he knew everyone was too tired to bother displaying.

Quinlan Vos gestured to Fox to let him the task of explaining their findings. They would not have called him here if it wasn’t sufficiently important to require his physical presence.

“Master Vos found something interesting. We have combed through the Chancellor's office and began an extensive inventory. Master Vos talent had been precious in selecting et number down items of interests." Fox handed Mace a pad with pictures of the particular items that were relevant. "Master Vos discovered a concealed compartment in this sculpture, one of which contained recording equipment."

Mace felt a spike of interest flushing his tiredness out. “Did you manage to read any content there?”

Fox nodded, "I put my best men in it. The system was rather well protected, but no defense system resists dedicated attention. We managed to access to the relevant part, and we know it will be rather conclusive, for certain critical questions the affair poses, but….” Fox trailed off, visibly not sure how he could convey his opinion.

"And?" Mace nudged.

“We have clear footage of what happened, Master Windu. I... I'm not sure it should be released now, even to the authorities. I need to defer to your judgment.”

“Fox is saying we are in a clusterf*cked situation,” Quilan intervened, examining his nails idly. “What had clear proof of what we all began to suspect, Master Windu. Palpatine was a treacherous motherf*cker.”

"Language, Master Vos. We need to be irreproachable in this investigation, and not display a lack of neutrality.” Mace was inclined to think along Vos’ lines in the secret of his mind. “Allow me to assess the situation." He eyed the other men in the room, and raised a questioning brow to Fox.

"The men in this room are completely forbidden from communicating any information; you can trust them," answered the Commander clones, a bit rigidly.

Mace nodded. He could sense the good faith and the honesty in these men. In the few months of their surprising deployment, Mace had observed firsthand the sheer loyalty they expressed. The clones, as a rule, genuinely cared about doing their job as well as possible. A part of Mace’s mind asked about the origin of this loyalty. Are character and temperament could be selected genetically? Was it their upbringing and their training that had rendered these men so trustworthy?

“Come on, Master Windu,” Vos designated a desk, and Mace sat on the chair facing a small display to keep things discreet, while Fox triggered the video playback. The recording device had been apparently placed over the coffee table in front of the luxurious velvety couch, that had been placed in the corner of the Chancellor’s office designated to receive distinguished guests. The Chancellor himself could be seen there, seated, with a genial smile plastered on his wrinkled face, and obviously addressing a person who was at the time off-screen.

“We haven’t decoded the signal for the sound yet, but the images are telling by themselves,” precised Fox.

For a second, Palpatine paused in his apparent speech, and was so static it looked like the video had been put on hold, when suddenly, violence unleashed without warning.

Mace took a breath of surprise, and he barely suppressed an exclamation when he saw that Palpatine had activated a red lightsaber, and engaged in an onslaught of terrible violence.

The second protagonist appeared briefly on screen, shedding a luxurious robe and keeping only a formfitting black uniform and the nondescript mask that was now familiar to the team of investigators. The recording provided however a better close-up of the being, who was clearly a human or near-human of the masculine build. The man had drawn his lightsaber, the color of which was interestingly yellow, and not the red provided by a bled Kyber crystal.

Both fighters were moving enough for the camera to capture only bits of the whole fight. During the second minutes, the sculpture containing the recording device was thrown brutally in a corner with the table, and, while skewing the viewing angle, offered a much better panorama for the unfolding action.

Palpatine showed great dramatic competence, on par with the best fighters the Temple counted. This display squashed any lingering doubts in Mace’s mind about the true identity of their seemingly benevolent Chancellor. He was truly the proverbial krayt dragon in disguise, there, in the heart of the power of the Galactic Republic.

The Chancellor’s opponent was holding his own, showing surprising nimbleness, and recognizable Jedi form like Soresu, with elements of other forms blending superbly in the flow of parries and attacks. The precise sequences of trading blows were often too fast to be easily readable from the viewing angle.

The fight lasted five, maybe eight minutes in total, and in those few minutes, both sides exhibited such great skill that Mace doubted he would have been able to pull it off on his own if he had to fight either of the combatants. In his career, Mace tried not to take pride in his fighting proficiency because it was not fitting the Jedi way and precepts. Still, he allowed himself to bask in gratification and delight whenever he won a bout against other Masters renowned for their dueling skills.

Opponents fought with their lightsabers, but also with the Force, multitasking and dividing their attention into multiple chains of actions. The furniture flew, transformed into projectiles and weapons, and Force lightning streaked the screen, saturating the light sensors intermittently.

Soon, in a show of mastery hard to fully understand, the Chancellor’s opponent provoked the floor’s collapse, while continuing to rain down precise and powerful attacks on the Chancellor’s defense. After an exchange difficult to analyze, the attacker ended up decapitating Palpatine, whose corpse fell, after staying still for a few seconds, frozen in time for a moment. The Chancellor’s opponent, obviously grievously injured –they had clearly seen him taking a hit on his left shoulder–, stayed still for a moment to regain his breath, before diving when the clones arrived on site.

Mace would have to watch the video many times to understand the action better, but this first viewing already answered the most fundamental question of all : who was really Palpatine.

Considering the skills he had displayed to save his life, Palpatine was clearly a Sith Lord. This explained the breaking of the shatterpoint and the shift in the Force they had all felt at the time of the event.

He ran a tired hand on his smooth cranium, before expelling a breath of air. “Kriff.”

Vos nodded in agreement. "Do you understand now? We’re in deep sh*t. Well, maybe not as much as we were when Palpatine was alive and scheming, but…well." He gestured vaguely to compensate for his lack of eloquence.

The implications of this reality were indeed dizzying. Palpatine had risen to the pinnacle of power, probably by lying and manipulating, but Mace felt that the plot probably had roots in many aspects of powers and influences that ran the Republic. That was a repulsive can of worms that Mace was loath to open, but the Jedi Order wouldn’t have sadly many choices on the matter. The Jedi would certainly have to clean up this sh*t, because, in the eyes of the mundane citizen, everything that was Force related was Jedi business and responsibility. The political fall of the event would be horrendous to address. And they still had a war to win.

Mace held the bridge of his nose, feeling the migraine fully kick in. He took out his comm, and sent the emergency signal that urged the councilors to meet in immediate session.

“Commander Fox, come with us, we need to keep the Jedi High Council informed before we make a decision. The Senate had planned to meet in the early afternoon to appoint an interim Chancellor urgently.” After a pause, he added. “All the GAR has to prepare to regroup and be ready for a strategic retreat to Coruscant.”

]o[

Deathy silence filled the Council room. The recording had been over for several minutes already, but the shock felt by the Council members physically present was stirring the Force, despite their usual proficiency in masking unruly emotions. They all had difficulty digesting facts and information that had been presented to them this morning. Quinlan Vos had presented his finding, while Master Sinube had made a short update on his nightly research to Mace earlier in the morning. Mace stood in the middle of the room, with Fox at attention next to him.

Finally, Yoda stirred out of his unnatural immobility. “Fools, we were. Complacent, we grew.”

A few councilors, clearly shellshocked, nodded in agreement. Shaak Ti added, “Palpatine is clearly a Sith Lord. How could we have been fooled so blatantly?”

“The Sith are masters of deception and pretense.” Mace answered. “For millennia we have not heard of them. We were stupid to conclude that they must have disappeared, and won the game.”

“That was not a game, because we were clearly not aware we were played.” intervened Madame Nu, who, despite her sleepless night, seemed neatly put together and alert. Her voice, dry and severe, conveyed both disappointment and tightly controlled anger.

Mace conceded the point, before continuing: “We have to meticulously assess the full extent of influence Palpatine has exerted during his years in power, throughout his career, and well before that. We will have to gather a solid body of evidence against him. Politically, it will be a mess to sort. We must understand how he was able to access supreme power like this, but above all, uncover all of his schemings. No doubt he hadn’t stayed idle, and the Jedi has necessarily been a target. We need to understand how and with what means.”

There was a pause, when Mace knew everyone began to truly grasp the implication of the High Chancellor of the Republic being in fact their mortal enemy. Suddenly, Coruscant didn’t feel as secure as they thought. The Republic they had defended could as well be a tool to prepare for their demise.

Listening carefully until then, Fox spoke up: "I have a team dedicated to evidence gathering . As the head of the Coruscant Guards, I have access to a lot of records and to a part of the Chancellor’s archive. I think we will need the Senate’s approbation to access more freely to secured records. It will probably take time to analyze all the data, and we will need legal experts and jurists with keen eyes to consult every proposal for laws and decrees."

Various councilors nodded in understanding, while Yoda answered: “Help us, you wish. Thankful to you, the Jedi are.”

“This leaves us with the second important point to discuss,” said Mace. “We know for a fact that Palpatine was our enemy. So what about the person who attacked him? Is it an enemy or a friend?”

Jedi Master Plo Koon intervened for the first time in the meeting. He seemed deeply troubled by the unfolding events. “Maybe he’s a Sith too, his apprentice? It seems to me that this is the Sith way of handling... the passing on of their heritage.”

“Hmm, that might indeed be the case, but we shouldn't rule out any hypotheses. In any case, this person helped us uncover a conspiracy that likely had its roots in decades of planning.”

“Without his intervention, perhaps we would have realized this too late,” sighed Master Plo.

An ominous silence hung over, and echoes of what could have been resonated in the Force.

Everyone perceived a disturbing depth in these words, as if this “too late” had a weight, a strange reality.

Mace felt a shiver run up his spine. He felt like they were at a crossroads, in the middle of a pivotal episode so huge that the fates of billions of people had suddenly changed.

“This person must know a lot.” Shaak Ti said, showing off her sharp teeth. “We need to find him and capture him, but it is obvious that he will not be easy to neutralize, and, until we know more about his loyalties, we need to exercise utmost caution.”

Everyone nodded their assent, and Mace continued with a sigh. “Now, we have to decide on the matter of what to say to the Republic citizens.”

]o[

Bant Eerin, Jedi Healer, was consulting some files in her personal physician's office, when she saw his old friend knock lightly on the door jamb. Usually neat and tidy, Obi-Wan looked like a walking corpse. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat, and his bloodshot eyes gave him a crazed look.

"Obi-Wan!" she cried. She rushed over to him, closed the door, and half supported, half dragged him toward the sickbed set in the corner. "What happened?"

"I misjudged an artifact, and caught a Sith trap head-on,” he rasped. “I need you to help me lift a curse."

Bant had already come to the aid of her friend numerous time, whom she had the pleasure –and displeasure– of seeing more often lately. Obi-Wan had been part of her Initiates clan, back when they were crècheling. He was like his brother in that they had shared many moments together. Their friendship was strong, even though their respective career choices had driven them apart. Obi-Wan, when he was young, always said he would become a Jedi Knight. He had fire and passion, and he actively cared for the well-being of those around him. With her innocent eyes, Bant did not doubt that he would succeed in carving out the path he desired.

With hindsight and maturity, she told herself that nothing could predict the trajectory of individuals, and that everything could indeed change overnight.

Their small group of more-than-friends, comprising Obi-Wan and herself, as well as Garen Muln and Siri Tachi, had all been taken as padawans. But Obi-Wan far later than usual for someone of his talent. And that didn’t work in the end. Obi-Wan, soon after the beginning of his apprenticeship, had declared a bad neurological condition, which put an end to his ambitions.

His broken dream dimmed his inner fire, and Obi-Wan became quiet and introverted. The change had not been gradual, but sudden, as if he had been replaced by someone else wearing his face overnight.

Bant remembered they had been quite disturbed by the change. It was as if Obi-Wan had lost his spark, and had suddenly become a reasonable, mature, adult person, even though he was still only twelve. He seldom laughed or bantered, and was instead often sporting somber expressions with preoccupied lines marring his face.

Sometimes his face would suddenly light up with a radiant smile when his friends managed to make him forget what was bothering him, and Bant's heart would sink as she realized that Obi-Wan was, at heart, still the same.

He had gone from being a bright, intelligent, emotional child to a dry, dark-tempered adult. Obi-Wan had soon joined the ExplorCorps, first as an Archaeologist, then more recently as an Archivist.

Obi-Wan had always been careful to maintain his rare but precious ties to his friends, however. Bant was one of the few privileged, because she had been quite involved with her Master in Obi-Wan’s neural headband conception and set-up. They had succeeded in devising an effective system, greatly improving Obi-wan's resistance to the random seizures he suffered.

Obi-wan had taken the habit of visiting her between his missions, first for his obligatory consultations, then for the pleasure of seeing each other. He took the time to ask about her affairs and her relationships. He would offer her tea, and tell her about his latest research. This often involved the handling of unknown and often dangerous devices and artifacts. He regularly got burns or headaches, but never anything more serious.

That's why Bant had to face her dismay when taking inventory of Obi-Wan's injuries. His drawn features were marked by pain, which she assumed was severe, despite the fact that Obi-Wan had, as always, put up impeccable mental shields.

She had always been impressed by his mastery of certain Jedi arts, despite the general mediocrity of his performance when it came to direct force use and martial prowess. Obi-Wan could be surprising in that his skills were highly specialized. He didn't seem to care about much else except his very specific interests in history and ancient arts, not to mention his almost obsessive focus on the Sith language and spells.

He was recognized as a specialist in his field, but was overlooked in everything else, yet Bant knew that he had a formidable intellect behind his somewhat always bewildered appearance.

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth when she demanded that he remove his layers of clothing, but he eventually relented, too exhausted to fight.

When she uncovered his chest, she cried out, "Force! What happened to you? I can't believe this is from a regular work.” She stopped, scrutinizing his lesion closer. “Obi-Wan, it looks... it looks like a lightsaber wound!"

Obi-Wan sighed and closed his eyes like he had the worst headache of his life. "Bant, I can't tell you anything right now, we're in the middle of an investigation of the utmost importance... when the subject is less sensitive, I promise to explain everything. I need you to address the most serious of my wounds, while I focus on my psyche. I have suffered a mental attack and a curse is eating away at my defenses."

"Don't you think we should call in a Mind Healer? I'm not sure we should take those things lightly."

"I can try to take care of it; I'm used to these things. If I don't get the desired result, I promise to do what I can to get help. I did come to you, didn't I?" And indeed, it seemed it had cost him dearly to come to see her in her lair. They usually always met elsewhere than in the Healing Halls.

"Hmm, okay, but I'll keep you under observation this morning. Lie down, and let's do what's necessary."

Obi-Wan's speech made sense, and he seemed calm and unaffected by the situation. His composure impressed her, and she allowed herself to be convinced by his arguments.

He closed his eyes as she gently applied her hands to his chest. She summoned the Force, and wrapped it around her fingers like a spool of threads. The process took the form of a tapestry in her mind: she drew the Force fibers into the organic tissues, encouraging them to replenish themselves with her will. She superimposed the mental image of a healthy, vigorous body on reality, which helped the cells to organize themselves according to the suggested pattern.

The wound was deep, and already several hours old. Obi-Wan must have had to keep his important tasks despite being hurt. Through the connection she had made, she could sense the intense exhaustion he was trying to hold at bay, but it menaced to overwhelm his mind and body.

She felt that Obi-Wan’s concentration was turned inward, and that he was battling a problematic enemy. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, indicating that he was exerting himself very hard.

Bant focused on the large wound on Obi-Wan's shoulder. The healing process had begun, and it would now take time, rest, and a decent diet to heal properly. She cleaned the wound and applied bacta before bandaging his shoulder. Other injuries were damaging his skin, but nothing as severe as what she had just dealt with.

She was just finishing applying salve to one of the multiple cuts that marred his forearms when she heard an odd crack in the force, followed by a groan of pain. Obi-Wan rolled onto his side and retched, before collapsing back onto the bed. He pressed his hands to his face and inhaled sharply.

"Kriff."

"Are you alright?"

"I... I should be fine." He peered between his fingers. "I need to sleep."

"I'll keep you under observation, as I said."

"Mrs. Nu will be soon looking for me. It's best if I go sleep where she knows how to find me. I promise to call you in a few hours and let you know how I am."

Bant had expected this, but made a show of putting up her best healer glower. Sadly, Obi-Wan was immune to these attacks, and Bant knew it was useless to insist. She sighed in resignation. He answered with a congenial smile, entirely faked, but so in place amid his features. Bant had always thought Obi-Wan was made for joy and optimism, and not for the sadness that seemed to accompany him unfailingly.

Chapter 7: Balance

Chapter Text

The Jedi, along with Commander Fox, emerged from the Council Chamber in disarray, whispering to each other in a subdued manner. They had all been shaken by the latest information brought to their attention, which effectively redefined everyone's perspective on the current situation. The golden light of the morning did not soften their worried faces. Too few of them had had the chance to rest since last night.

Mace could feel the exhaustion in his bones as well. He was still in the prime of life, for a member of his kind, but the use of the Force and good physical health could not keep the consequences of sleep deprivation at bay indefinitely. He would probably need a few hours of sleep before the special session of the Senate that was to be held in the early afternoon.

Before he could make his way toward his personal quarters, Fox cleared his throat to get his attention.

"Master Windu, do you have a minute to spare? I could really use your insight on a matter that concerns me," Fox asked, looking disquieted behind his stoic facade.

"I'm listening, Commander Fox."

"I don't know if this has anything to do with our current investigation, but my intuition tells me it's probably related. One of my units, which was deployed in pursuit of the fugitive, has returned in a state that is, to say the least,... worrying."

"Worrying? What do you mean? Are they injured? Do you need the expertise of a Jedi Healer?" Mace suspected that Fox was asking for help because he had exhausted all of his options. The Commander seemed like a man with a protective streak, and one who expressed much of his loyalty in the care he gave his men.

"I think we could use some expert advice. My CMO hasn't picked up any visible wounds, and he finds himself at a loss as to what to do next. The soldiers are strangely listless, as if their personalities have been turned off. They are not comatose, they look quite alert and they carry out the instructions they are given perfectly. However, they don't show any initiative and no longer contribute to conversations," he paused, before resuming after a deep breath. "They have less personality than a droid."

Ah, now we're actually touching on something profoundly important , Mace thought inwardly. Since the Clones had been deployed from who knows where, Mace had often wondered what it would be like to be part of a family with hundreds of millions of copies of the same individual. In running his own armed division, Mace had quickly realized that each of the Clones was in fact as different in their individuality as any other person brought into the world by more conventional means, aside from their equal temperament and ability to withstand pressure.

The Jedi could easily sense their individuality, for each one sang a different melody in the Force that was easy to differentiate. This was not the case for the Force-null, however, who could only perceive the same face and armor. Clones were not considered individuals in their own right, with the same prerogatives and liberties as any other sentient being in the galaxy.

Their status remained something indefinable, purposely kept in limbo by war and necessity. The Republic allowed the use of an armed force that was composed of nothing less than slaves. Mace often wondered about the ideals and values that the war was forcing into disrepair and corruption, and he wondered if not only the Republic, but the Jedi Order as well, could survive this galactic conflict.

What were they fighting for, if the values they claimed to uphold were being trampled by the path they had decided to follow because it was convenient?

And boy, these questions were taking a rather dramatic shade in the light of what they learnt today about the High Chancellor.

Mace laid a hand that he hoped was reassuring on the Commander's arm. "I'm sending a request to Master Che right now to request a specialist to help you. What you describe is indeed very concerning, and if the fugitive has indeed caused this problem, it is possible that a Force technic had been used. We will do everything we can to ensure your brothers are returned to their normal state. In the meantime, we need to schedule a meeting after the Senate session to continue the investigation. Please, go and have a rest, you have earned it."

Fox nodded, saluted, and took his leave. Mace sensed that it had been difficult to bring to his attention a fact that touched so closely on an issue as fundamental as their identity and individuality as clones. Mace took out his comm and composed Master Che ident’, while strolling tiredly towards his quarters. He hoped his Padawan would not pester him to do something with him and would let him rest as well. He sorely needed to close his eyes for a time.

]o[

Obi-Wan, for the fourth time in the space of a few hours, returned home, but this time in a much better condition. He had succeeded in uprooting the curse, even though the backlash had reinforced his horrible headache. He was however on the verge of Force exhaustion, and he was badly in need of rest and meditation. The physical pain had been made much less severe by Bant's intervention, and he tested his shoulder with a careful move to disrobe. Obi-Wan had great confidence in Bant’s abilities, and he knew that she would keep to herself the fact that he had come to her in these somewhat strange circ*mstances. They had, after all, kept very few friends in common to keep informed about Obi-Wan’s actions.

The sad reality was that he had indeed made the choice to forsake friendship and deep relationships in this life. Losing once everything he had considered important was one time too many. He would ensure that everyone stayed safe from him and his plotting. Bant was one of the few exceptions that wouldn’t accept being rid of him, and she had stayed loyal despite Obi-Wan’s attempts to discourage her pursuit.

Bant had cultivated and maintained many relationships, for she was a loyal and faithful person, and her position and centrality within the Temple allowed her to see her friends relatively often when they were not deployed on missions.

This gave Obi-Wan the opportunity to hear from the people who had been precious to him, during the occasional meal that Bant forced upon him, which he did not have the heart to refuse. He liked to listen to her talk about her old friends and how they were doing in the galaxy.

She wasn’t his sole source of intel, however. He had his own network of informants, which he had assigned to his Persons of Interest list, and which kept him up to date on everyone's doings. His network extended far and wide, from the Core to the Outer Rim, and allowed him to keep a coherent overview of the events that were shaping the galaxy, while advancing its own pawns on the dejarikboard.

He had, since his transmigration, initiated subtle changes in the trajectory of people he considered important. In his first life, he didn't have all of the precise elements that shaped Darth Sidious' rise to power, but he knew most of the major players and their destinies with the benefit of a century of hindsight. All he had to do was fill in the blanks with logic and a powerful, responsive intelligence network.

Obi-Wan's strength lay in subtlety, in defending and redirecting, in carefully measuring the influence on the fulcrum, on the linchpin of any construct, whether it be a long-term plan or a Force technique. Old Ben had learned, thanks to his long life, to think and see the world and the universe as a balance built on myriad balances. Sometimes, just the smallest touch of encouragement could tip the scales and cause a phenomenal chain reaction. One didn't need great power to have great influence.

One just had to know where to exert control.

And Obi-Wan had access to valuable knowledge about the future and the notable influencers of the next few decades. The first significant action had been to convince the Archeologist Overseer of the ExplorCorp ship where he was trained to go to Tatooine. With a few oriented nudges, they had found Anakin and taken him with them, while taking care to free Shmi and offering her a better situation. The second significant change had occurred when he had managed to infiltrate Kamino and subtly tamper with the entire control-chip of the clone army.

His trail of thoughts reminded him he had to take action sooner rather than later about the clones he had taken control of last night. He had no doubt, despite his orders, that their behavior would be a red flag to those who knew them well. Obi-Wan had learned from his close study of the control chip mechanism that overly elaborate commands could not be effectively implanted unless they were programmed into the chip.

The only command Obi-Wan had managed to embed in an invisible subroutine was overdrive, a command that forced the clones to obey his every command in his presence, but deprived them of autonomous response and complex behavior if he wasn't there to direct them.

Sidious had a list of seemingly simplistic orders programmed into his mind, but one that ensured that the clones would be able to plan and take a long view of their execution. Thus, Order 66 allowed the Clones to establish complex strategies to trap and eliminate almost the entire Jedi Order.

So he had to find them and get them back to their normal behavior. Obi-Wan would probably have to use some subtle mental maneuvering to rearrange their memories, and perhaps implant a suggestion or two in the people who had been with them since last night.

Bant had done his best to heal his physical wounds, and he had managed to limit the damage caused by the Sith curse, but he would not be able to sleep for the time being. There was also the matter of the Soul-Kyber, which concerned him deeply, but which he didn't really have time to address at the moment.

The cracks in the Soul-Kyber were causing a strange hissing sound in Obi-Wan's mindscape, almost imperceptible but nonetheless present, like an annoying tinnitus. It was a rather distracting sensation, but one that would not prevent him from carrying out the actions he needed to take to cover his tracks.

He still had some work to do before he could take a few hours to deal with it for good. Obi-Wan was not keen to waste more time, but perhaps he had just a few minutes for a shower and to restore himself with the help of a cup of tea or two.

When he stepped out of the ‘fresher, he felt marginally better and vaguely human again. He put on a thick outfit, because the lack of sleep and his general weakening put him on the verge of hypothermia, and he badly needed to conserve the little energy he had managed to regain. Finally, he prepared a huge pot of tea.

Throughout his long decades of life, wherever he was, the taste for this drink had never left him. The motions composing the ritual kept him rooted in reality, and in very down-to-earth sensations.

He poured the hot –but not boiling– water over the whole tea leaves, one of the rare true luxuries he treated himself. He inhaled the fine mist which rose in slow wisps. The drink smelled of hummus and roasted cereal, the vegetal notes reflecting life and its distant connection to the Living Force. He settled down on his meditation mat, cross-legged, and turned on the screen reflecting the landscape of Coruscant, beyond the multiple walls of the Temple. He allowed himself to be bathed in the rays of the day, which unfortunately lacked their natural heat. The sun was already high in the sky, and partly obscured with the perpetual smog bathing Coruscant and looking like the planet was nestled amidst a spectacular nebulae.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, his hand cupping his small bowl to absorb the heat of the beverage. He turned his attention inward and brushed against the damaged parts of his mindscape.

The fight against Sidious had pushed him to his limits. Admittedly, this was not how he had imagined executing the man. He had devised a long and complex plan to lure him away from the Senate, even to trace him to Naboo, but the opportunity had never been the right one and had not presented itself to him as he would have liked.

Obi-Wan had been in the midst of laying one further step among many that composed his plan, when Sidious had suddenly attacked him without any warnings.

He still had difficulty integrating the new state of affairs, and needed to take the time to carefully and methodically consider his next steps. Events had forced him to reveal some of his cards, including his existence as a dangerous Force-user and an unknown quantity for the various protagonists. First, Obi-Wan needed to rebuild his mental defenses with care and caution.

He had developed techniques, over his decades of flying under the radar, that were geared towards stealth and deception. He was a master in the air of appearing who he wasn't, and his shields expressed multiple levels of obfuscation. No one so far had managed to pierce them, but he had managed to pass as unnoticed as possible. The peculiarity of Obi-Wan's mind made him particularly effective in the mental arts, especially in defense. He had always been adept at suggestions and mind manipulations, but his study of the Whills and Kyber had made him particularly adept at these uses. Obi-Wan also had to admit that the Sith arts helped, with their tendency to lean heavily on obfuscation and misdirecting.

Obi-Wan was able to project the illusion of mediocre shields, in front of a false psyche that served as a trap and a labyrinth for those who tried to probe his defenses. He was so used to holding them, that he was able to keep them intact even in situations where he happened to pass out.

He drank one last cup of tea, before straightening up to do some careful stretching, and settling back into a comfortable position. He was not keen to upset Bant's work, but it was important to gently mobilize traumatized tissue to promote healing.

His meditation took him a few more minutes, and allowed him to refocus on himself. He felt calmer, able to use the Force again, but maybe not in its most complex and fine aspects. A large part of his arsenal comprised tools he had developed over the year, and the majority of them required delicate control, all in finesse and not allowing the merest approximation.

The objective for the days to come was centered on mudding the water to keep up his mask as long as possible. The incognito side gave him a freedom of movement too precious to be discarded. He had his suspicion about what lay in the secured coffer, and, if his instincts were right, he would probably need to move without hindrance. He would also have to activate part of his network to prepare his evacuation plans if the need arose. The priority was therefore not to be limited in his freedom of movement and actions.

Obi-Wan sighed, and set aside his bowl on the low table while taking hold of his datapad. He took the time to access the communications reserved for the Judicial service, in particular those devoted to the investigation and in connection with the security service of the Senate. He accessed the Coruscant Guards’ feed as well.

He had taken care to install a backdoor, a few months ago, in the space the Clones used to communicate between themselves. He knew their way of working so intimately that he had an unfair advantage against them, and this allowed him to regularly monitor the content of their exchanges.

This was how he found that his little stunt with the clones had not gone unnoticed. They were currently in the barracks infirmary, and presumably, their condition had led their brothers to ask all the difficult questions.

With careful motions, Obi-Wan got back on his feet. He put on a large, darker robe than his usual favored shade. After a few seconds of thinking, he equipped himself with his alternate comm and his second lightsaber. He wasn't sure he could use it should the need arise, but he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of going out unarmed. He had left far too many clues already, but he would not prioritize secret over safety.

Obi-Wan slipped on a satchel with nondescript clothes and a mask. He didn’t know how he would need to intervene, but maybe it would not be with his Jedi persona. He had to be prepared for any unforeseen event, because, knowing his current luck, things would not go as envisioned.

]o[

Anakin roamed the halls of the Temple in the direction of Obi-Wan's quarters, when he happened to run into the very man himself. Anakin thanked the Force for its help, which meant he didn't have to walk all the way to Obi-Wan’s apartment.

Anakin had often been told he was Force-Blessed. His high level of midichlorians made him particularly sensitive to the constant whispers of the Force. Master Windu used to say it made him more inattentive than powerful, and Anakin, in his heart, felt his Master was quite right.

When his goals aligned with his motivation, Anakin embodied a fearsome individual whom nothing and no one could turn from his path. Unfortunately, Anakin could have difficulty being persistent and focused: he had too many side projects that constantly titillated his attention.

Especially when he had to meditate. He hated meditating.

In any case, he was rather pleased that the Force, or Fate, or whatever, had listened to his wish and put Obi-Wan in his path. They almost bumped into each other in a flourish of robes, when Anakin ended up stabilizing the older man.

"Ah, Obi-Wan! Just the person I wanted to see!" Anakin did a double-take. "You look like sh*t."

"Why, thank you, it's always a rare pleasure to exchange words with you, Anakin," Obi-Wan drawled, flashing a short and tired smile.

"Seriously, what happened to you? Are you sick?" Anakin took a step back. He didn't like being sick.

Obi-Wan shook his head and subsequently winced. "Just a headache. I'm a little sleep-deprived, nothing serious, don't worry."

"Okaaay." answered Anakin. "I know what will cheer you up, come on, I'll take you to Dex. My treat."

Obi-Wan sighed. "I have other things to do, Anakin."

"You do? Where are you going?"

"I'm going downtown, I have something to do for the Council."

"Ah, is this about that thing with the Chancellor? Are you part of the team investigating it?"

"I don't know what I'm allowed to tell you, Anakin. Did your Master talk to you about what happened?"

"Nothing specific, but I know it's something big. Mace has barely been home all night, and he's spending his time between the Council and the Senate. Anyway, it's pretty bad to end up murdered like that. I thought the Chancellor was a nice guy. I think he liked me."

"Yes, well. I knew about it. I think you'll find out soon enough what it was really like about him."

"Come on, come with me, I think you need to put some meat on your bones, you look scary pale, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan sighed. Anakin knew that Obi-Wan knew him well, and that Anakin could be rather obsessive when he had an idea in his head. He wouldn't give up until Obi-Wan gave in.

The archivist seemed to come to the same conclusion, and didn't seem to have the energy to put up the necessary fight to placate Anakin, and finally nodded his assent. Anakin put his arm around the shorter man's shoulders with a winning smile.

"Come on, we'll have a great time together, I promise it will not take you too much time."

"If you say so, Anakin, if you say so."

]o[

Vader had sent him a message directly to his comm. Nearly forty years had passed since the establishment of the Empire, since the eradication of the Jedi Order. Other tragic events had occurred since then, but this event had affected his life so dramatically that it was the date that Old Ben framed all his memories with.

He had little doubt that this was also the case for Vader.

Vader reached for him, while Old Ben had managed to erase his presence, and make everyone think he was dead. Obviously, he had not been as successful as he had thought.

Vader had sent him a message, saying he would like to meet him for a chat, and had signed Anakin.

Of course, Old Ben had thought it was a trap, but he found it strange that Vader had waited four decades to use such a simplistic strategy. Anakin had always been almost painfully straightforward and honest. Anakin was not a deceitful man. Vader, on the other hand, because of the corruption generated by the Dark Side, had not hesitated to be devious, but his approach almost always favored directness and plain strategies. He was sufficiently, scaringly powerful for that.

Still, he was asking for a meeting, and he had phrased his message as if it were the wish of a dying man. He had simply given him a date and a place, and did not expect an answer. It was Ben's choice whether he would come.

So Old Ben decided to grant his wish.

Vader had chosen Tatooine, perhaps because it was the place where they had first met, or perhaps because it was a way for Vader to acknowledge his origins. His origins as a man, not as a spawn of the Dark Side and Emperor's rabid dog.

Old Ben had stood in ambush for two whole days, deeply immersed in the Force, watching for any sign that this was a trap. Vader had remained there, kneeling in the shadow of an ochre stone promontory, contemplating the great sandy expanse that had seen him born and raised. He had not eaten or drunk, sustained by his lifesuit which was also his prison and his curse.

Old Ben, under all his hate, pitied this less-than-a-man who had once been the center of his universe.

He could have attacked him, and finally rid the galaxy of this curse.

But in the lines Vader’s shoulders, even though they were probably made entirely of metal and plastoid, Old Ben read defeat and resignation.

At the end of the second day, as Tatooine's second sun finally reached the horizon to let the cool night air bless these dry lands, Old Ben knelt beside his old enemy.

He chose to say nothing, and to let Vader say what he had to say. For a few minutes, the silence was filled only with Vader's breathing, along with the nightly complaints of the desert dwellers and the thermal wind that would sweep across the dunes throughout the night, giving them a completely different configuration in the morning.

"If I hadn't turned to the Dark Side, do you think Padmé would have died? My child would have lived?

So plainly said. And yet, what had been a mere fear in Anakin's mind, twisted by Sidious's nefarious influence, had become the linchpin that turned the galaxy into darkness.

"All I can say to you is that Padme chose to chase you instead of staying safe. She couldn't comprehend what I had reported to her about your actions." Old Ben paused. "I still regret revealing the truth to her. I should have lied. We should have stayed away from you. Instead, we both chose to come for you."

Vader did not answer. His labored breathing filled the silence.

"I think we loved you too much to give you up, Anakin."

Vader remained motionless. He was curiously absent in the Force, once so full of bubbling energy, like a deep, generous spring.

"The life-support of my suit stopped functioning earlier today. I made the necessary arrangements. I think I'm going to die in the night. Will you stay with me, Obi-Wan?"

Old Ben, when he had been Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, had never really been able to resist a request from his Padawan. While trying to stay aloof and detached, and be the best example of emotional control to help his Padawan deal with his own affective struggles, Obi-Wan had always felt his own emotions profoundly.

Old Ben had not cried in a long time. That night, he wept like a child, when the last ember that tethered him to his old life died in his arms.

Chapter 8: Pressure

Chapter Text

Coruscant never slept. The city was divided into sections, and then into neighborhoods. Most people on the planet never saw the real sky. Each section had its own time zone, and the public lighting corresponded to conventions that had been determined by each borough hall. The town halls had all the characteristics of a local government, with its chief and members of their cabinet, as well as diplomatic officers to manage relations between neighboring districts.

The Senate and the Republic High Council were in charge of governing the galaxy, and were not concerned with how the citizens of Coruscant lived their lives.

In the district councils, actual policies were made, which could change dramatically from district to district. Districts often fought political wars for the wealth and the ressources, because a world like Coruscant could not produce anything nor provide raw materials. It’s sole interest resided in supporting the thousands of artificial levels that made up the sprawling city.

It had been millennia since anyone had actually reached its natural soil.

Coruscant was thus totally dependent on supply chains that came from beyond the planet. The moons of the local system had been mined to the bone, and were now all mere hollow shells that had also seen myriad habitats flourish.

Coruscant's actual wealth and influence on the galactic scene remained in the incredible centralization of brainpower and education that it offered to most of the individuals in the Galaxy.

Each year, millions of persons happened to leave their home worlds for education, and through the myriad of professional opportunities, never really left Coruscant. The demographic pressure was thus supported by a very high immigration of educated individuals, supporting the pillars of the system. This had the advantage of keeping Coruscant truly at the center of the galaxy, but it also had the consequence of keeping its underprivileged, often indigenous, population in constant misery.

Each district fought against each other to attract both the right kind of population and their credits. There was a complex form of endemic corruption, which allowed the richest to continue to build their houses on the existing ones. The constant urbanization of the planet reflected the perpetuation of privilege, the wealthy stepping on the poor to reach the top.

The poor on Coruscant never saw the sunlight.

Obi-Wan knew Coruscant well. He had spent a significant portion of both of his lives there, though he was more familiar with the safe haven of the Jedi Temple than the soaring streets of the city-planet. Coruscant was a heart, beating unerringly, that had seen the rise and fall of many regimes without being affected.

Indeed, the advent of Palpatine’s Empire had not fundamentally changed the planet's essence, and Old Ben had taken advantage of the planet's peculiarities to hide and conduct undercover operations that had often spanned several decades. Obi-Wan had used this valuable knowledge to build his own network of informants to exert influence.

One of the members of his network happened to be Dexter Jettster. Dex wasn’t privy of the internal organization of Obi-Wan’s network, but he knew that Obi-Wan somehow was passing messages to the rumored Scholar. Obi-Wan was simply playing the middleman.

So, while he had pressing matters to attend to, Obi-Wan didn't mind going to Dex’s eatery to please Anakin. He could take the temperature, and find out how the underworld was taking the news of the Chancellor's forced removal.

Anakin, true to himself, ordered a Dex's special, which was composed of the most caloric foods available on Dex’s menu. They were seated in the usual booth, not too far from the door, with a solid wall behind them. The establishment had a lively, relaxing atmosphere, where one could enjoy comfort food confortably. Patrons were essentially hard-working laborers employed in CoCo Town.

When Obi-Wan came to Dex's with Anakin, it usually gave him a strange feeling of disconnection. Or rather, reconnection, because those moments were so similar to what he had experienced before everything fell apart, before he had died inside on this fateful day. In no other circ*mstance in his current life, Obi-Wan could allow himself to pretend that nothing has changed. While eating at Dex’s, Obi-Wan and Anakin were still Master and Padawan, brothers in arms, and, above all, family.

"Anakin, you're eating too fast. You'll choke on your food."

Anakin was in the process of ravishing his plate. "It's still better when it's hot, Obi-Wan." He glanced at Obi-Wan's dish, filled with various marinated greeneries. "You don't care, your stuff is already cold. That's not even real food. It's not like that you’ll build muscle."

Obi-Wan responded with a non-committal smile, while gingerly placing a roasted sunberry on a lettuce leaf. He added pickled seed pods, and put the carefully arranged fork in his mouth. The combination of sweet, sour and savory flavors pleased his palate. He had not been in a mood for greasy and aggressively spiced food, and was quite content to settle for subtility and delicacy.

"So, what have you been up to? I haven't seen you much lately."

Obi-Wan gave a tight smile, and took a sip of his drink, which happened to be a chilled Corellian ale. Perhaps alcohol wasn't such a good idea, given his advanced state of fatigue. His head was already spinning. He gently put his glass down, then his fork, before massaging his temple.

"Not much, apart from the mission the Council has entrusted me with. Besides, I mustn't delay too long, it seems to me that I have a report to make in the afternoon. What about you? The new race pod is coming along?"

Obi-Wan knew exactly what question to ask to keep Anakin talking. He let the younger man launch into an elaborate and incomprehensible explanation of the technical aspects of the new ion thrusters that he planned to adapt to his new pod. Obi-Wan forced himself to relax, to enjoy the moment, when he could almost be lulled by the animated tone and uninterrupted flow of his would-have-been Padawan.

For the first time since the day before, he let himself be overcome by a quite, unadeltered joy. Here he was, with Anakin, having finally succeeded in saving him from a fate worse than death. The young man no longer had that fateful sword swinging precariously above him. Everything Obi-Wan had endured, he had done so to ensure a future for those he loved.

In this life, Obi-Wan had made sure to stay within Anakin's friendly circle –while avoiding interacting with Mace, who happened to be Anakin’s Master– in order to monitor and repel Sidious' attempts to influence the young man.

The fact that Anakin had been integrated into the Temple folds at a very young age gave him the support that his psyche needed. Being temperamental, Anakin needed a stable and secure environment, one that allowed him to develop a secure and strong attachment. Obi-Wan was pleased to see that the change in his early life experience had dramatically changed his ability to trust those around him.

In Obi-Wan's previous life, Anakin's insecurities had served as fertile ground for the seeds of corruption planted by Palpatine. In this life, Anakin did not need the attention of a remotely old man, even if he was Chancellor of the Republic.

Obi-Wan had made sure to spend time with Anakin regularly to monitor his psyche. Several times he had purged him of the corrupting influence of a Sith mental spell without Anakin even realizing it.

"-Wan. Obi-Wan! Are you listening to me?"

Obi-Wan flinched. His mind had begun to slip into slumber. He ran a hand over his face, while blinking several times to chase away the drowsiness. Anakin regarded him thoughtfully.

"Looks like you didn't sleep at all actually last night." Anakin was being uncharacteristically observant. Or maybe missing falling asleep in the middle of a conversation was telling enough that even Anakin couldn't miss it.

"Don't worry, I'll go to sleep after." He glanced down at his half-eaten plate, but he was no longer hungry. He leaned back against the backrest and stretched, while glancing in Dex's general direction. Dex was a respectable-sized besalisk, with the characteristic bulk of his species. The cook was mixing a drink for a customer with efficient, but unhurried movements. He met Obi-Wan's eyes and nodded imperceptibly.

Obi-Wan answered with a minute nod as well. Dex had something to tell him, and he wouldn't wait to arrange a secure holonet connection to transmit the information he had to share.

"It was nice to see each other Anakin, shall we do it again soon?"

Anakin, always eager when it came to getting out of the Temple, nodded vigorously. "Damn right! Anyway, I'll come after you if I don't think you've gotten out of your cave enough. The Archives’ artificial light is bad for your complexion. You look like a ghost."

"Well, we're not exactly at the beach either to get a tan, here, but I see your point."

They paid for their meal, saluted Dex, and walked out into the street.

"Until next time, Anakin!" Obi-Wan waved, when Anakin obliviously took the public transport to go uptown.

Obi-Wan waited a minute, before turning around and walking back to Dex, who gestured him to the back. They walked through the kitchen and scullery, to finally enter a cramped, dark, but spotless clean office. Stacks of flimsi were neatly arranged on the desk, and shelves attached to the walls displayed various interesting objects, a significant proportion of which were weapons from various origins.

Dex, before being a cook and running a respectable culinary establishment, had been a reasonably well-known arms dealer in his milieu. He had hung up his job to lead a quieter life, but he had kept a foot in some pretty obscure business. He was more on the news side these days.

"I'm always glad to see you around, Kenobi," Dex smiled appreciatively. "There's a lot of talk around here about the Chancellor's assassination."

"Oh, perhaps you have some interesting information to pass on to my employer?"

Dex laughed, displaying his impressive row of teeth. "I've always liked you, my friend, and if I've followed you all these years, it's because I have an instinct and an eye for genuine people. You know, in our game, it's a talent that has saved my ass many times."

Obi-Wan nodded. "It is certainly a very useful talent, my dear." Rephrasing without giving any additional information, while maintaining his role in the conversation, was a skill Obi-Wan had developed while being a Republic diplomat and Jedi Council representative. He wasn't sure what Dex was getting at.

"So, I hear that the person for whom we share a common bond would have something to do with the events surrounding the High Chancellor's death."

Obi-Wan, intellectually, had known it wouldn't take long for investigators to make the connection between Abner Ravenwood and the identity he used with his various informant networks. Still, he didn't expect the connections to go the other way so quickly. One of the investigators, with access to the investigation’s details, must have been asking the right questions to the right people.

From what he had gathered about the people involved since last night, it had to be the good Master Sinube. He sure hadn't wasted any time.

"That may be true, unfortunately, I don't have access to any specific details regarding this matter." Obi-Wan chose the route of the plausible deniability. He might have to offer something of value to appease Dex if it became necessary, but Obi-Wan would instead let the interaction unfold naturally. "Does this call into question our... collaboration?"

"You're a tough nut to crack, aren't you? The Jedi have no idea what’s hiding inside their ranks, do they?"

"If you could be so kind as not to mention my... peculiar position, within the Jedi Order."

"The Chancellor was killed by a Force user. Those with a keen enough eye and a fast mind have already connected the dots."

Obi-Wan felt his perpetual serene smile tense. "Maybe someone had indeed been sloppy.”

Dex considered eye. He seemed to be assessing Obi-Wan, behind a face that gave nothing away. Obi-Wan felt no hostility in the Force. "They say things about Chancellor Palpatine, too," Dex said. "If those things turn out to be the truth, the Republic will be much better off with him gone."

Obi-Wan, despite his usual verve, didn't know what to say in response. Fatigue and the psychic damage –from which it would take him a long time to recover– prevented him from thinking efficiently.

"Kenobi, we've been helping each other for a long time, and I have it on good authority that you've gotten me out of a few difficult situations in the past, without imposing any debts on me. I don't know if the conclusions I've reached are correct, but I want you to know that if my deductions got me there, others will too. That's friendly advice, and I'd rather know you've been warned." Dex smiled good-naturedly. "Meanwhile, you look pretty bad. Did you fight a krayt dragon?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, and couldn't help but respond to Dex's genuine smile. "I wish it were, but it was much worse."

Dex laughed out loud, and with a friendly tap, escorted Obi-Wan out of his office with the words, "Be careful, my friend. Go get some rest, I think you're going to need your energy before long."

On the street, after being ushered out, Obi-Wan felt a little disoriented. He wasn’t sure of what had really happened, but it seemed that Dex would keep his secret.

]o[

Obi-Wan was stationed across from the barracks entrance, tucked away in an alcove, watching the comings and goings as he considered his options.

He knew that the barracks were monitored in some way. If he went in through the front door, recording devices would necessarily capture his image. Even if he had a Force technique capable of jamming the electromagnetic waves, he did not feel capable of maintaining this kind of cloak for more than a few minutes. Too little time for what he had to do.

He still had to decide how to get in, and under what guise. He could go in as himself, claiming to be on a Jedi Council mission, but it wouldn't take long for the investigators to make the necessary connections. He had no choice but to obscure his features in some way, but that would also raise alarms.

So he had to wear his mask and remove all the distinguishing marks from his clothes, and sneak as quietly as possible through the barracks to the infirmary. This would be no easy task.

He would probably have to plan a diversion, and get the Clones' attention elsewhere, although he knew from experience that injured Clones were never left alone. There would probably be the CMO and his aids to neutralize.

Usually, this kind of operation had to be carefully planned and prepared, but he didn't have the time to wait any longer. He didn't know what the Clones with the activated control chip would remember about the episode, if it were taken away from them now. They had seen his face, and had accompanied him to one of his hideouts.

Obi-Wan had to intervene.

Securing the mask over his features, Obi-Wan put on the hooded jacket that would help him remain anonymous for as long as possible, and donned sturdy, reinforced gloves that would protect him if he had to fight. He secured his satchel as close to his body as possible with the straps, and followed an alleyway parallel to the west wall of the barracks. The alley was clean, the garbage cans neatly arranged for pickup. Not a single piece of trash was littering the ground. The clones apparently made sure to maintain what was theirs.

Although not citizens, this part of the city was theirs, and they took care of it.

Obi-Wan stepped onto a raised ledge, and with a Force-assisted jump, grabbed a metallic panel from the wall opposite. He pulled himself up with his right arm to preserve his still painful left shoulder, jumped again, and reached the roof. The Clones barracks were close enough to the upper level not to have been built upon, and a good portion of the roof was used to park various types of transports for the Clones' use. They were other barracks scattered all over the planet, to accommodate the sheer number of Clones, but this one was the most imposing, and was well-protected.

Obi-Wan had just the right kind of diversion in mind to help him sneak into the building.

The barracks had been built in a hurry, to house the Clones who had just been delivered by the Kaminoans without anyone –apart from Sidious of course– knowing of their arrival. The buildings, built in the record time of only a few days, were doing the job, but were full of defects. Finishing touches were obviously lacking, and although the Clones had taken it upon themselves to fix up their quarters as best they could, they had little opportunity to review the essential technical aspects of the building.

Obi-Wan was counting on this for his diversion. He moved discreetly between the vehicles, which gave him the cover he needed, to the most central point of the building. There, Obi-Wan sat down, against a LAAT/i gunship, and closed his eyes. He extended his senses through the Force, tuning it up for one particular echo.

He was searching for perpetual movement, which was the basis of all life on a molecular scale.

There. In Obi-Wan's mind, the water grid of the building lit up. As expected, there was only one supply line for the entire building.

Obi-Wan seized the ambient thermal energy present in all the surrounding matter and channeled it into the water system. These kinds of Force manipulation were tricky at first, but not really much more so than those that affected gravity and movement. These techniques were less spectacular, however, and less usable in a combat situation, but being able to heat up water was still of interest, especially for making a cup of tea in the middle of a battlefield.

But this technique was also helpful for dramatically increasing the pressure in a pipe system, that was already failing because it was designed and built in a hurry. Obi-Wan released the energy in one fell swoop to generate a sudden increase in pressure that couldn’t be regulated by the valves and other devices designed to reduce pressure. Through his Force-enhanced senses, he felt the sudden rupture of the water pipes throughout the building.

He got up quickly, his mind and body focused on the action thanks to the adrenaline. He forgot about fatigue and pain, and got moving.

Obi-Wan had a pretty good idea where the infirmary was located, and ran to the entrance of the hangar, whose door was already open. Crates of supplies were stacked, waiting to be emptied and the contents dispatched.

Water gushed from a pipe running along the inside wall and began to seep onto the floor. Two armored clones faced the leak, and one appeared to be trying to communicate with someone in charge. The rest of the hangar was empty. Logically, many other troopers would be trying to reach their chain of command to report the event, effectively saturating all communications. Obi-Wan draw near silently, taking the approach that allowed him to move without a sound. Using the Force to make sure no one was looking in his direction, he touched the two troopers on the shoulders and wove a powerful Force suggestion, which he directed mercilessly into their minds.

"Sleep."

The technique took hold without hitch, and the troopers collapsed bonelessly. Obi-Wan winced. The use of the Force reinforced his headache, which reminded him that he was not far from Force exhaustion. He had not recovered enough from last night to make such extensive use of it.

To preserve his abilities, he set about dragging the two unconscious men behind a pile of crates out of sight, using only his physical strength. He felt that he was pulling dangerously on his healing wounds, but he did not have the leisure to wait until he was better to act.

He stripped the first trooper of the most essential pieces of his armor, took off his jacket and mask, stuffed them into his bag, and put the Clone’s armor on him while keeping his own boots on. He pulled back his longish hair back in a catogan, before putting on the bucket. Having spent years fighting among the Clones, and having worn his own armor that had been provided by the clones themselves, Obi-Wan could put it on with his eyes closed.

When he stood up, he thought he could pass for a clone if they didn't look too closely. He wouldn't pass close inspection, but his diversion was there to create the necessary confusion. He reattached his satchel to his shoulder, and secured his lightsaber in his right boot. Finally, he took the blaster and set it on stun mode.

Five minutes must have passed since the pipes broke, and the water was still flowing. The Clones had not yet succeeded in shutting down the main power supply, which kept the building in a state of chaos and confusion.

In the corridors, the Clones were shouting and fidgeting, most of them unable to do anything about what was happening. Some tried to plug leaks with whatever they had on hand, but the larger ones resisted all attempts, while other troopers made sure to raise furniture and objects so they wouldn't come in contact with the water.

The clones were in various states of dressing. Some had their armor on, while others were simply wearing their blacks.

Obi-Wan blended in just fine, and no one tried to stop him. He made his way up the corridors to the infirmary, whose doors were closed.

He did a quick scan with the Force to assess who was behind them. He didn't recognize any of the signatures of the ten or so people there. He would decide what to do once he had a better idea of what to expect, and entered the infirmary.

It was a set of rooms, which were articulated around a central hub that served as a waiting room, a reception desk and a dispatch room. Other rooms were connected to it: the operating room, the recovery room and the hospitalization rooms.

All in all, it was perhaps the best equipped and designed area in the entire barracks, but unfortunately the plumbing here was no better, and the unit had also suffered a major leak, as evidenced by the waterlogged floor. The Clones must have found a way to fix this one, because Obi-Wan could neither hear nor see the leak that caused the flooding.

A trooper, wearing armor but without his helmet, was busy mopping the floor in the main room. The Clones Obi-Wan was looking for were occupying one of the inpatient dormitories, whose access door was behind the front desk.

"Ah, vod, nice of you to come to help me," the trooper grunted. "Would you mind emptying that bucket in the bathroom for me?"

Obi-Wan approached the unsuspecting man, and used the Force to suggest, "You must report, in person, to your division commander and tell him the infirmary is operational. On the way, you'll help anyone who needs a hand."

The trooper straightened up and said, "I'm putting you in charge of sickbay, brother."

Obi-Wan nodded and watched the trooper leave, before entering the room he was interested in. He had to act quickly, for the soldiers would not remain disorganized for long. After all, they had been engineered and trained to deal with a wide variety of situations, and reacting appropriately to the unexpected was one of the advantages of using human soldiers rather than droids.

In the hospital room, the five soldiers who had helped him last night were there, sitting up in bed, staring blankly. They turned their heads toward him as he entered, but said nothing. Their faces did not change in expression.

Obi-Wan held back a shudder, gritted his teeth, and sat down in the chair next to the bed furthest to the right of the door. The trooper occupying the bed had his forearms tattooed with names and numbers, which were probably the names of the brothers who were important to him.

"I'm sorry for what I did," Obi-Wan whispered, putting pressure on the man's shoulder to invite him to lie down. The man complied without flinching.

Obi-Wan removed his gloves, placed them on the side of the bed, applied his bare palms to the soldier's skull, and closed his eyes.

He had never had the opportunity to study the exact principle of how control chips worked. He didn't have the medical culture to understand the technical pamphlet he had managed to obtain. What he had grasped, however, had allowed him to integrate the additional order, without altering the rest of the design.

Obi-Wan’s strategy had paid off, as he had an effective way to neutralize the entire Grand Army of the Republic. However, he had not been certain until last night that his scheme had been effectively implanted. Circ*mstances had forced him to act with uncertainty and without prior testing, and now he had to find a way to fix his mistakes, with no safety net and very little time to spare.

Obi-Wan knew what he was looking for, and quickly located the chip, easily bypassing the darkside weave that interfered with its perception.

Obi-Wan could feel what he needed to do to make the chip permanently inactive. But he didn't think he could return it to its original state. He had passed the point of no return from the start, and owed it to these men to return their minds unadulterated. Mostly unadulterated: he would make sure to implant one or two suggestions to block access to specific memories.

With a careful and pointed action with the Force, like an ethereal scalpel, he incised precisely the part of the chip responsible for the mental compulsion’s broadcast. He did not touch the rest, for fear that it might have other unforeseen consequences on the man's health. Obi-Wan immediately felt a kind of release, as if he had freed a bird from its cage. He held the trooper in a state of disconnection, not quite unconsciousness, in order to access his most recent memories.

They were curiously gray, as if devoid of color and depth, but were perfectly accessible, as Obi-Wan had feared. With a precise maneuver, he tried to install a sort of rerouting on the neural pathway that led to the memories that concerned him directly, such as his physical appearance or the one where the Clone clearly remembered him putting on his Jedi outfit.

The precise weave seemed to take. The man would remember the same scene, where his unit had seen Obi-Wan emerge from the nightclub, when he would try to dig deeper into his memories. He completed his procedure by putting the Trooper to sleep. He would awaken in twelve hours, hopefully in full possession of his senses.

Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief. At last, he was getting somewhere. It seemed he was finally getting his footing in the disaster that was his life for the past eighteen hours. He got up, went to the bedside of the second trooper in the adjacent bed, and focused his mind to repeat the procedure.

He was abruptly shaken out of his concentration by the unmistakable snap-hiss of a lightsaber being activated. He whirled back, immediately grabbing his own lightsaber, before facing the door.

There, Quinlan Vos stood on guard, clearly expecting to have to fight. Bant Eerin and Commander Fox had also adopted martial postures, and were looking at him, their faces closed and hostile.

Chapter 9: Getting Out

Chapter Text

"Commander Fox, this is Master Bant Eerin, Jedi Healer," said Quinlan. "Master Windu sent her to us so she can examine your soldiers." He smiled. "Besides, I'm here to accompany her."

Fox greeted Healer Eerin with a nod. "Thank you for coming, Healer Eerin. I know your time is valuable, and that we are only Clones. You honor us by agreeing to put your knowledge to work for us."

"But come on, it's only fair." Bant looked puzzled. "You are no less valuable than any sentient beings, despite your Clone status, Commander."

The Commander nodded, his face impassive. Quinlan knew that mere verbal assertions would not reassure Fox about how they were perceived in the galaxy. The Commander, however, seemed to have a positive attitude toward the Jedi and their natural inclination to treat the Clones like anyone else. Quinlan wondered what the Commander had experienced in the halls of the Senate to be so cautious. Quinlan knew that most Republic citizens had not questioned for a second the huge ethical and moral mess that was the existence of a Clone army, bred to be resilient cannon fodder.

They stood at the foot of the Jedi Temple’s main stairway. The sun was already high in the sky. Despite the good weather, it was never warm in this part of the planet. Upper Coruscant was indeed several kilometers above the ground. At this altitude, the atmosphere was thin, and despite atmospheric densifiers, it was not enough to massively capture the infrared rays of the system's star. The climate on Coruscant was controlled and maintained in a perpetual state. The temperature was always the same and it only rained at predetermined and fixed hours. This ensured that the megastructure that made up the gigapolis would not fluctuate because of a chaotic climate, and that the supporting materials would remain strong.

Bant had put on thick robes, over her usual outfit. She seemed pleased to have been solicited by Master Windu. Quinlan had always known her to be like this: strong-willed and genuinely selfless. Her Healer duties suited her, and she carried them with dedication and dignity.

The Temple Healers were well known to the Jedi community at large, as were prominent figures such as the Jedi Council members. Their position inevitably placed them in everyone's path at some point in their lives.

Quinlan had known Bant when he was still a Padawan. His training as a Shadow in the Jedi Order predisposed him to risky missions, and he had quickly resigned himself to frequent visits to the Halls of Healing. Bant was one of his favorite healers to have. She was a close friend of Aayla's, and he enjoyed sharing stories and news of their mutual acquaintances when he had to get patched up.

Fox had come with a comfortable speeder to take them to the barracks. He drove with a steady hand, and fearlessly made his way through the busy lanes of mid-day Coruscant. The trip wouldn't be long, and Quinlan took the opportunity to close his eyes a little. He'd had time to get some sleep in the morning, but he felt that the sleep he'd managed to get wouldn't be enough to make up for a full night's sleep.

He had had a hard time purging his system of last night's excitement. The investigation was progressing well, and what they had discovered fascinated him. Knowing that the Supreme Chancellor was probably the Sith the Order feared was shattering his view of the situation. He realized that he had begun to harbor a dark and bitter vision about the galaxy, and had begun to lose faith in the Republic, but also in the Jedi Order's relationship with the Senate.

Everything was clearer now.

They had been manipulated in the most insidious way, and Quinlan could see distinctly now how far the corruption of the most fundamental values the Jedi stood for could take them.

The fall of the Jedi had been orchestrated. But something had happened to upset the path they should have taken, saving them from destruction.

Quinlan was eager to learn more about the mysterious assassin. This man obviously knew a great deal about the hidden Sith agenda that the Republic had nurtured in its midst. He almost wanted to go shake his hand and thoroughly thank him.

Bant had apparently realized that he needed to rest, and was not trying to start or maintain a conversation. The Commander, who must not have slept either, looked fresh and alert as ever. Quinlan watched the buildings go by, their gigantic size never ceasing to amaze him. He had spent much of his youth on Coruscant, but the sheer size of it was difficult for the human mind to comprehend.

Fox had briefed them quickly on the situation. One of his squads that had been mobilized during the hunt for the assassin had returned in a worrisome condition. The soldiers appeared to be physically unharmed, but they seemed to be suffering from a severe mental illness.

Master Windu seemed to think there might be a connection to the man they were chasing, and as such, he sent Quinlan to accompany the Temple Healer.

They must not have been far from their destination when the Commander's comm began to vibrate with notifications. Quinlan checked his own comm, but he had no messages.

"Is there a problem, Commander?" asked Quinlan.

Fox furrowed his brow in concern. "A problem in the barracks. Apparently, there's an issue with... water leakage?"

"Why are they bothering you with this?"

"That's what I'm wondering."

Standing in front of the barracks with all the irate Clones, Quinlan realized the extent of the problem. Apparently, the entire water supply system in the building had suffered a sudden increase in pressure, causing major leaks throughout the edifice.

"But how is that possible? Are there systems in place to regulate the pressure normally?" asked Quinlan, appalled.

Fox sighed, "The construction is not the finest example of architectural rigor. Unfortunately, we've had many other malfunctions. It's never been this spectacular and...embarrassing before, though."

"Has the problem been escalated to the proper authorities?" asked Bant, innocently. She watched as a group of soldiers took charge of getting an entire trailer of completely soaked sheets out into the open.

"I made sure to relay the information myself to the Chancellor and the Office of Military Affairs," Fox replied, his face closed, meeting Quinlan's gaze.

He didn't need to say anything more. Palpatine was a Sith, so he probably had other things to worry about than the welfare of the clones. Perhaps it even gave him pleasure to know they were suffering from poor housing.

One could expect anything from a kriffing Sith Lord.

Something bothered Quinlan about the overall timing of this event. Why now? Quinlan felt oddly paranoid about the whole thing, and didn't want to believe in coincidence. The Force was whispering to him that there was an intention behind this event.

"Where are the clones you want me to examine?" asked Bant.

"Follow me." Fox led them into the barracks, toward the infirmary. The plumbing rupture had occurred only a few minutes earlier, but already the Clones had organized themselves. Everyone seemed to know where to go and what role they could play. There were no issues of misplaced pride or insubordination among the Clones. Instead, troopers had a deeply held sense of their place and how they fit into the chain of command.

In situations like the one Quinlan witnessed, he had no doubt that a more conventional army, made up of soldiers from many different backgrounds, would not have behaved as effectively.

On the way, they encountered the CMO, a Clone named Surge, who greeted them respectfully, despite his tired look.

"Jedi Masters, thank you for coming." He correctly deduced that Bant must be the specialist they had requested, for he turned to her to continue, "We need your insight on a case that may have something to do with Force use." He launched into a detailed explanation that Quinlan tuned out. The Force whispered to him, urging him to press forward.

"Something's wrong." His companions fell silent. Quinlan grabbed his lightsaber and released it from his belt.

They entered the infirmary, which was empty. A half-sponged puddle of water shimmered on the floor.

Quinlan did a mental scan with the Force to detect any presence he could not see with his eyes.

Nothing. And yet, he knew that at least one of the rooms must be logically occupied. Either the infirmary had been emptied while the Chief Medical Officer had come to meet them, or someone must be projecting a powerful shield that resisted Quinlan's mental probes.

He turned to Surge and raised an eyebrow as he pointed to the door opposite. Surge nodded, looking perplexed, but professional enough not to break the silence with his questions. The CMO stood back, while Fox and Bant flanked Quinlan as he walked into the room.

The door opened with a sudden woosh as Quinlan flipped the switch. There, seemingly completely oblivious, stood a trooper in armor bent over a Clone lying in a medical bed.

The man had his two bare hands on either side of the unconscious soldier's head, in such a state of intense concentration that he did not react at all to their entrance.

On closer inspection, Quinlan realized that despite the armor, the man was probably not a trooper: his uniform was missing some parts, and he was not the standard size for all Clones.

Not to mention that he was obviously using the Force.

Quinlan activated his lightsaber.

]o[

There, Quinlan Vos stood on guard, clearly expecting to have to fight. Bant Eerin and Commander Fox had also adopted martial postures, and were looking at Obi-Wan, their faces closed and hostile.

Kriff!

Obi-Wan wanted to scream.

Of course, he wouldn't do it; someone would maybe recognize his voice. Fortunately, he hadn't taken off the helmet to deal with the Clones, and could still hope to get out of the situation without compromising his identity.

"Who are you?" asked Quinlan, his voice hard.

Obi-Wan wouldn't have time to finish what he'd started, which compromised part of his plans. Not that they'd been much followed lately. For now, the priority was to get out of there, planning be damned.

Obi-Wan didn't see how he could get out of this without fighting, and he would have to do it without hurting his opponents. He would have to settle for defense. Fortunately, that was a field he knew rather well.

He would just have to figure out how to get out of this room, when the sole exit was currently barred by two testy Jedi and one aggrieved Clone commander.

Not to mention that he was in the middle of the Grand Army barracks and someone had to have given the alert.

"You are under arrest for questioning. Keep your hands where I can see them," demanded Quinlan.

Obviously, Obi-Wan had absolutely no intention of allowing himself to be arrested, but he needed some time to think. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins, chasing away fatigue. Obi-Wan felt, however, that his mind was not as sharp as it should be. He still discerned that strange sense of disjointedness in his mind, but the sensation was not strong enough to keep him from concentrating.

Obi-Wan slowly raised his hands, his right hand still holding his lightsaber, which was turned off. His left shoulder was still very sore, the movement pulling uncomfortably on his wound. He moved away from the bed of the clone he was treating when he was interrupted. His opponents tensed visibly: Fox aimed his blaster at him, and Bant activated her lightsaber as well.

So much for hoping for a deescalate.

He sighed. He much preferred to negotiate, but unfortunately had not planned to speak under these conditions.

Too bad. He would negotiate differently.

]o[

Quinlan tensed. He was pretty sure it was the Chancellor's assassin. His outfit was obviously not the same, but he recognized the lightsaber's hilt the stranger was holding. The file Fox had compiled on their man had exposed him in close-up pictures with all the recognizable details.

Compared to a conventional opponent, the person standing in front of him projected no intent into the Force. His shields were impeccable, and did not let anything get through. The man moved with a precise, confident slowness. Quinlan, having watched the recording found in Palpatine's office over and over, knew he was a formidable opponent. If it came down to a fight, Quinlan would maybe find himself outclassed. He knew, however, that the man was probably injured and exhausted. Moreover, the man was curiously non-threatening.

Quinlan's suspicions were growing stronger.

He was convinced that his opponent was not really an enemy. What he had managed to capture from his psyche through the objects that had belonged to him was not malicious. Quinlan was, however, curious enough not to let it get away, and force a little discussion that would be welcomed.

"Drop your weapon." Quinlan knew it was a waste of time, but you never know. Sometimes unexpected things happened.

The man tilted his head to the side, as if asking a silent question, his arms still raised. Quinlan perceived the surge in the Force a millisecond before it happened, and had no time to find a counter to prevent it. The man lowered his arms sharply and joined his hands in an embracing gesture.

All the beds in the room, as well as those occupied by the Clones, were caught in a wave of the Force, and arced toward the door. With this maneuver, the man erected a human and furniture barricade between himself and his opponents.

Quinlan swore, careful not to hurt anyone in the confusion. He deactivated his saber before leaping over the entanglement of beds. The man was running towards the back wall, obviously intending to make an exit in that direction. From the crude construction Quinlan had witnessed, it was more than likely that the walls were not of the highest quality.

His opponent applied his hand to the wall, but before he had the time to do anything, Quinlan used a force leap to cover the distance in a second, while reactivating his saber. The man turned in time to deflect his blade with his own weapon. The plasma blade was yellow, like the assassin's lightsaber. There remained almost no doubt.

Quinlan was an imposing human, with a strong muscular build that gave him interesting leverage in battle. He was a practitioner of Form IV, Ataru, the Agression Form. This was a form whose philosophy was based on attacking, relentlessly, imprevisibly, to overwhelm the opponent with attacks that seemed to come from all sides.

Quinlan could deploy an impressive speed in the sequence of his blows, and use his weight and strength to add an impact that was difficult to counter.

The lightsaber, lacking mass, did not benefit from the strength provided by acceleration. The power of the blows was therefore very strongly dependent on the physical strength of the practitioner.

Quinlan had seen what his opponent was capable of. He did not hold back his blows, almost certain that the man would be able to counteract him. He was simply trying to slow him down.

As expected, his opponent, with a few lazy, well-placed counters, almost effortlessly deflected the onslaught. He did not retaliate, remaining in defensive mode, and staying well in front of all his opponents. He did not allow himself to be distracted by Quinlan, and he showed that he was aware of what was going on outside his duel.

Quinlan saw that Fox had taken cover behind an overturned bed a few feet behind him, and was trying to time his blaster fire to get in the way of his opponent. The man seemed to be able to counter the most vicious of Quinlan's hits, while, in the same movement, deflecting a blaster shot into the wall. Once again, Quinlan saw that his opponent was not trying to gain an advantage.

Fine. He would use other weapons.

"We could talk instead of fighting," Quinlan said, as he executed a complex maneuver, interspersing upward feints with a foot maneuver designed to penetrate his opponent's guard to destabilize his footwork. His opponent simply shifted his foot, never allowing his gravity center to move. He was as if anchored to the ground, immovable, always staying perfectly centered, perfectly balanced. He was not, however, a massive man. He seemed rather slender, but his way of fighting turned him into a mountain. He was obviously a master of Form III, Soresu, but he seemed to be intimately familiar with the form Quinlan was using.

Quinlan had always thought that Soresu was an outdated form, fallen from favor for its apparent impracticality. He was ready to revise his judgment, for, properly mastered, Soresu seemed capable of weathering any attack as if nothing had happened. It was not a showy form, and it obviously lacked the allure that other forms could exert on young Jedi in training. Soresu's strength lay in the science of redirecting the force of blow with minute moves and imperceptible adjustments in angling. Subtility in its highest form, when perfection resided in the slightest detail.

Quinlan faced a man who seemed to have faced entire armies single-handedly, and remained standing.

Quinlan's own form relied on speed, and on maneuvers designed to finish the fight as quickly as possible. His opponent seemed able to go on for hours without tiring.

However, this did not work in his favor.

The mysterious man could not afford to let the fight drag on indefinitely. He was in a situation that clearly put him in trouble: outnumbered, in the middle of an enemy building, wounded and tired. Even though Quinlan could barely pick up anything from his opponent, he seemed to feel the frustration radiating in the Force.

"You don't seem to be an enemy. Other than the Chancellor, your body count is zero. And, from what I've seen, it's nice that you've been in charge of the dirty work."

His opponent didn't answer, but Quinlan could clearly see that he faltered. Quinlan smiled with all his teeth. "Don't be shy, I'm sure we have a lot to talk about!"

The man suddenly operated a counter, uncharacteristically, and Quinlan abruptly lost his balance. His opponent followed up with a mercilessly forceful push that sent Quinlan tumbling against the wall. His lungs suddenly emptied of air as he hit the wall, and Quinlan laughed a little wheezily. "Oh my, so much violence."

As he stood up, a bright flash of light, accompanied by the sound of an explosion, blinded him. He shielded his face from the blast, which seemed remarkably contained. Through the dust, Quinlan saw a perfectly circular hole in the back wall, which his opponent had used to exit the room.

He ran after him, Fox on his heels, quickly giving deployment orders with his comm. Quinlan felt exhilarated.

]o[

Obi-Wan had used one of Kyber's fragments as an explosive. He would have liked to have kept one of his aces hidden, but perhaps the remaining traces would be too faint to detect. At this point, he was beyond caring anyway.

Lightsaber kept ready, Obi-Wan ran down one of the barracks' corridors. He easily deflected the blaster fire aimed in his direction. The Clones had not yet organized themselves to stand in his way effectively. Obi-Wan did his best to use the Force sparingly. The corridors were soaked, and the water made the floor slippery. He applied very short, extremely localized pushes to running clones, causing them to stumble and fall without having to use large, expensive wide-scaled pushes.

Despite his precautions, he could feel his headache getting dangerously worse.

Quinlan soon came after him. It seemed to Obi-Wan that the man was enjoying their confrontation a little too much, and he couldn't understand why.

He himself wasn't amused. He felt rather deeply annoyed.

The hallway opened up into a larger hall, where, unfortunately, the resistance was clearly organized with several squads waiting in ambush.

Barricades had been set up in the room, which seemed to serve usually as both a hub and a lounge. Some of the furniture had been pushed up against the walls, or knocked over for cover.

The Clones did not bother to shout a warning, they fired as soon as he slid into the room. They must have been ordered to shoot on sight, and they either didn't care about capturing him alive, or they knew they'd have no hope of slowing him down if they didn't give to the fight everything they had. The strategic part of Obi-Wan recognized that this was a good tactical choice, but it evidently didn't suit him.

Obi-Wan was also tired, and really not in his top form. He could already feel a worrying slowdown in his movements and reflexes; he wouldn't be able to keep up for much longer. He had to get out of there, and he didn't even know where the exit was.

Obi-Wan didn't have time to stop and gather his strength and get his bearings; Quinlan was on his heels, pressing him forward. The Clones had quickly learned that blasters were not the tactical weapon of choice against him. He kept his blade moving, putting an impassable barrier between himself and the fire.

On his way, a group of troopers fired an electric net, designed to stun and impair movement. With his left hand, Obi-Wan commanded the Force to send a box of ammunition flying into the net's field, triggering its electrical charge and diverting its trajectory from his own. However, with his attention diverted, he saw too late that his saber was about to meet a grenade. His weapon struck the grenade and exploded.

Obi-Wan barely had time to put up a Force Shield to protect himself from the brunt of the blast, but it was barely fifty centimeters away from his right side. The blast knocked him to the ground, his head slamming into the floor, his lightsaber slipping from his hand. Obi-Wan thanked the presence of the armor and his helmet, which saved him from being knocked unconscious.

Stunned, he staggered to his feet, calling his lightsaber to him with the Force, and backed up against the wall to keep all of his opponents facing him.

Things were not looking good.

Obi-Wan was up against dozens of highly trained soldiers and a Jedi Master who would not let him rest.

His endurance was failing. He could feel himself being drained of energy, and he was having trouble keeping himself from becoming desperate. Stopping the fight seemed an attractive solution. Perhaps he could find common ground with the Jedi, and lead them where he wanted them to go to ensure their survival?

But the part of him that he had inherited from Old Ben would not compromise on his freedom.

He would never be locked up. He would fight to the end if he had to.

Obi-Wan stood his ground, determined.

]o[

Quinlan felt the shift in the Force, like an ominous warning. So far, the opponent had not seemed especially threatening, remaining essentially defensive. It seemed to Quinlan that the man had gone to great lengths to avoid harming his enemies. So far, not a single Clone had suffered a serious injury.

Now Quinlan felt he was facing a cornered, and therefore unpredictable, beast. Things could get ugly if the fight continued.

He raised his hand, fist up, to indicate a cease-fire, which Fox wasted no time in relaying to his troops, without questioning the wisdom of Quinlan's decision.

Good soldiers, those Clones.

Quinlan deactivated his lightsaber. He thought he had correctly to figure his opponent out, and was acting on faith that the man would not attack him if he came unarmed.

"Easy… As I was saying earlier. I just want to talk. All this violence and destruction isn't really an effective way to communicate, don't you think?"

The man remained on guard, but Quinlan felt as if the tension vibrating in the atmosphere became a little less heavy. He remained silent and still, and Quinlan took the cue to keep moving.

Stay back

The thought came to him, alien. Quinlan startled. Being able to speak mind to mind was normally an ability limited only to Jedi who shared a very close bond with each other, such as the bond between Master and Padawan. That a stranger, with whom he had only had extremely limited interaction, could use mindspeak with him so clearly was impressive. And concerning, of course.

"I am willing to offer you certain guarantees if you promise me certain answers to my questions."

After a few seconds, the reply came suddenly, through the same channel: The roof. A clear pathway. A transport. No Clones.

Mindspeak was not really an articulated language. Concepts did not need the syntax to be organized. Rather, what was transmitted was the idea, before it was translated into words. The man's intent was clear to Quinlan, and he knew he could work with that. The priority was to preserve the lives and health of the men who were involved in the fight. And gather clues in the meantime.

Quinlan nodded gravely, and turned to Fox. "Commander, we need to de-escalate this situation. Let's get this man to the roof. I'll be the only one to accompany him."

Fox grimaced, as if he had swallowed something too sour, but again he showed unwavering compliance. "All units, fall back, I repeat, fall back and do not engage."

]o[

Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief, which he hoped would be discreet, as they finally reached the open air. Quinlan had led the way to the roof of the building, while Obi-Wan had followed him, keeping an eye on the troopers who had remained on the fringe of his perceptions.

Obi-Wan didn't dare believe that the situation would be resolved so easily. He had come close to triggering the overdrive on the Clones present and finally getting rid of Quilan, temporarily. This would have definitively burned the bridges behind him, but it would at least have given him freedom of movement until he could get to safety.

The whole operation was objectively a fiasco anyway. He had not succeeded in fulfilling his initial objective, and had simply made the situation much worse.

If he got out of this, he would not leave the Temple until he had recovered his full capabilities, because obviously operating in a degraded mode was far from wise.

He didn't quite understand Quinlan's motivation for not wanting to continue their fight. The Jedi was in a strong position, though, and if the fight had gone on, Quinlan was in a good situation to secure his victory.

Apparently, Quinlan wanted to talk.

Perhaps Obi-Wan could give him an answer or two, like a bone to chew on, to finally get rid of him and put him on another track. Force knew Obi-Wan had some juicy leads to dig into.

"Here we go." Quinlan walked over to an aircraft, and with a leap settled into the passenger seat. "Go ahead, take me wherever you want, wherever you feel comfortable talking, okay?"

Obi-Wan was sorely tempted to drop him completely, and run off in another direction. He sensed, however, that the Clones around him were on the alert, and already prepared to go after him if he didn't comply with Quinlan's planned scenario. Obi-Wan did not want to relive a chase like last night. He was less injured, but his fatigue was massive. He wasn't sure he would make it this time.

There was nothing to stop him from pretending to accept the terms of the offer to buy time. Taking the aircraft could already put a healthy distance between him and those damned barracks.

He accepted the offer, and carefully got behind the transport’s commands. Turning his head toward Quinlan, he mentally transmitted the idea: behave.

The Jedi Master made a show of putting his empty hands prominently on the dashboard, with a mocking smile. Obi-Wan projected a frown into the Force. Quinlan's smile widened. Obi-Wan huffed.

The transport took off, diving toward the inner lanes leading to the underlevels. Obi-Wan knew that the aircraft was most likely tracked, and that he would have to switch vehicles soon.

Obi-Wan pulled the aircraft into traffic and engaged the autopilot. He needed to gather his last bit of strength if he was going to outrun Quinlan. A few minutes passed in silence, inhabited only by the constant hum of the Coruscant soundscape. The wind whistled against Obi-Wan's helmet, and Quinlan had not moved from his stance.

Obi-Wan felt his adrenaline level begin to plummet. His body and mind did not register Quinlan as a real threat. This was a problem, because, in his fatigued state, the only thing keeping Obi-Wan alert was the intense stress that had been his constant companion for the past few hours.

He could already feel his mind beginning to fog. He had to do something if he wanted to be able to fight again. Taking a deep breath, he abruptly lowered the control lever, which immediately caused the aircraft to shoot up dramatically.

In one fluid motion, he disengaged from the aircraft and began to plunge into free fall. The familiar feeling of weightlessness gripped him before the fall really began, but during this split-second, Quinlan had reacted with lightning reflexes.

Quinlan did not hesitate.

He must have expected something like this to happen, and Obi-Wan had time to complain inwardly that he had become so quickly predictable. Quinlan had grabbed his leg, and with a vigorous tug, was now gripping Obi-Wan’s waist tightly. Obi-Wan didn't have the leverage to pull away, as Quinlan's bulk was far superior to his. Quinlan had also found a way to lock his right arm in a key, making any attempt to break free with physical force futile.

They fell, but Obi-Wan was no longer concerned. He felt his last bit of strength leave him. It was Quinlan's job now to make sure they got away unscathed.

Obi-Wan felt Quinlan tense up, which told him they were about to impact. As expected, Quinlan deployed a Force Shield the next second to absorb the kinetic energy. But the residual momentum was enough to roll them brutally against the ground, dazing Obi-Wan who had no way to orient himself.

Quinlan took the opportunity to tackle him to the ground by straddling him, using all of his weight to keep him from moving, and in the same move, removed Obi-Wan’s helmet.

"Well, well," Quilan’s smile was positively feral. "That's quite the interesting development, don’t you think, Archivist Kenobi?"

Chapter 10: Confusion

Chapter Text

Jango, with the information he had in hand, had just landed on Coruscant to complete his mission. His sponsor had provided him with a description and the probable location of the item he was to retrieve.

The Senate was swarming with soldiers, trying to maintain order and calm among the dignitaries, who were getting very nervous after the last few events. Jango took advantage of the fact that most security guards were wearing his face. Jango had long kept a suit of clone armor on hand, which allowed him to infiltrate rather easily into any place where the Grand Army of the Republic was deployed. Jango would simply blend in with the troopers and look determined when he went anywhere. The Clones were characterized by their unwavering loyalty to one another. It didn't come naturally to them to doubt the intentions of a member of their extended family, and Jango exploited this weakness shamelessly.

It didn't take long for him to infiltrate the crisis center, as luckily, no Jedi or other officials seemed to be present at the moment. Quickly consulting some of the reports he saw, he realized that the object he would need to retrieve had been moved to the Jedi Temple, and that he would probably have to go there to complete his mission. Jango didn't look forward to infiltrating the Temple, and preparing for that operation would be a pain in the ass.

By including himself in some of the discussions, Jango learned incidentally that the Republic Chancellor was apparently a Sith lord, a historical enemy of the Jedi and the Republic. Though kept tightly under wraps, the information was still getting out within the military. Jango had also been able to obtain a copy of an interesting recording.

In his line of work, it paid off –and it saved your life– to have good instincts. And this whole thing screamed to him that something fishy was afoot. He really didn't like the direction things were going.

Jango would have to move quickly, undetected, to get back to Boba as soon as possible. He owed it to his boy to keep him safe, and as far away as possible from operations that might have far-reaching consequences. Doubt was growing in his mind about his role in forming an essential part of the plan to eliminate the Jedi Order once and for all. When he had agreed to serve as a Template for the Clone Army, he had been told from the start that the clones would be used to bring down the Jedi. At the time, he had thought that revenge would be sweet, to finally pay back those responsible for the eradication of his family.

He wasn't sure what he was beginning to feel, but he could sense that the cold anger that had been driving him constantly since Galidraan was beginning to be tinged with doubts and questions. In retrospect, he realized that all of them, Mandalorians and Jedi alike, had been mere pawns in a ruthless game for gaining power.

Jango had kept himself from digging deeper. He felt that if he wanted to protect Boba, he had better not alienate some of his employers.

It had been years since he took care of only accepting jobs that seemed clear of fishy implications, or outright dangerous, but he couldn't reasonably turn down specific requests without incurring the wrath of the wrong people.

With what he had just learned, he felt it was time to retire –for a while at least. He would finish this job, which happened to be just a simple item retrieval, then join Boba and disappear.

]o[

Obi-Wan's head was spinning horribly. The drop, in addition to the fatigue and psychic damage he had suffered, had made the situation dramatically worse.

They had fallen upon a relatively isolated platform, probably used as an unloading platform for an unused warehouse. Nobody was present to observe the scene.

Obi-Wan recognized, in a slightly removed part of his mind, that he was in a bad situation. Emotionally, he no longer had the strength to care.

He knew that his present situation was only the consequence of a series of bad decisions and bad executions –perhaps mixed with bad luck as well– and he was angry with himself for having messed up so impressively.

Quinlan looked like a cat who had just caught a particularly tasty bird. Obi-Wan felt strongly like he was prey, but his psyche refused to perceive Quinlan as a real threat. Obi-Wan had too many memories of Quinlan demonstrating unquestioning loyalty to those he loved, often at the expense of rules and laws. It was this loyalty that had saved him from the Empire for a time.

But this Quinlan didn't know him, and he had no reason to be loyal or accommodating to Obi-Wan.

Anyway, here he was, literally in Quinlan's hands, and Obi-Wan had no strength to fight back. Even if he could find a way to throw the Kiffar off him, he would have to run away and never come back on Coruscant as he was. Obi-Wan, deep down, knew he wasn't ready for that yet, and that was maybe why he had made such decisions that had decisively worsened his situation. Obi-Wan had, unreasonably, hoped not to have to permanently cut off the shadow of family he had allowed himself to have in this life.

He hadn’t wanted to be alone again.

With the death of Sidious, Obi-Wan had caught himself nurturing the aspiration that his condition and life would finally improve in the affective department. But hope had doomed him once more.

He should have known better than to expect anything else. He was destined to mess up horribly. After all, it was entirely his fault that things had gone so dramatically wrong in his first life.

Whenever Obi-Wan was involved in something, it invariably ended in tragedy, and he was responsible for so many deaths that whenever he caught himself thinking about it, it put him in such a dark mood that he could hardly get out without a good deal of meditation.

Yet his natural stubbornness had always kept him from giving up. Perhaps he should have learned to let it go sooner, and entrust his responsibilities to others who surely would have handled the circ*mstances far more effectively than he did.

Quinlan continued to exert his strength to hold him down, applying painful pressure to his shoulders. The pain shook him out of his uncontrollably spiraling thoughts.

"You're obviously not what you're trying to appear, are you?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, trying to focus on the present. "And what are you going to do with this information?"

"Dunno, what should I do with it, you tell me?"

Obi-Wan frowned. What exactly did Quinlan want? The Kiffar had seemed to be enjoying himself since almost the beginning of their confrontation. Apparently, Quinlan wasn't treating him as a real threat either. What could he be perceiving about Obi-Wan that made him act that way?

"Report me and imprison me for high treason?" said Obi-Wan, boldly.

Quinlan's smile widened, showing far too many teeth for comfort when the man was so close to Obi-Wan's face.

During his second life, Obi-Wan did his best to keep away from the man. Quinlan's gifts in psychometrics made him dangerous, because it probably made him capable of picking up information that Obi-Wan wanted to keep secret. He wasn't sure what exactly Quinlan could pick up with his extra sense, when he touched an object or a person, but he preferred to play it safe and stay away from Quinlan’s perceptions.

One of the aspects Obi-Wan found most difficult in his new life was maintaining a form of isolation from the bonds he had cultivated in his previous life. The end goal was to do whatever it took to keep all of his precious people alive, to prevent their lives from being blown away too soon by the diabolical machinations of a corrupt madman.

Obi-Wan had long accepted that friendships and meaningful connections would not be for him anymore.

He had needed to stay in the shadows and act freely, without ties and loyalties keeping him from making the necessary decisions. Obi-Wan was lucid, however. He knew well that his nature, whatever the trials he had to go through, flourished in the bonds of friendship. He couldn't help it, and that was why he chose a path that would keep him in isolation and loneliness.

Quinlan had been a precious friend, once. He was not today, and the Kiffar had no reason to be lenient now.

"Ah. Is killing a Sith Lord hidden in plain sight treason? That's obviously not the Jedi way, but I'm not sure if your deed can be qualified as a true criminal act."

Quinlan straightened up, without getting off him. He seemed to be getting comfortable, seated like this on Obi-Wan, who was beginning to have trouble breathing.

The Kiffar grabbed his comm, and, when the call connected, he announced: "Commander Fox, I've lost the target. I repeat, I've lost the target. I have an urgent meeting at the Temple; we’ll debrief tonight. Good luck getting the barracks back in shape."

Obi-Wan was speechless. He didn't understand anything anymore. In fact, he felt as if the threads of his sanity were growing weaker and weaker, as the humming grew louder and louder and turned into a roar, to the point of drowning out Coruscant's constant soundscape. He tried to compartmentalize the pain as he always did, to try to keep his focus on the present. He had to get to the bottom of Quinlan's motives.

"Wha-" The nausea hit him hard, as if, after all those hours of keeping the pain at bay, a dam had suddenly broken. He retched uncontrollably, and a groan escaped him.

"Whoa, are you all right?" Quinlan said, getting to his feet. "You look like sh*t, man. Did I hurt you?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, immediately worsening his nausea. "Uugh," he said, inarticulately. He took a deep breath to clear his head, but nothing helped. Quinlan tried to help him up, but Obi-Wan had no strength left. He could feel the unconsciousness creeping into his mind, like a slow, but unstoppable takeover.

]o[

Ben Kenobi, a decade after the rise of the Empire, reunited with Quinlan Vos.

The Resistance was organizing around charismatic individuals like Bail Organa and Mon Mothma. These men and women refused to bend the knee, and had not given up hope. Despite a galaxy fractured by allegiances and betrayed loyalties, the Resistance was gaining strength and momentum. Citizens of the Empire were joining their ranks every day, willing to sacrifice everything to advance their cause: to regain the freedom they once had, and the confidence they once had in the future.

For the Resistance, the rare days when, with luck and sheer stubbornness, they managed to bring a Jedi into their struggle were particularly special.

The Jedi had become legends, hunted down to the last representative by the Empire's bloodhounds, of which Vader was the most infamous agent.

In the minds of the people, and with the massive disinformation campaigns the Siths had unrelentely orchestrated, the word Jedi had become an insult, a synonym for traitor of the worst kind.

The Resistance knew better, and its leaders knew intimately that they could not win the war without the Jedi, without those Force Users trained all their lives to fight against corruption and the lure of power.

Ben Kenobi had stayed in touch with the nascent Resistance from the beginning. He had helped organize and structure it, and had taken on the role of being a beacon for any Jedi in hiding or in need of guidance in the darkness that was now their existence.

It was his way of finding redemption.

Ben had contributed to the downfall of the Republic by failing to protect Anakin from the influence of the Sith Lord, even though that had been his first duty as Master to his Padawan.

He had been an utter failure as a Jedi since he had been chosen by Qui-Gon. Deep down, he was somehow convinced that the galaxy would have been better off if he had joined AgriCorp on Bandomeer. It was an old demon that had plagued him for a long time after Qui-Gon's death, for which he had long held himself responsible. With time, wisdom, and frequent visits to the Jedi Mind Healer, he had managed to make peace with his guilt.

But on the day when everything fell apart, when he felt the simultaneous deaths of so many of his sisters and brothers, the guilt collapsed into a black hole from which nothing could escape.

Ben Kenobi wore his guilt like a cloak from which he could not escape.

But hope had not yet left him, and was not quite dead. He and his team managed to track down some of the Jedi before Vader and his Inquisitors found them.

For many of them, they were too late. For the Force Sensitives in Darth Sidious' galaxy, it was die or convert to the dark side.

Still, they had managed to save some of them, former padawans or younglings who were too young to have been able to fight during the purge, and who had learned very quickly to keep their mouths shut and keep hiding.

All of them were heavily traumatized, having witnessed, through the Force bonds forged with the other Jedi, the mass murder that had fallen upon their attachment figures at the hands of people they trusted.

Faith was a precious thing, all too rare, and so dangerous.

Ben had followed Quinlan's lead. The Kiffar had disappeared long before the Purge, which had allowed him to survive when many others had lost their lives. Vos had always had a complicated relationship with the injunctions and rigid principles of the Jedi Order. He had always been a man who cultivated independence, whose morals could be flexible depending on the circ*mstances, and who distrusted absolutes. That had saved him. For a time.

Quinlan had settled down. He'd been a tireless traveler across the galaxy as a Jedi Master, specializing in infiltration and intelligence missions, but now he'd chosen a simple, sedentary life on a remote planet in the outer rim.

Apparently, he had managed to keep a low profile until, like all Jedi, his sense of justice overcame the need to remain anonymous.

He used his abilities to save a farm family from pirates, and in the process, word of his presence spread like wildfire.

The Resistance had fairly good intelligence networks, and had traced the existence of a Force User powerful enough to incapacitate an entire band of over armed pirates.

Ben followed the trail from there.

Ben had patiently tracked him down, until one foggy, cool morning on the planet Mapuzo, in the middle rim, he showed up at Quinlan’s door.

More than a decade had passed since the two men had last interacted. When Quinlan opened the door to his modest home, his wary, hostile expression was replaced by a complex mixture of joy, fear and utter sadness, that swept Ben in an empathetic whirlwind of emotion.

That day, they fell into each other's arms, relishing in a full, long-yearned contact. Each had thought the other was long dead, along with the rest of their family.

For a few years after their reunion, they had worked to reassemble the remnants of the lost Jedi Order, with the former initiates and padawans they had managed to find.

They based their refuge on Dantooine, in the old Jedi Enclave. The planet was conveniently removed from most galactic routes.

Quinlan did not want to be directly involved in organizing and strengthening the Resistance. Keeping in touch with the younglings was good for him, and kept him away from despair. They had formed a small community that helped them keep the traditions and philosophy of the Jedi Order alive. Quinlan, who had first challenged the Order's rigid principles, had ironically become its Guardian.

When Ben visited Dantooine, a new recruit or two in tow, he made it a point to spend time in this peaceful haven. He could forget for a while about the horrors of the never-ending war in a galaxy that was growing ever darker with each passing day.

Duty demanded that he return to the fight, but for a few days or weeks, he would allow himself a break from it all, a break that had become essential for his mental and emotional health.

One day, Ben returned to Dantooine to find the old enclave devastated, the initiates slaughtered or captured, Quinlan Vos' corpse laid out unceremoniously in the courtyard, his unseeing, dead eyes staring at the endless sky.

]o[

When Obi-Wan emerged back to consciousness, foggily, the scene had changed. He was back in his quarters in the Temple, comfortably lying on his couch, his boots off. Had he been dreaming the latest events? Frowning, Obi-Wan tried to sort through his memory. His memories were muddled, and the sequence of scenes he was able to recall made no sense.

He closed his eyes for a moment, shielding them from the muted brightness of the room, to try to shake off the pain and confusion that clouded his mind.

Someone was quietly working in the kitchen, and the sound of water simmering brought him comfort. Family , his mind whispered. He stopped fighting the confusion and let himself be carried away by the chaotic surges of consciousness that came and went, pulsing with pain, but with the knowledge that he was finally safe.

His thoughts were a mess. Old memories mingled with more recent ones, blending with imagined, feared, or hoped-for scenarios. It had been a long time since Obi-Wan had been subject to that peculiar state where consciousness, losing all direction, randomly generated ideas and concepts, which evaporated as soon as they had gained consistency.

Obi-Wan had learned, early in his training, and like all younglings who spent their childhood in the Temple, to discipline his mind. His Soul-Kyber characteristics had given him powerful control over the functioning of his consciousness. The result was an organized and robust, but inflexible, crystal-stiffened state.

Obi-Wan had realized fairly quickly that the Soul-Kyber would not allow him to forge his own individuality outside of the one that had been Old Ben. So, even though they had hardly lived the same life, Obi-Wan lived as if he were a continuation Old Ben’s existence.

He had noticed that new learning was difficult for him to do and to integrate. His crystallized mind could no longer grow outside the paths that had been extensively walked in Old Ben's long life. As such, Obi-Wan knew early that he would carry the weight of Old Ben's traumas, and not really be able to absolve himself of them and grow beyond them. Because, in order to move beyond trauma, one had to live and build on their foundations, and thus make sense of them through the mortar they provided for future experiences.

Old Ben's traumas were, and would remain, as raw as ever, like bloody wounds left open to the aggressions of the elements, to the sand, and to the wind.

Old Ben's knowledge was vast, and made up for what Obi-Wan could not learn on his own, but sometimes the weight of that reality crushed him, knowing that the pain would never really fade.

In his confusion, Obi-Wan felt vaguely that his sense of self was dangerously unstable. He was returning to the state he had often experienced during his adolescence, where his psyche was fighting in vain against the insidious invasion of the alien mind of an old man who had lived far beyond his years.

Obi-Wan’s senses brought him fragmented signals, which did not help him to get a clear picture of his situation. When he tried to re-open his eyes, the nausea grew stronger, telling him he had to stop struggling.

For an indefinite period of time, Obi-Wan let himself go. He could not fight any longer.

He came to his senses when he felt a cool hand on his forehead, and immediately recognized the signature.

"Bant?" he rasped.

"I knew I was wrong to trust you, Obi-Wan. I should have kept you under observation this morning."

Obi-Wan frowned. "This morning?"

"You came to see me, remember? For a shoulder injury."

Yes. That he remembered. He had the image of Sidious chopping him with his red lightsaber very clearly in his mind. Thinking about it brought back the pain, which made him feel even more uncomfortable.

"But that's not what worries me. You had a seizure again. A serious one," Bant said, her voice soft. "Fortunately, you weren't alone at the time. Master Vos took care of you and called me."

"Quin? Is he all right?" Somehow, Obi-Wan felt as if he had forgotten something important. Crucially important. Quilan was long dead. So was Bant, for that matter. There was probably a logic problem here, but Obi-Wan couldn't figure out exactly where. His frown deepened. He attempted to bring his hands to his forehead, but Bant gently redirected them to his chest. Obi-Wan let her; he was too exhausted to struggle.

"Wait-" he paused. He didn't even know what question he wanted to ask anymore.

"I adjusted the headband settings, and I think things are stable again. I forced a bit of a reduction in brain activity to give your nervous system some time to recover. You might feel a little confused and slowed down; don't worry, that's normal."

"Okay. But I still want to worry." Something about what Bant had just said didn't sit right with him. Some distant part of his mind was screaming at him confusedly that he couldn't afford to operate in degraded mode, and that he absolutely had to remedy the situation.

"How long is this going to last?"

"It's hard to say. If you behave as you usually do, not listening to advice when you're told to rest, it will significantly affect the length of your recovery. In a bad way, obviously."

"You don't understand. I can't just sit here and do nothing."

"Oh? And what is so important that it takes precedence over your health, my dear patient?"

"I- Hm, go to the Archives? Madame Nu needs me. She's going to scold me."

Bant gave a little laugh. "You'll go to the Archives when you're ready. Take time to rest a bit, I think you'll be better soon enough. I'll leave you with Quinlan, I've got some patients to take care of that I've just brought in. I'll come back later."

Somehow, that statement sounded ominous.

Obi-Wan had to act. But to do so he had to know what to do, and thinking about it was exhausting.

His consciousness did not register the departure of Bant, whose presence seemed to have disappeared suddenly. He must have faded for a few moments, preventing him from keeping track of what was going on.

"Somehow I feel guilty taking advantage of your weakness," Quinlan said. The man was sitting in the previously unoccupied chair that faced the couch. He looked perfectly relaxed and at ease, legs crossed, a cup of tea resting precariously on his knee. Obi-Wan could see him clearly from where he was sitting, without having to move his head. Fine, Obi-Wan didn't feel like moving at all.

"What are you doing here?"

"Bant asked me to watch her unruly patient." Quinlan smiled his predatory grin. "That's good timing, it lines up with my personal plans."

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow. "I'm your personal plan?"

Quinlan laughed outright. Obi-Wan winced, the sound causing a wave of pain radiating in his head. "Let's just say that since yesterday, I've rarely been so well entertained in my life." Quinlan suddenly looked more serious. He placed his cup on the coffee table with his gloved hands before leaning forward. "You know things. Important things, that caused you to go behind the Order's back. I want to know why. And I want to know how."

Obi-Wan didn't appreciate being pressured. He felt too bad to take any more stress than he was already feeling. He waved his hand as if trying to swat away a fly. "Leave me alone."

"No chance. You're stuck with me, Kenobi. I'll get my answers, one way or another. If you're cooperative, I'll keep your secrets, since you seem to care about them. I need to know if you pose a threat to us Jedi, and if you're involved with Darksiders.”

Obi-Wan pouted in disgust. "I'd rather die."

"That's what I thought. So, can you explain to me where your skills come from? You seem awfully proficient as a warrior. And what I have seen with my own eyes does not match what is in your file. Who helped you build your cover?"

"Quin, you bother me. I'm in no condition to think."

Quinlan tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "You're a real puzzle. So be it. But I'm not done with you yet. Know that you've gained a shadow that won't let you go, friend ."

Quinlan was spouting nonsense, and Obi-Wan was too confused to decipher the meaning of his words.

"Quin, my dear, would you be so kind as to pour me a cup of tea? The scent is lovely, and it would soothe my poor, needy soul."

Quilan snorted, apparently taken aback. "But seriously, who are you really?"

Chapter 11: Gathering

Chapter Text

Quinlan sighed. He could feel the stress and tension that had fueled his vigilance slowly ebb away.

It was peaceful here.

The apartment wasn’t spacious, but it was well organized and laid out so that one could move around easily, while having well-defined living spaces. The furniture was sparse, but comfortable. Quinlan had turned on the window, but with the filter that dimmed the luminosity to keep the apartment bathed in soft light.

Kenobi had put his touch in his living quarter. The apartment didn’t feel like he could be vacated without prior notice, and felt, on the contrary, invested. Quinlan was used in frequently living in temporary accommodations, for the needs of an investigation or an undercover mission. Those accommodations always had the same feel: utilitarian, but not invested like a real home could be.

Kenobi’s quarters felt emotionally alive. Each object adorning the displaying surfaces had been carefully chosen, with taste. There were trinkets of various origins, not all of which Quinlan had identified, with pleasing aesthetics and harmonious feel.

Quinlan, because of his gifts, had a particular sensitivity towards things. He was, by necessity, a materialist. It was not, of course, the financial worth that concerned him, but the historical and emotional value that could surround an object that had been fabricated by a sentient being and had passed through the ages.

Kenobi had a very interesting collection. An ancient Alderaanian crystal vase displaying huge, naturalized Dantooinian dandelions. A little case in genuine, actual copper and glass, containing shards of Kyber crystal, shimmering lightly in the Force. A smooth, anthracite river stone, set aside an empty lightsaber display stand. An old galactic map tapestry, woven with soft, satiny fiber, adorning an empty wall.

It wasn’t that much surprising, given the fact that Kenobi posed as an archeologist. Quinlan reckoned that Kenobi’s job wasn’t all a lie, if the man had had the time in his life to gather this collection.

Quinlan, while waiting for Bant to come and assist him, had gone around looking closely at the items, without going so far as to examine them with his sixth sense. He might do it another time, but strangely enough, he didn't want to do it without his new charge knowing.

Surely Kenobi would have some interesting stories to share about them.

The archivist had passed out again after an episode of semi-consciousness in which he had expressed confusion and incoherency in his responses. That was almost two hours ago.

Interestingly, Quinlan had learned that Bant knew Kenobi well, and had been his personal physician since they were both teenagers. Bant and Kenobi were also from the same Crèche Clan, and Bant had given Quinlan some critical insights into Kenobi’s personal history.

The more Quinlan knew, the clearer things became, but also the darker. Like trying to distinguish the bottom of a very profound well of crystal clear water. He sensed that behind the pieces of the puzzle he was currently holding, there was a reality so enormous that it might be capable of shattering his worldview.

Still, he wasn't sure of much, except that Kenobi had gone to great lengths not to hurt the people who mattered to Quinlan, while eliminating a Sith Lord powerful enough to have fooled the entirety of the Jedi Order for over a decade.

Quinlan wasn't sure of Kenobi's motives, but power didn't seem to be the driving force behind his actions. Quinlan's gift allowed him to see things, including the truth behind the facades people wore. Kenobi had impressive shields, but that wasn't enough to hide the fact that he was most certainly a true Jedi, and one who was firmly rooted in the light.

Quinlan could work from there. So far, what he had managed to puzzled out of what he perceived and the actions he had witnessed, he believed Kenobi did not pose an immediate danger. He would, however, have to clear up a lot of critical points.

Fine by him.

Quinlan was a patient man. That was the first of the qualities required in his profession.

First, he would have to maneuver so as not to frighten Kenobi. The man looked skittish as a wild lothcat, which would require some work to gain some form of trust.

By mobilizing his network, Quinlan had gathered enough relatively superficial information to understand that Kenobi had kept to himself by not forming many real relationships. His colleagues in the science and archeology department knew him, but only superficially, the man having managed to firmly keep those relationships within acceptable closeness to work comfortably. He was generally well-liked, and was known to be reliable, poised, and always even-tempered.

Quinlan would need to do some digging to retrace Kenobi’s movements, and about what he had been up to all these years out of the Temple. Quinlan was certain those research hours would be worth his time.

Quinlan was indeed persistent, and he was equally curious. Kenobi’s secrets would not stay secret for long.

Second, he would have to decide what he would choose to reveal to the other Jedi, and on what basis. Quinlan had decided to make a gamble: choose to trust Kenobi and not corner him any more than Quinlan already had.

Quinlan knew that the secret would not hold much longer anyway. Quinlan had already solved part of the case, either by luck or because the Force had guided him to that resolution. Quinlan thought it was smarter to keep Kenobi from running away and to keep him in sight until he could reveal what he knew and what to do with it.

Quinlan could easily accommodate unorthodox approaches and methods, and he understood the need to adapt his methods to exceptional circ*mstances. And the fact that the Supreme Chancellor turned out to be a Sith Lord leading the Republic with a good deal of power was an exceptional circ*mstance.

He knew that not all Jedi would agree with his analysis. Many were very attached to the principles that rigidly guided the creed of their Order. To veer from them was to risk a fall to the dark side, and each Jedi had his own definition of what it meant to deviate from the Order tenets. Quinlan tended to situate himself on the more flexible aspects, to focus on the spirit rather than the letter.

At the moment, Kenobi did not look well. He was lying on his couch, in the same position he had been in since Quinlan had put him there. Dark circles surrounded his closed eyes, and his naturally fair complexion was pale. Kenobi hid his natural youthfulness behind a short, carefully trimmed beard. When he was awake, there was an intensity about him that made him appear much older than he really was. In unconsciousness, with his features completely relaxed, Kenobi looked very young, even though he was almost the same age as Quinlan, if Bant and Kenobi's personal file weren't wrong.

Kenobi’s medium-length hair, light brown with red highlights, was held back by his headband. Quinlan had wondered about this device, which was apparently a medical tool designed to keep neural seizures at bay. Small lights, located on the right temporal area, were flashing, and indicated, according to Bant, that the device was functioning, in actively working to treat the seizure.

Bant had told him about Kenobi’s neurological condition, which had been quite debilitating in his younger years. Quinlan wrinkled his brow. How could a man with a disability severe enough to prevent him from following the Knight track have developed such impressive skills?

Somehow, Quinlan knew that all of this man's strange features were necessarily connected, and that all he needed was the right map to decipher much of the mystery that was Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Quinlan would wait. And he would observe; he was good at that. And for that, Kenobi would have to suffer his presence for as long as it took.

Quinlan’s thoughts continued to spiral lazily about the subject for a time, when Kenobi stirred minutely, just before groaning. He opened his eyes, and his gaze was already much clearer than it had been during the previous episode of consciousness.

His eyes fell on Quinlan, and his expression instantly morphed into an open but neutral one, meant to convey an appearance of innocence that Quinlan had quickly learned to associate with the mask Kenobi wore at all times. At the same time, iron-hard shield slammed abruptly, instantly suppressing any sense of Kenobi’s emotions and thoughts that might have radiated through the Force.

Well, the confusion seemed to have dissipated.

Good.

They could finally have the serious conversation Quinlan had been waiting for.

]o[

"What do you mean, he escaped?" Mace asked. He was currently communicating with Fox while walking toward his apartments, after an exhausting session in the Senate. The Vice Chancellor's candidacy had been ratified, to hold temporarily the Chancellery. At this time of war, the exceptional procedures regarding the concentration of power were still in effect, and were very concerning in the light of the latter events.

"We don't have any details yet, but apparently he escaped Master Vos."

Mace wrinkled his brow. "And Master Vos, where is he now?"

"He said he had to return to the Temple for an urgent meeting."

"But what was that man doing with your soldiers?"

"Your Healer repatriated the men assigned to the Temple. Healer Eerin said their condition could be Force-induced, and we should learn more with her research."

"Okay, let me do a recap’. The same man who eliminated the Chancellor stormed into your barrack to do Force know what to your men. How many casualties?"

"...none, sir."

"None?"

"Except for one of my soldiers having a concussion when he fell because of a water puddle. None."

"I'm not sure what that means, Commander. But apparently, this individual deployed impressive resources to avoid harming anyone. With his skill level, he could have made it easier on himself if he didn't have to worry about potential casualties."

"I'm not sure I can express an opinion on this matter, I'm waiting to hear more about the fate of my men who are currently in your hands, Master Jedi. Also, we have a sizable portion of our housing currently unusable. I can assure you that my soldiers are rather... resentful."

"Of course Commander, I didn't mean to sound dismissive," said Mace, apologetically. "How far along are your men in the main investigation?"

"We've pretty much finished compiling and retrieving all the sensitive data, we now need to move on to processing, and I think we're going to need to get close to your Intelligence department to make sense of it. The Chancellor was a Sith Lord, whatever that really means. Many of his actions can only make sense with the proper context."

Mace nodded. The request was logical and reasonable. "I could allocate you a secure space to proceed with the data processing, your crisis room was a good temporary solution, but I think it may be wise to secure the investigation, and the Senate doesn't strike me as the ideal place to guard against overly curious people. The political ramifications of this are going to be terrible, and I think the Jedi Order is going to have to assert its neutrality very quickly. Things aren't going to stay secret for very long."

Fox nodded. "Indeed, I don't know if we can trust our usual facilities. From what you said, the Chancellor was a snake in disguise, and I’d rather be anywhere else from what he had in mind for us."

"We can't be sure of anything, but the Temple seems to me to be the safest option at the moment. Still, we're going to have to do a deep sweep. If the Sith Lord was able to hide his real identity for so long despite being in regular and sometimes close contact with the Jedi, he must have had the means to mask his influence, and we have no idea how far it has spread."

"I'll leave that part to you to judge, Master Jedi. I would be grateful if you would indeed provide us with a neutral headquarters in the Temple." Mace could hear the relief in his voice.

Mace couldn't imagine how the degradation of the only place the Clones felt at home could affect them, but he understood the need to provide them with a safe space that would be dedicated to them and no one else.

He would leave a note for the Temple Quartermaster to make the necessary arrangements. The Jedi probably had a room or two that was not currently in use that would help out those in need.

]o[

"Vokara, I think you should come here to see this," Bant said.

"Hm?" The Head Healer was at her desk, immersed in reading a document, her brow furrowed. She had spent a good part of the day examining the Chancellor's body in the containment room. The corpse had come to them, under heavy guard, and with the necessary precautions applicable when they had to closely examine items tainted by the dark side.

Eyebrows had been raised in the team, and they would probably talk about it extensively among themselves when they had time to reflect and discuss the implications of what they were being asked to do. Currently, The Jedi Healer team maintained their professionalism, and did not allow wild guesses and assumptions to sabotage their work.

Vokara Che was an older Twi'lek with a strength of character that would intimidate even the most seasoned Jedi. It took a lot to force a bunch of hyperactive individuals to bedrest. Bant had been working with Vokara for nearly two decades now, and along with the other Healers, they worked in a close-knit partnership. Of course, there were the occasional conflicts and differences of opinion, but a great deal of solidarity cemented their working relationship.

To be devoted to healthcare was to be on the front line; constantly, without respite. A soldier was going to fight and could lose his life, but that was far from being the majority of their time. Long periods of waiting, interspersed with occasional short bouts of combat, made up the bulk of a warrior's existence, while a healer was constantly fighting against pain and death.

Sleep and respite were priorities that tended to fade away in favor of deeper demands—to wrest from the clutches of death those whose time had not yet come.

Healers were on constant watch, fighting against the inevitable advance of death. This fierce—and fatally losing—struggle welded strongly the healers together.

"I can't put my finger on it, but there seems to be a discrepancy between what I'm perceiving via the Force, and what the scanner is telling me." Bant had placed her hand on the forehead of the Clone, who was settled in a medbed. The soldier was as catatonic as when Bant had retrieved him: awake, but absent. In the Force, he seemed drained of all substance, without any lively spark.

The day started off strangely for Bant, with a string of bizarre events that left her feeling confused and without the necessary background to make sense of them. Bant felt like she had walked into the middle of a holo-drama without having seen the first fifteen or so seasons.

And, oddly enough, Obi-Wan seemed to have a starring role in this holo-drama.

Bant was far from stupid.

Quinlan claimed that the mysterious Force User had escaped, only to bring back a comatose Obi-Wan in the process.

She wasn't sure what to make of it, but she did know one thing: the wound she had treated on Obi-Wan shoulder hadn’t been acquired while working in the Archives. On Coruscant, the chances of encountering a hostile Force User wielding a lightsaber were small. And, they happened to have a beheaded Chancellor cooling in the morgue, who was probably a Sith Lord. And all this without mentioning the Clones.

It had been years since Obi-Wan had suffered an epileptic seizure—as far as Bant knew. For things to happen in such a short period of time, she was probably witnessing ripples from a single event.

Bant had no doubt that Obi-Wan had the makings of a man who could have such impact, such influence around him. She knew that he managed to hide his natural charisma, and that he did his best all these years not to be noticed.

For now, she would do her job and give him time, but she was determined to get the answers she felt she was entitled to. Why had Obi-Wan withdrawn from virtually every bond and friendship that had ever mattered to him?

Seeing him comatose and confused had gripped her heart.

Earlier, Bant had felt through Obi-Wan’s shields, made porous by the confusion, a terrible sadness so intertwined with his Force signature that it had to be with him constantly.

Obi-Wan needed hugs. Lots of hugs. And Bant was tired of simply giving him space. She would finish her examination and quickly return to check on Obi-Wan, and force him to dine with her.

]o[

Dooku was now certain he had to act, as soon as he was able. Fett had given him an extremely disturbing recording. Sidious had been undoubtedly removed by a powerful unknown party, who would not be obviously easy to defeat, especially if that person got his hands on the object Dooku was after.

Dooku had to gather his forces without delay, and strike hard, if he wanted to finally take his rightful place.

He was confident. He had valuable assets that neither the Republic nor the Jedi were aware of. Dooku simply had to ensure that his dominance could be established without challenge. His rule would go unchallenged if he could secure the key. That was the top priority.

Dooku composed a message to all his lieutenants.

It was time to get down to business. The Republic was destabilized, facing a power vacuum that would not be easily resolved.

The Jedi Order, blinded by Sidious' machinations, would soon come to its senses, and Dooku would rather not have to face his enemies as they regained their means and ability to act.

With Sidious gone, Dooku had a free hand, and he had to be bold and fearless. He was now the most powerful Sith Lord, and by asserting his power now, no one would be able to challenge his absolute rule.

]o[

Seated at his mahogany table, a cup of caff in hand, Mace massaged the back of his neck. His muscles were tired, and his migraine still threatened to blind him occasionally with pain. Over the years, the Korun Master had grown accustomed to having to work and function despite his constant headaches, but, as he had come to accept, one never really got used to the pain.

Pain became more tolerable when you stopped fighting it, stopped trying to make it stop. Often, the cures were actually worse than the pain, and the time and energy one might spend seeking relief were bound to come at the expense of something else.

Mace knew that trying to make the suffering stop would distract him from what was really important.

So he always committed himself fully to his days, knowing perfectly well that the pain would be there to accompany him, but he refused to let it stand between him and his duty.

There were, however, situations that tended to aggravate his headaches, and dealing with his unruly Padawan when he was bored was one of them.

Mace loved Anakin deeply, ever since he had accepted the heavy burden of training such a powerful individual in the Force. He had taken him on as a Padawan as soon as Anakin turned nine. Young, for an initiate, but Mace wanted to encourage and guide his emotional growth. For Anakin, though powerful and intelligent, had the emotional intelligence of a week-old lamb.

Now, at twenty years old, this endeavor hadn't been very conclusive. Sure, Anakin had made good progress, but he was far from mastering his impulses. Mace hoped Anakin was getting there, though.

In the meantime, Mace still had to deal with him. Especially since Anakin tended to get bored very quickly, and was almost incapable of keeping himself busy unless he had something to tinker with.

One thing Anakin enjoyed above almost everything else was dueling. He had such a deep love of fighting that he never shied away from the long hours of training that a unified and balanced martial arts practice required.

Someday, Mace found himself having trouble keeping up the pace of his needy Padawan, and sometimes he felt guilty that he couldn't send him on more unsupervised missions on the wider Galaxy.

Anakin thought Mace didn't think he was ready.

Mace knew, deep down, that wasn't quite right. With the war on, and the presence of unknown Force Users roaming the galaxy, Mace was afraid for his protege.

With his power, Anakin was the epitome of a honeypot for any Darksider in need of an apprentice.

And Anakin was never, ever, to fall to the dark side. Mace wasn't sure the galaxy would recover if that happened.

So he would find any excuse to keep him on Coruscant. Anakin wasn't picky, as long as he was busy. He wasn't interested in the glamour of war, nor was he looking for glory. Anakin was, however, the type of adrenalin junkie that needed his thrill fix to be in a good mood.

"Master. I'm bored."

Mace sighed.

"What I've told you, countless times, about this subject, Padawan? It is not my responsibility, but yours."

"Still. I can't spar alone. Come with me? The exercise will do you good to trim the excess fat."

"Which fat?" asked Mace, scandalized.

"You know, age and sedentary lifestyle. No wonder your body’s sagging. I read about it on the holonet."

Mace closed his eyes. He knew better than to let him get baited. He wouldn't stoop so low as to argue like a teenager.

But he really wanted to.

Mace was tired. He was barely recovering from last night's shatterpoint. Coordinating the investigation, continuing to lead the Order, dealing with the Clones, and getting involved in political maneuvering hadn't really allowed him to recharge his batteries. Mace needed a good night's sleep, a deep meditation session, and an invigorating meal. Not necessarily in that order.

"I think it has more to do with diet. You're the one who should be careful, with the way you eat. You should stick with the Temple Dining Halls."

"I eat very well, thank you very much. And I prefer to eat outside. Dex's the best. I was there today with Obi-Wan. You should have seen my plate, it was overflowing with food. Still, no sagging nor fat in sight."

"Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan Kenobi? What was he doing there?"

"He said he had a mission to complete downtown. For you, by the way." Anakin eyed him suspiciously. "On a super secret mission for the Council. But I didn't get the details. No one ever tells me anything."

Mace frowned. "He has a mission, yes. A mission that specifically required him to decipher a Sith artifact as quickly as possible. At the Archives, not downtown."

"Hm. Sounds boring. I can see why he felt like taking a walk."

It seemed that Mace might need to assert his authority in order to emphasize the importance of setting priorities, but that could wait for later. However, Kenobi's actions bothered him, and he couldn't quite pinpoint the reason behind it. He massaged his right temple, his headache becoming more present. He'd deal with that later. Mace needed to eat, and he knew for a fact that the cooler unit was empty. Anakin never thought to do what was necessary to take care of housekeeping. He sighed.

"Come on, Padawan. Let's go to the Dining Halls. I need to get some sustenance. We'll stretch our legs with a good spar afterward."

Anakin whooped, ever enthusiastic for any kind of meal, and any kind of fight.

]o[

"I have nothing to say to you."

"On the contrary, I think you owe me an explanation. At least as a bargaining chip... I suppose you'd like to keep certain information from being disseminated within the Order?"

Kenobi did not answer. He slowly straightened, wincing. His face, for all the control he had over it, expressed obvious discomfort. He avoided meeting Quinlan's unwavering gaze. With a slow but precise movement, Kenobi raised his hand to his temple and closed his eyes. He adjusted something on his headband, his brow wrinkled with concentration, and finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"I can't help it, Master Vos. I certainly don't have the power to shut you up."

"Oh? But you do have the power to permanently silence a Sith Lord?"

Kenobi's mouth turned into a hard line.

"Nor do I have the power to influence your beliefs and thinking."

Quinlan smiled. Kenobi was obviously used to hard conversations. One more element to slot into the mental picture Quinlan was forming of him.

"No beliefs. Facts." He pulled out his datapad and displayed on it the image of the sculpture in which he had found the recording. "We found a device in this object. Which contained some pretty interesting images. Do you want to continue to deny your direct involvement in this story?"

"I'm not denying anything, I just want to know the reason you're taking the time to question me like this. Why not turn me in directly to the Judicial? Why didn't you tell the Council?"

"I admit I'm curious. I wonder what you're going to do now. And for the time being, you haven't threatened anyone as far as I know. And I'd like to have a front-row seat to what happens next, my good, plain archivist."

"I'm not here to entertain you, Master Vos, you probably have better things to do than to be concerned about my actions. I don't plan to do much more anyway." Kenobi was almost pleading.

"Oh, maybe you haven’t noticed, but I don't think fate intends to leave you alone just yet. Don't think that with what you just pulled out, things will nicely settle back down and you won't have to answer for your actions."

Kenobi didn't respond, a scowl marring his features instead.

"In the meantime, if you don't want to tell me more, so be it. Furthermore, it appears you have no intention of forcefully removing me from the question, and that's great. You have no choice but to put up with my constant presence for a while."

"You're not planning on sleeping here, are you?"

"Well, the couch does appear exceptionally cozy."

"I won't provide any meals for you."

"No worries. Your cooler is already empty, and truth be told, it seems like you could use a good meal yourself. Bant asked me to check your food intake. How about we head to the Dining Halls? Or we could continue to talk one-on-one if you wish?"

Kenobi let out a long-suffering sigh. “Let’s go. Just give me a minute to gather my strength.”

Chapter 12: Letting Go

Chapter Text

Depa Billaba, after a particularly grueling battle, was assessing the situation with her Commander, Gray. They stood atop a sparsely vegetated cliff, dampened by the morning mist. A gray sky hung over the landscape, making the scene of devastation before them all the more bleak and tragic.

Gray was listing losses, both in terms of material and human casualties, in a monotonous voice.

The numbers were terrible.

If Depa didn't have access to the Force, she might have been surprised by the lack of visible emotion from her Commander. He maintained a stoic and unwavering expression, summarizing the information with exemplary professional detachment.

But she could feel him bleeding in the Force. Bleeding, and mourning for his brothers, for his family.

Depa wanted to embrace him, and cry with him.

But she knew her second-in-command's reserve. He wouldn't want to be forced to flaunt his emotions like that, which were perhaps the one thing that could never be taken away from him. She would make it a point to be there for the Remembrances tonight.

It had been a few months since the war had truly begun against the Separatist movement, with the deployment of their respective armies. Against the millions of battle droids, funded by the substantial resources of guilds and banks, the Republic had been able to field an army of millions of well-trained and highly skilled soldiers, seemingly out of nowhere.

Although this army already had an internal chain of command, the Chancellery, and the Senate had required the Jedi to assume the role of Generals. Depa didn't quite understand the logic behind it, but she assumed that the martial and diplomatic traditions of the Jedi Order naturally predisposed them to such a role.

However, a martial tradition was not truly military tradition, nor formal training in coordinating troops and tactical movements.

Depa, despite what those around her said about her supposedly talent for tactics and strategy, was keenly aware of this fact.

She had lost too many men on the altar of inexperience and naivety.

The life of a Jedi did not prepare one for the horrors of the battlefield, the chaotic unpredictability of a ruthless struggle where the objective was the dominance of the terrain and the eradication of the enemy.

There were, in fact, no sacred rules in war.

Only the result mattered, and the end always justified the means.

Depa realized that to be a good general, she often had to betray certain fundamental values that made her a Jedi, and doubts insidiously crept into her heart.

Was the defense of the Republic and its territorial integrity worth compromising the principles dear to her heart?

The Republic admirals and the Chancellor tended to view the Clones as a resource that could be called upon as needed, in exchange for money and a little time. But Depa, with the Force, had a deep awareness of the individualities that surrounded her constantly in the eve and the aftermath of battles. Her comrades-in-arms were each an individual in his own right.

She had shared her doubts with Mace several times, and he had shown empathy. But behind that understanding hid a terrible inflexibility, born of a profound fear.

Mace feared for the Order and its survival. The Jedi were in such a precarious and ultimately untenable position that the slightest spark could condemn their millennia-old tradition.

Depa was exhausted. Another battle, which could be considered victorious because her battalion had successfully repelled the Separatist army's invasion attempts in the Harrun Kal system.

The Separatist army and General Grievous had suddenly withdrawn, abandoning the fight and de facto offering them victory.

But Depa knew what she had lost and how many of her men had lost their lives.

Far too many.

And she wasn't sure if it was truly worth it, for a strategic asset that only held value in its potential usefulness as a bridgehead and logistical foothold.

"Master? Are you alright?"

Her very young Padawan, so clever, so courageous, yet forged in violence and death, had not yet lost her freshness and naivety.

The Jedi Generals who had been deployed without Padawans had been assigned apprentices by default, foregoing a centuries-old tradition. Initiates had not been sent to the Corps since the beginning of the open conflict. The Jedi needed everyone and could not afford to be selective with their vital forces.

Thus, they preferred to send individuals barely out of childhood to war.

Depa could feel bitterness etching her features. Ahsoka was perceptive, empathetic, and, as was often the case with individuals who easily put themselves in others' shoes, she had a keen awareness of her own flaws and how they could impact those around her.

Ahsoka was probably thinking that Depa's dark mood was somehow her fault.

Depa sighed and offered her doubts and fear to the Force.

She placed a hand, hoping it would be comforting, on Ahsoka's still bony shoulder. The young Togruta was going through a growth spurt, her figure and movements betraying the awkwardness of readjusting her mental body schema with the constantly changing reality of her physical body.

"So many lives lost today. And with each passing day, each battle we survive, the meaning of this sacrifice eludes me more and more. But we must trust in the Force, Padawan. I hope all of this will come to an end, and we Jedi will emerge stronger, more resilient."

But Depa knew better.

They were losing their souls in this war, and there were certain wounds that one never truly recovered from.

But she wouldn't tell her Padawan.

Ahsoka was still too young, too innocent, and if Depa could spare her some of the terrible reality just a little longer, so be it.

]o[

Obi-Wan selected an assortment of small dishes on his cafeteria tray. He wasn't exactly sure what he wanted, and he had no appetite. He still felt vaguely nauseous and didn't yet know what his stomach would be able to tolerate. But he knew intellectually that he needed to nourish himself properly if he wanted to regain some of the energy he felt was terribly lacking.

Quinlan was also busy putting his dinner together, and had been following him like a shadow since earlier.

Ha.

The irony of the situation was not lost on him, but Obi-Wan didn't feel like laughing.

In any case, he didn't feel like fighting. He felt completely drained and didn't have the strength to resist whatever fate seemed to have in store for him.

Obi-Wan still felt out of sync, as if he didn't fully occupy his body. It seemed like he perceived things with a microsecond of delay, and he moved slowly and cautiously to avoid losing control of his movements. The sensation of dizziness was never far away.

He had to make the effort to eat a little, or he would end up forced into bed rest with an IV plugged into his arm.

Long tables flanked by benches were evenly aligned, filling the large room that served as the main dining hall. Tall transparensteel windows opened at the top of the gray walls, allowing the cool, damp evening air to gently permeate the space. An incessant sweep of service droids kept the place clean and organized.

The dining hall was used by all types of Jedi, from young initiates to old retired corpsmen. Of course, the dining halls couldn't accommodate all the Temple's occupants. Other, more private locations provided sustenance, and most personal apartments were equipped for cooking.

But many Jedi enjoyed the communal nature of the place. Being able to share a meal was one of the most fundamental forms of bonding and a way to connect with those who were absent by sharing news, discussions, and updates about everything and everyone.

During this lifetime, Obi-Wan had managed to frequent the place as little as possible, even though he remembered always enjoying coming here.

The less attention he drew, the better. Anonymity had protected him, but it had also protected others. He sighed internally. He supposed that time was over now. Quinlan helped himself generously to cheese-filled rolls, and placed two of them on Obi-Wan's tray.

Obi-Wan stopped, taken aback, and said, "Thank you, but I don't need a mother hen watching over me."

Quinlan raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure you're capable of making good decisions regarding yourself, Kenobi."

"I may be a bit weakened, but I can still compose my own plate," he said. He had the almost irrepressible urge to throw the rolls in Quinlan's face, but he would restrain himself. It was better not to appear as unhinged as he felt and give Quinlan the satisfaction of seeing him lose control.

Obi-Wan was fortunate that Quinlan had decided to trust him—for now, at least, because Quinlan didn't know everything. Obi-Wan wasn't sure what was behind this curious tolerance, but at least it would give him time to regroup and assess his possibilities.

"Don't argue, Kenobi. Bant is waiting for us at that table over there. I need to be accountable to her and show her that I'm taking care of you."

"Bant?" Obi-Wan glanced in the direction indicated by Quinlan, and he did indeed see Bant, seated at an empty table in the northwest corner of the room, which was nestled at the foot of a massive potted Tchuspera bush. She had spotted them and was waving frantically to signal them to join her.

Obi-Wan felt a complex mixture of relief and fatigue. He was glad not to have to endure Quinlan's one-on-one presence any longer, for although the Kiffar was not pressing in his questions, Obi-Wan felt the weight of his interrogations in the Force. At the same time, he already felt exhausted by the interaction he would have to engage in throughout the meal. He would have preferred to go home, wrap himself in a blanket, and sleep for at least five uninterrupted hours.

But well, it was just Bant.

He'd known her all her life and, despite everything she'd witnessed about what had happened to him, had always expressed thoughtfulness and great emotional intelligence in his support.

But so many things in need of attention demanded his undivided focus. Obi-Wan had to assess the Clones and their condition and see how he could maneuver regarding them. The need to remain undercover was no longer as pressing with Sidious no longer a threat. The most logical path was to ensure the removal of the control chip from the entire army, but that would require time, logistics, and likely the approval of the Senate, which was far from guaranteed. And in the meantime, the Separatist army was still out there, threatening.

Obi-Wan felt the migraine intensify when he started thinking about these issues, and he would have to sacrifice time to sleep anyway. It was crucial that he rested, meditated, and took time to assess and repair the damage to his Soul-Kyber.

With an afterthought, he added a tall glass of fruity milk to his tray, which seemed refreshing to him, and headed towards Bant.

She greeted him with a big smile and tapped the seat on her left to indicate for him to sit there. Obi-Wan obliged and settled in with a weary sigh.

"How are you feeling, Obi-Wan?" she asked, checking the small display on his headband. She ran her hand over his neck and shoulder, performing a quick Force Scan that Obi-Wan was familiar with.

"Much better. I think the seizure is behind me, don't worry," he said.

"Hmm, I'm not sure if I can really trust you on this one." Her smile was maybe a bit concerned. "I think you've pushed yourself a little too hard in the past twenty-four hours."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "I'm managing fine, that's what matters, right?"

"I don't know, are you capable of avoiding getting yourself into further trouble?" Bant looked at him, her large expressive eyes curiously hard and intense.

"I—" He interrupted himself. Something was going on here. "What do you mean?"

Bant turned away and focused on peeling her grilled fish without responding to his request for clarification. Obi-Wan turned to Quinlan, who shrugged while looking at him with a raised eyebrow that seemed to ask: What do you think?

Obi-Wan felt his jaw tighten. "I promise I won't go looking for trouble."

Bant scoffed, and Quinlan let out an incredulous snort.

"What?" demanded Obi-Wan. They were getting on his nerves. He knew why he preferred to be alone, really. Before he could insist on getting some clarification, a familiar voice called out, "Hey, Obi-Wan!"

Dread instantly replaced annoyance. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, overwhelmed and resigned, before turning around. Sure enough, Anakin was making his way towards them, his meal in hand, with Mace following a few meters behind him at a more leisurely pace. The Grand Master wore his perpetual frown but didn't seem to object to the chosen destination of his Padawan.

Just great.

"Wow, it's rare to see each other twice on the same day, Obi-Wan!" Anakin settled to Obi-Wan's right, and his Master sat next to Quinlan. "You should come here more often, even if, I admit, it's not as good as Dex's."

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and forced a smile that he hoped would be welcoming and not too strained. His sensory-motor feedback was a bit blurred and imprecise.

"Anakin. Master Windu. It's nice to have you with us."

Mace nodded in greeting.

"Interesting to have you at hand tonight, Archivist Kenobi." Mace took the time to arrange his tray to his liking, his utensils neatly aligned, framing what appeared to be a Korunian stew, its spicy aroma quickly filling the space. "By the way, we need to have a discussion. How far along are you with the analysis of the artifact I entrusted to you?"

For a moment, emptiness reigned in Obi-Wan's mind until he finally connected the dots. "Ah! Hm, it's going along well, I think?"

"Oh, really? I heard you had a little outing downtown today."

When wrong-footed, stall.

Surely, not everyone was already aware?

Obi-Wan kept his smile and felt like exerting a significant effort of will to keep it from wavering. He wasn't sure what Mace meant by his question, and he wouldn't provide him with any problematic information inadvertently while trying to defend himself.

"Yes, it was quite a lovely day. I felt like taking a stroll."

"My Padawan is constantly rambling about his favorite restaurant. I didn't know it was you who often takes him there."

Obi-Wan felt his shoulders slump ever so slightly. "Hmm, I think the appropriate wording is that he often takes me there."

"Well, if I don't suggest anything, everyone forgets about me," interjected Anakin, currently devouring his fried tubers. Did this boy only like fried food?

"That would go against the laws of the universe, dear Padawan," said Mace dryly. "This isn't the place to discuss the investigation, but it's convenient that I see you and Master Vos. We'll have a debrief after dinner regarding our respective progress in the case, if you agree."

Obi-Wan didn't think he'd have the choice of agreeing or disagreeing.

Mace turned his gaze toward Bant. "Healer Bant, I believe you also have some interesting findings to report, don't you?"

Bant hesitated for a moment before nodding in confirmation. “I still have a few tests to run, so I'll need an hour or two to refine my results."

The Korun Master consulted his chrono, before dipping a piece of buttered bread into his stew. "In two hours, we’ll meet in my office. But let's not talk about work during dinner and enjoy the meal to relax."

The atmosphere lightened perceptibly. Obi-Wan let out a sigh that he hadn't realized he had been holding. At the same time, he could see that the trap was closing in on him. What Bant had to report had to do with the Clones, and she would undoubtedly share her findings.

Dinner continued in relative tranquility, with Anakin's lively banter and Quinlan's teasing directed back at the Padawan. Bant watched obnoxiously as he ate. He supposed it was necessary, because he wasn't hungry and would have stopped eating much sooner if he'd been alone.

There was an easy camaraderie among these people, who had somehow forcefully inducted him into this situation he had until now done everything in his power to avoid.

Obi-Wan was surrounded by ghosts.

The affectionate banter, the sense of belonging, the companionship.

Now, these feelings felt so strange, so alien, that he wasn't sure he could savor the contentment they were supposed to bring.

Obi-Wan focused on his sensations, attempting to clear his mind. A part of him, the part he couldn't keep under control since the events of yesterday, stirred with a brutal emotion he couldn't name.

He didn't know what he was feeling, but his heart was leaping painfully in his ribcage and his palms becoming sweaty. Swallowing the next bite of his meal took a considerable effort; his throat was too constricted.

A part of his mind had never truly forgotten the bonds that had connected him to his loved ones. In the Force, attachment took on a tangible, psychic reality that manifested as a bond.

The most well-known bond was the one that existed between a Jedi Master and their Padawan learner. Through the bond, knowledge and teachings veered toward the spiritual dimension. Through the bond, a Master could guide and show what couldn't be translated into words or mimicked by gestures.

This bond existing in the Force was nourished by emotions and feelings, by shared time and experiences between two sentient beings.

And like everything in the Force, this bond transcended space and time.

Obi-Wan was aware that the bonds he had forged in the past, carefully, lovingly, had not completely vanished. Something had remained, and accompanied him in his transmigration.

He had done his best not to feed those bonds, except for a selected few and those that had already been established during his childhood.

Bant.

Anakin.

Obi-Wan’s war against Sidious had allowed no potential liabilities. If he had to fail and die, he had made sure his former friends wouldn't directly suffer from his fall—although, by failing, he condemned the galaxy and all its inhabitants anyway.

For all the people dining with him now, there had once existed a strong and powerful bond. And he was currently feeling strongly that potential, that existence that had been—and could be—calling for his attention, waiting for the slightest slip of vigilance to reassert itself in its proper, destined place.

Intellectually, Obi-Wan knew that with Sidious finally dead, he could begin to consider other goals for his life.

But emotionally, he couldn't fight against the irrational idea that allowing these people to get close to him would inevitably cause them harm. Being the sole survivor for decades in a terrified and oppressed galaxy, unable to wage a truly significant fight, had left indelible scars on his psyche. Guilt had sunk its claws into his soul and had never let go.

He had meditated on the matter extensively, but those sessions had never truly allowed him to grow beyond it. He was stuck with the guilt of Old Ben. Learning to open himself up would require time.

For the time being, too many urgent matters demanded his attention because, even though Sidious was gone, the Sith question was not definitively resolved.

A part of him also resisted letting these people occupy the place of those who had truly been his friends, who had died long ago.

What he had lived and shared with them would never exist in this universe.

Obi-Wan didn't want to betray their memory by allowing the living to contaminate the emotional shrine he had erected within himself to bear the pain of their loss.

Obi-Wan groaned inwardly.

His situation was f*cked up, he was aware of that, but he didn't see how to resolve this question. He couldn't imagine discussing it with someone who could help him sort things out. He doubted that even the most competent mind healer would know what to do with his case.

The fact remained that, while the others were enjoying a nice meal shared with friends and colleagues, he was going through real emotional agony, made all the more violent by his state of exhaustion and severe psychological instability.

That was fine. Obi-Wan could cope. After all, he was the embodiment of perseverance.

Obi-Wan had shaped himself to outlast everything.

He was snapped out of the whirlwind of his thoughts by the relative silence that fell over their gathering. Obi-Wan suddenly became aware that he was the focal point, and various disturbed and uneasy expressions settled on the faces of his companions. He felt several mental probes brush against his shields, which his defenses reflexively fended off with a clear lack of self-control.

Obi-Wan realized in that moment that his mental shields were permeable and that evidently, his emotional distress had been sensed by those around him.

He stood up abruptly and left the table, ignoring Bant's calls.

]o[

Curiously, no one had followed him, even though he knew Quinlan and Bant had made sure of his whereabouts. He had sensed their presence at the edge of his Force perception, and that at least one of them was stationed nearby.

Quinlan knew who he was—in part. And Bant suspected what he had done.

And yet, neither of them had yet revealed what they knew, and Obi-Wan couldn't quite understand why.

Were they, too, feeling the influence of a bond who had existed in another life, and was struggling to be born again in this universe?

Regarding Bant, the bond had existed since their time in the creche, and Obi-Wan had only managed to limit its strengthening during all those years when he had no choice but to let her heal him.

Obi-Wan had sought refuge in his study within the Archives, to wait in peace the meeting he was probably required to attend.

His background and expertise had earned him a space where he could store his belongings. The study was located at the heart of the research unit in the Archives, dedicated to archaeology. The unit contained secure chests and cabinets destined to protect researchers, who often studied and manipulated unknown artifacts infused with Force spells that could have unforeseen effects.

Although he had been primarily off-planet for the past ten years, Obi-Wan had quickly gained specialist status among the specialists, particularly in Sith Arts. This discipline was closely regulated and monitored because it made Force-sensitive individuals vulnerable to the dark side.

This part of the Archives had even more restricted access than the rest, and Obi-Wan took advantage of this relative sanctuary.

His apartment was no longer the refuge it had once been, now that Quinlan had decided to stick to him like glue. In fact, Obi-Wan could sense his presence nearby. The Kiffar apparently had no intention of letting him go.

In his study, Obi-Wan accumulated all sorts of objects and tools, and the place had the atmosphere of a treasure trove. He had been careful to cultivate the appearance of a somewhat absent-minded scholar, competent only in a particular field. Today, he knew it would be futile to try to maintain that impression.

Obi-Wan was well aware that a secret ceased to be one the moment it was known by more than one person. Now, at least Quinlan and Bant were strongly on the track of the truth, and it was only a matter of time before the Jedi Council—and the Republic—demanded answers from him.

Obi-Wan's gaze fell upon the tiny coffer found in the Chancellor's office, carefully placed before him.

He knew what was in it. He would need the artifact to complete the last part of his plan.

The encryption wouldn't hold up for long if he applied all his skills, but it would require delicate psychokinetic maneuvers. Tonight, that wasn't feasible. He needed to meditate and, above all, sleep to recover his abilities.

Furthermore, when the time came for him to flee—which he had no doubt would happen soon, given the direction events were taking—he would need all his resources to have any hope of evading the full Jedi Order and Republic agents. However, for the time being, he could maximize his position and do what he needed to do.

Mace was expecting answers and results. They had a meeting scheduled for the next hour. Obi-Wan was tired of the need to keep things obfuscated. He knew he would soon have to step aside anyway, and perhaps he would need to consider giving others the opportunity to act at last.

]o[

Bant was back in the Halls of Healing, after a strange dinner to say the least.

Obi-Wan had shut himself away in his office at the Archives, and apparently had no intention of coming out for the time being. Bant had hoped that Obi-Wan would at last open up to others, and accept to befriend those who were only too willing to offer. She had seen how Quinlan and Anakin had reacted to what was obviously an emotional breakdown for Obi-Wan, who was usually so collected and equanimous.

Clearly, he was deeply affected by recent events, and Bant didn't yet have enough information to understand why, or to what extent.

Obi-Wan was very secretive, and probably wouldn't offer any insight into what he was going through inside, except under compulsion. The way he had rejected attempts at comfort spoke volumes about his ability to share his burden.

Fine. She could wait.

Bant had enough on her plate to discover at least a few relevant elements.

Bant continued her examination of the Clone troopers, determined to uncover more information about their condition. Out of the five Clones she had brought back, only one remained unconscious. A quick Force Scan had revealed earlier that he was under the influence of a sleep-inducing Force suggestion, complex and potent, but not dangerous. Bant was waiting to gather more information before attempting to wake him, but she anticipated trying the maneuver later that evening.

The other four Clones remained in a peculiar state of apathy, where they were alert yet completely passive. They followed instructions quickly and without question. Disturbingly, there seemed to be no limits to what could be demanded of them. The Clone Medical Officer and his team had conducted various exams and tests to understand their condition, providing Bant with a copy of their findings.

It appeared that whatever had happened to them had transformed them into creatures of absolute obedience, devoid of any trace of free will. Having encountered her fair share of temperamental droids, Bant found that they couldn't even be compared to flesh-and-blood droids. They simply executed commands, and that was about it.

Bant perceived confused signals in the Force, but instinct and logic—validated by Vokara—dictated that she focus her research on the brain region. The repeated negative results of the scans provided no abnormalities regarding the Clone she was attending to. The man didn't look at her, and kept his gaze fixed on the void, blinking from time to time, his breathing even. While he wore the same face as all the Clones, devoid of expression and individuality, He wore the same face as all Clones, but, emptied of all expression and individuality, Bant really felt as if she were dealing with an inanimate dummy, like the ones she'd been able to practice certain first-aid maneuvers on as a young apprentice.

To combat the discomfort, she narrated her actions and explained out loud her decisions, filling the silence with a one-sided conversation.

"Don't worry, we will get you out of this state. It's just a matter of patience." Bant adjusted some parameters and initiated another scan procedure.

Two monotonous beeps. Another failure.

Bant's attempts with technology seemed to be in vain. Frustrated, she decided to rely on her own Jedi training and entered a state of focused meditation. She knew that she needed to pierce through the fabric of appearances and fight the attentional redirection spell she suspected was at play. These spells were the worst because they could deceive both sentients and computers alike in their actions. Jedi could utilize similar mechanisms when performing Force suggestions, but the morality of such techniques was, at best, dubious and, at worst, unequivocally dark.

With this reality firmly in mind, Bant attempted to systematically filter and taste every tiny swirl of the Force bathing the man's cerebral convolutions. The process was long and exhausting, and Bant had to maintain a systematic path in her working memory to ensure she didn't miss any regions while remaining vigilant to the influence of the attentional redirection on her examination.

She remained immersed in this state of maximum concentration for several minutes when she sensed a change. There it was! She nearly missed the subtle difference but finally managed to pinpoint a precise location where the Force tasted both colder and slightly more viscous.

The right insular gyrus. A cerebral region known to have a close connection with consciousness and the sense of self.

Armed with this information, she adjusted the parameters of her machine once again and initiated the scan.

]o[

Anakin was lazily scrolling the holonet, checking his updates, while waiting for his Master to get ready. Mace didn't like practicing his martial art in his everyday clothes, and always insisted on changing before and after a bout. Anakin didn't see the point. After all, when an enemy jumped you, you didn't have time to say: wait! Hold on! I'm going to change! Might as well practice under realistic conditions.

Mace had promised him a bit of sport, even if it would be short. His Master soon had a super-secret meeting planned with everyone.

And Anakin wasn't invited, of course.

As he scrolled down, he suddenly came across a very new social media post entitled: Chancellor killed, perpetrator's a Jedi?, followed by a link to a video, which seemed already to be going viral given the number of views it was already racking up.

Surely yet another attempt to slander the Jedi. Anakin wouldn't allow it. Getting ready to fight with internet trolls, Anakin clicked on the link

Chapter 13: Bound

Chapter Text

An hour later, Obi-Wan was still in his study.

Part of him was well aware that he wasn't helping his case by staying hidden like this—avoidance very rarely solved difficulties. And, hidden was a relative term, when those you were trying to avoid actually knew where you were.

Obi-Wan just needed solitude.

He knew he had come to the end of something. That the life he had chosen for himself so far could no longer follow the same logic he had followed all these years.

Obi-Wan would soon have to answer for his actions, one way or another, and the choices he had resigned himself to making would probably soon be scrutinized, and he really didn't look forward to that.

Reason dictated that he should leave and cut his ties with the Order. Obi-Wan could manage on his own, as he always had, and possess a freedom of movement he wasn't inclined to sacrifice.

But this idea didn't sit well with him, and he felt a part of him, the part that didn't want to let go of anything, give up anything, show its fangs when he tried to consider escape as a serious option.

As Obi-Wan had said to himself earlier, he was certainly a danger to the others. But at least, if he was present, he could act directly to defend them. His natural protectiveness was resurfacing, after so many long years without being able to cultivate this facet of himself that had once been so very fundamental to his identity. And Obi-Wan couldn't imagine being able to forgive himself if something happened and he was too far away to act.

He sighed.

Obi-Wan lifted the shard he was polishing to examine its transparency, and blew on it. His breath raised a small cloud of glittering powder that he had created while polishing the crystal. The dust added to the layer that had already settled on his workbench, covering it in a fine, spangled shroud.

While in need of meditation but unable to settle sufficiently, Obi-Wan had found solace in the tedious, repetitive work of shaping his Kyber shards.

Earlier in the day, he had used one of his shards to breach the wall of the barracks infirmary, when he had thought he might escape from Quinlan.

These shards were part of his basic arsenal, along with his lightsaber. Obi-Wan never felt at ease when he was missing elements from his weapons array. Even in the relative safety of the Temple, Obi-Wan felt naked when he was missing a weapon. It was therefore necessary to replace the missing shard.

Obi-Wan had toiled too long on his own to allow himself to be negligent in this respect.

Even without a lightsaber, Obi-Wan had a completely invisible arsenal at his disposal at all times. He wore a bracelet on his wrist, usually concealed by the ample sleeves of his tunic and robe. The stones adorning it were, in fact, faceted Kyber shards.

His Soul-Kyber was nestled around his neck, hidden from view. Until last night, he had kept company with his most powerful shard, which he had used against Sidious. He had cultivated it tirelessly for decades, and it had come to contain the concentrated power of a high-energy plasma beam. The move had probably paved the way to victory.

Obi-Wan had removed his bracelet to work on it. The shards were set in a metal armature, allowing him, with a precise mental impulse, to disengage them when he needed to. One in five was missing.

Unfortunately, the quantity Obi-Wan could carry was limited, as Kyber shards sometimes entered a sympathetic state under certain circ*mstances. The result was resonances that affected the Soul-Kyber, which was particularly uncomfortable for Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan had gathered in several places what he needed to maintain his arsenal in optimal condition. His study in the Archives was particularly well-equipped for this purpose. He could spend long hours handling obscure artifacts without raising an eyebrow.

In the course of his travels, he harvested every bit of Kyber he could, and stored them in various places. When he needed to replace one, he began again the long shaping process necessary to create a usable shard.

This involved first preparing the material itself: like a gemstone, Obi-Wan balanced the facets with the help of a lapidary. Just as this helped the light to penetrate and reflect; the Force, in its Cosmic dimension, preferred to anchor itself in a regular, mathematically defined structure.

Then, to charge a shard required multiple meditation sessions stretching over several days, even weeks. These meditations were devoted to cycling and shaping the Force to persuade it to take up residence in the crystal, and remain in an extradimensional pocket outside time and space.

The Force Infusion enabled him to store and have at his disposal a number of Force spells, waiting only for a small thought to trigger them. The advantage was that he could spend time and energy accumulating power in the shards, maintaining the spell in a kind of stasis state, kept out of time, in order to deploy power that he didn't have access to with his natural talent.

After several decades of careful and cautious study, experimentation and failure, Old Ben had perfected this method into a series of functional uses, even if the technique was costly and cumbersome.

Unfortunately, he hadn't managed to store effects that had a direct influence on his body and physical abilities. Thus, he didn't have at his disposal any miraculous healing spells that could have really saved his ass more than once. Instead, his shards enabled him to trigger directed explosions or Force pushes of impressive range. Which already gave him a definite advantage.

His chrono beeped.

It was time to get out of there and face Quinlan, who he sensed was still out there, patient as a tooka in ambush. They both needed to be on their way to the meeting Mace had called. Obi-Wan really didn't want to, but had a feeling he'd be picked up by force if necessary. He might as well not complicate an already difficult situation any further.

]o[

Whatever he would have liked to have happened, this Force-forsaken-day, which was never ending, had decided to upset him literally every step of the way.

"Obi-Wan, you need to explain to me what's going on. Now," whispered Bant urgently. She had grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him under the cover of one of the massive columns that regularly punctuated the long corridor leading to Master Windu's office. Quinlan had politely positioned himself a little further back, pretending not to eavesdrop. Obi-Wan had glared in his direction—which Quinlan had answered with his annoying eyebrow-raising—before turning to Bant, who seemed genuinely upset.

"What changed? You didn't seem in such a hurry to pressure me earlier," asked Obi-Wan rhetorically. He already knew what she was so concerned about.

"What I found out about the Clones worries me greatly, and I need you to tell me about it, before I refer it to the Council. What do you have to tell me?"

Obi-Wan sighed. He knew he would have to give an account sooner or later, but he would have preferred it to be under different circ*mstances, and especially at a time when he would have been less exhausted.

But fate had decided that he would never be at peace again, apparently. That, or he was paying the addition of his very amateurish planning.

Surely a mixture of both.

The Clone issue had to be resolved anyway. With Sidious gone, the failsafe that was the overdrive was obsolete now, and he couldn't decently leave those millions of men with that horrible thing planted in the middle of their skulls.

He might as well make things as easy as possible for the soldiers of the Grande Armée. And probably nudge the Jedi Order to bypass a government decision.

"I can't tell you everything, at least not about the aspects that made me come to possess a certain type of information. I can only give you the means to help these men best." Obi-Wan raised his hand when Bant sought to interrupt. "Bant, please."

Bant fell silent, her large eyes blinking rapidly, translating her emotional turmoil. She was clearly upset by her findings. Obi-Wan's heart sank. He didn't want those around him to suffer, and now, by his fault, the people he loved were unwillingly involved in his problems.

"I hope to tell you everything one day, but it won't be now. I promise you, however, that I have no nefarious purpose. I swear it on the Force."

He let his sincerity shone through his shield, hoping Bant would give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Obi-Wan. I know you're a good person. I can't see you any other way. I know something bad is going on, and I know you're in it up to your neck. I don't want you to have to face this alone."

Obi-Wan shook his head, and said, "Believe me, it's best you stay out of it. Or at least no more than you already are."

"I'd hit you on the head if I thought it would fix your stubbornness. But you're too fragile for that. Once again, you owe me an explanation if you want me to cover for you."

"Let's let the meeting pass, and discuss it after if you like. With what I have to tell you, you can then decide whether you wish or not to reveal what you know to Master Windu."

"Why don't you tell him everything now?"

"I—" He closed his mouth again. The fact that the Jedi would eventually discover the truth no longer seemed so catastrophic to him. He could no longer find the thoughts process that had argued toward the necessity of absolute secrecy. "Give me some time, let me think, at least tonight, okay?"

Bant nodded. "I trust you, Obi-Wan, I know you think you're doing good. On the other hand, I'm absolutely not okay with the way you treat your own needs."

"I'm fine, don't worry."

"I'll worry if I want to, and I very much want to."

]o[

Mace slumped almost inelegantly into his office chair. Tired, but some of his nervousness had burned off thanks to the intense sports session he'd treated himself to with Anakin. He had really needed to exert himself, despite his fatigue.

The room was darkened, not bathed in light as it might have been in the middle of the day. The window, which went down to the floor of the room, was decorated with colored stained glass, and let in the ambient light of Coruscant by night. Mace had installed a meditation cushion just against the window, which always gave him the dizzying impression of floating in the Coruscant sky when he sat there. It helped him connect with the Force and its cosmic dimension.

Mace loved this room. A big desk, on which he could spread out a lot of folders and datapads and flimsi when he was working. The rest of the time, he liked to keep them in neat, organized piles.

As the Master of the Jedi Order, he was entitled to privileges well worth the constant headache the role entailed. Hours upon hours of flimsiwork, dealing with politic, war, but also with the internal and external affairs of the Order. Most recently, he had learned that critical elements of the investigation had been broadcast on the HoloNet, and Mace would very much like to know how, and by whom. So much for wanting to contain sensitive information to avoid political and social uproar. But the damage was done anyway.

He also had a Holocall scheduled with Depa for later that evening. She had important information to report, and they needed to coordinate to organize the Army's retreat to Coruscant.

Keeping track of everything was a true ordeal, and Mace could fortunately count on his helpers. Tera was part of his inner circle, and was usually responsible for synthesizing and reporting back to him any noteworthy business that might concern the Jedi on events within Coruscant.

This obviously involved the more shady side of things, and it was always useful to keep an eye on the aspects of criminal life that were unfolding beneath their feet.

He had arranged to meet Tera a little early, enabling the Cosian Jedi the time to debrief his findings. Mace also appreciated the calming presence of the old Jedi. Tera had seen a lot in his long life, and liked to share his opinions and his vision of things through always impactful and well-chosen anedotes, in the manner of parables.

"So, I followed the trail—which was no picnic I assure you—, the individual covered his tracks well, but... I'm not sure he was prepared to resist inquiries from me and my extensive experience. Most of the failsafe I've been able to spot were mainly designed to hide his activity from the Judicial and the Senate." Tera was enjoying a hot cup of caff that Mace had prepared for him.

"So the endgame was probably the Chancellor all along?"

"Very likely," confirmed Tera. "This Scholar made clever use of the Chancellor's apparent taste for antique and often Force-related objects."

"Hmm, that's intriguing." The man they were chasing knew a lot about Palpatine. It would be interesting to know how this individual had come to know all this information.

"And it turned out to be a perfect gateway back up the trail. It wasn't easy, but I asked Commander Fox if there was a manifest of the Chancellor's expenses somewhere, and I was able to get my hands on a long list of objects and artifacts. Some were referenced during the search of his office. By cross-checking with the Temple archives, I've been able to ascertain that some of these objects were discovered by the Jedi." Tera paused to take a sip of his drink, sparing his effect. "By ExplorCorps, more specifically."

"What? What do you mean?"

"So, obviously, I had to do a bit more digging, as most of the records have been scrapped to hide this fact, but I have my means of verification, that the person responsible for all this apparently doesn't know about," Tera said, looking particularly pleased.

Mace poured himself a cup of caff too. Maybe it would help him stay collected.

"So the man we're looking for has something to do with the Order?"

"I think so, and, furthermore, that this connection is probably close."

"That's... disturbing, Tera. The more I learn, the more I want to go sleep and forget everything."

"Hehe, I, on the other hand, the more I learn the more I want to dig further."

Clearly, Tera was having a blast, and was very much enjoying his life at the moment. Mace wanted to huff, but his position demanded that he remain composed and dignified. Even if he was with a friend.

Sometimes, Mace hated his life.

"Do you think we have to worry?"

"Honestly, I don't think so. The more I put things together, the clearer the big picture becomes. The Chancellor was a Sith, probably the Master, and someone with ties to the Jedi Order knew this a long time ago, and did what it took to deal with him."

Mace slowly nodded. He agreed with this analysis, and the Force told him they were on the right track.

"The real question is: why hasn't this individual informed us?" Tera paused. "But also, who is he? With this level of skill, it would be surprising if it wasn't one of the most prominent members of the Order, but I really can't see who."

Mace added the after-thought that was becoming more and more insistent in his mind: "Or else, someone who has known perfectly well how to conceal his skills, and played the innocent until now."

]o[

After their short session, in which Anakin's boundless energy enabled him to hold his own against a fatigued Mace, Master and Padawan had separated, Mace going to his office while Anakin returned to their apartment.

Anakin had shown the holovid to his Master, whose frown had deepened to the point of digging deep pits between his eyebrows. Anakin knew these pits well, and they usually appeared when Anakin had made a big mistake, like the time Mace had realized that Anakin had organized and managed an illegal betting office on pod races. Anakin had defended himself by saying that he didn't take any commission and that it was all non-profit, but Mace had punished him and forced him to dissolve his organization immediately.

Anakin still held a grudge. Anyhow.

Apparently, the investigation into the Chancellor's death had been leaked, and this was worrying. His Master had wanted to wait a while to organize the Jedi's political response in order to keep a united front in the face of the political and popular repercussions of what the recording would entail.

Anakin was well placed to know that in people's minds, Jedi and Sith were equated with the same entity—trained Force Users. The average person didn't know that the Jedi adhered to a very strict moral code, and that they had made service for the common good their philosophy of life. The power granted by the Force could only be used to serve others and the stability of a system that protected individuality and the expression of differences.

But most people, when they saw a lightsaber, even a red one, immediately thought of the Jedi, without considering that there could be malevolent Force Users who used the Force for their own gain, and used it to oppress the weak.

It didn't help that the Sith had been officially defeated for millennia.

The collective memory had forgotten them, except in a few myths and legends, and in certain parts of the galaxy. Only literate people and historians knew really the difference.

The problem was lack of education, internet trolls, and people nature in general.

But Anakin hadn't said his last word. He would make the difference known, and he would start today. He wouldn't let the reputation of the Jedi suffer for the actions of a snake like the Chancellor had obviously been.

For Palpatine was obviously a Sith!

Anakin had always felt that this man was a weirdo. Now he understood why, and felt disgust overcome him when he thought back to all those occasions when the Chancellor had tried to make contact with him.

Anakin frowned. He understood why Mace had always sought to protect him from the outside world, because, obviously, the course of events had proved his instincts right, given Anakin's manifest power in the Force, and the fact that it attracted some unsavory attention.

But, as the circ*mstances proved, one could never foresee from which side danger would come.

He also thought about the conversations he'd had with Obi-Wan, and the subtle warnings the archivist had given against the Chancellor.

Clearly, Obi-Wan had been able to perceive things, and had perhaps been the person to influence events to keep Anakin safe.

Anakin had always felt at ease with Obi-Wan, though he couldn't quite explain why. He'd known quite early on that it was one of ExplorCorp's missions—at the time deployed in the Tatooine sector—that had been at the origin of Anakin’s Finding. Obi-Wan had only been a young apprentice at the time, but his participation had apparently been decisive.

Obi-Wan had spared him a life of slavery, and offered him a comfortable, love-filled life instead.

Mace had repeatedly worked with Anakin on his tendency towards attachment. Anakin was aware that this was one of his weaknesses, which went hand in hand with his impulsiveness. He needed to anchor himself in things and people. Anakin was not a leaf that could follow the flow of air currents. He couldn't let himself be carried along. His nature demanded that he root himself firmly in the soil, and reinforce this anchorage with a culture of bonding and sharing.

Mace had analyzed and perored about his temperament at length, trying to introduce some flexibility into it, as his Master sensed a form of rigidity and inflexibility that worried him in his Padawan.

Anakin thought that if his attachment was anchored to the Jedi Order, then that solved the problem. His loyalty, once acquired, could no longer be shaken off. Mace had agreed, uneasily, but he persisted in bugging him about it. His Master was just as stubborn as he was, which had led to spectacular outbursts of opposition during Anakin's adolescence, when it had taken Depa's intervention several times to calm things down.

Anakin could refuse Depa nothing. He adored his big sister.

Relations between him and Mace had calmed down over time, because Anakin had grown up, and was an adult now, and acted accordingly.

Most of the time.

Anakin was glad that Chancellor Palpatine had never succeeded in digging his claws into him, because it was entirely possible that he could have fallen into the trap. But Obi-Wan had stopped him.

Anakin had a reputation for being oblivious to details. This may have been true in some dimensions, but he actually had a highly developed sense of observation. He didn't necessarily share his conclusions and intuitions with those around him, but that didn't mean he didn't have them. In fact, he liked to get others wrong about him, but his friends, who knew him well, understood the formidable intelligence that lay behind his impulsiveness.

It wasn't an intelligence of planning, certainly. But it was an intelligence that expressed itself best in the heat of the moment, in the co*ckpit of a starfighter, or during a combat. Anakin was so in tune with the Force that he often had trouble distinguishing the Force's influence from his own instincts. The two impulses just blended together most of the time, and Anakin didn't always have the energy to distinguish between the two. Mace had told him several times that Anakin’s will was not necessarily the Force’s will.

That would have been convenient, but Anakin was willing to agree.

In any case, Anakin, thinking about what he'd just seen, couldn't stop his thoughts from drifting to Obi-Wan. He had the strong impression that the Archivist had played a decisive role in protecting him. He'd tell Mace about it during their morning meditation session tomorrow. If Mace had the time, of course, as it had been difficult to find a moment to share time today.

With the upheavals shaking the Republic, Anakin sensed that his Master would have his work cut out for him, so he'd better not rely on him to look after him in the days ahead.

Anakin was not a solitary boy, and he preferred company.

At dinner, he had sensed, like everyone else at their table, that Obi-Wan was not well. Anakin had never sensed such distress in this man, who always seemed collected, even-tempered—kind if a bit cold.

Earlier, he had seemed very much destabilized. Anakin wondered. And when he had an idea in mind, Anakin found it hard to put it anywhere else.

He'd go to bed, but with his datapad, because he had battles to fight on the social networks. And tomorrow, he'd go and get Obi-Wan, to stop him brooding. The man needed to take his mind off things, and even if he had work to do, Anakin would make sure to help him clear his head.

Obi-Wan was obviously in need of some friends. And Anakin could be a good—a great—friend.

]o[

Mace had thanked Tera for his unfailing involvement. He agreed with the old investigator. The picture was becoming clearer, and, since the Sith Lord had been slain, the Force felt clearer and lighter than it had in years. Mace felt more deeply connected to the indications the Force could give, and, curiously, the Force had its own opinion to give on the whole thing.

The person who had eliminated Palpatine was not an enemy, and would probably need the protection of the Jedi.

Right now, they were reunited for the debriefing. Mace would then prepare a summary to present to the Council later that evening.

He sighed.

He knew that the time to go to bed was a long way off, and he could feel the fatigue penetrating deep into his bones. His old bones, Anakin would have added, and sometimes Mace couldn't help but agree.

Sometimes he found himself dreaming of a retirement where he could quietly pursue his favorite activities: reading, meditating, going off for long hours walking in nature, and connecting with the Force through what wildlife had to offer.

But his duty demanded that he stay on Coruscant, and do all he could to keep the Jedi Order alive in an increasingly hostile galaxy.

He wasn't oblivious to what was going on at the moment, and the knowledge that the Sith had in fact infiltrated the very heart of the Republic shed a welcome light on what had been going on for some years. It was more than likely that the Jedi were undergoing a systematically orchestrated and organized slandering campaign, backed up by substantial financial resources.

No wonder it had been so politically complicated in recent years.

The game had been played against opponents unknown from the outset, waging an undermining campaign against which the Jedi could not fight from their position.

Mace could now see the extent to which they had been caught in a trap, built up over probably decades, with the frightening patience that the Sith were apparently capable of deploying.

But, suddenly, a major player had been removed from the question.

Fortunately, because Mace couldn't see how it could have ended well. The power of the shatterpoint that had almost knocked him unconscious yesterday had borne witness to this.

Vos, Kenobi, Eerin and Madam Nu had gathered in his office. Commander Fox had excused himself, busy reorganizing his men and preparing the move of their crisis center.

They had already spent a good hour reviewing the situation, and all were expressing considerable fatigue. Bant had reported the results of her research, which was still in progress. She said she would have more to share with them in the morning.

However, Mace perceived a particular dynamic between Vos, Kenobi and Eerin.

Mace had sensed at dinner the distress that had affected, seemingly inexplicably, the archivist. This had prompted Mace to almost automatically test the waters and send a mental probe to assess things more finely, as he was often wont to do with his apprentices and younger members of the Order.

Kenobi had put up extreme mental defenses, demonstrating a formidable aptitude for the Mental Arts. Mace, while proficient himself in this particular field, had dogged the backfired probe which had been laced with an attack; and the maneuver had seemed to him very much automated.

Who on the Force was Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Mace had started to have heavy suspicions. At least on some part of the question.

He would avoid acting upon his conjectures too soon, because, clearly, Kenobi was like a disaster in waiting. And very much someone who wasn't what he was trying to appear.

And, rationally speaking, as long as he was in the Temple, he was where Mace wanted him to be. He would update the Temple guards on the matter as soon as he had the chance.

Mace would talk to Master Yoda about it later. He badly needed a perspective other than his own on the matter, before taking it to the Council.

Things were getting out of hand on the information control front anyway. The Order had to decide which position they would choose to take collegially, and internal dissension would have to wait for calmer waters to be formally addressed.

"So, let me recap: we have a Force User powerful enough to single-handedly eliminate a Sith Lord in single combat. This person, after managing to avoid capture last night, suddenly reappears today in the middle of the Army barracks to do something—only the Force knows what, but that has to do with the state of severe apathy in which several soldiers have found themselves. Vos, the first thing you did was to engage in combat, then you tried to negotiate a truce, which was apparently accepted, but which resulted in letting our man escape. Am I right?"

"In my defense, I really thought he was hostile at first. During our fight, I realized pretty quickly that the last thing he wanted was to fight, but that he was prepared to go all the way. An escalation could have ended very badly, given the circ*mstances."

"I'm not criticizing your strategic choices, just making an observation."

Master Vos smiled what Mace judged to be a tense smile, followed by a shrug. The Force was whispering to him that something obviously was at play here. Kenobi's and Eerin's faces were carefully blank, while Tera had pulled back his chair to get a view of the whole assembly, an interested glint in his eye.

Jocasta was oblivious, deeply immersed in her notes, obviously feeling little concern for what was going on.

"Jocasta, any update?" asked Mace.

The Head of the Archives raised her head, blinking her eyes owlishly. "Not really, since the morning. Sadly, my specialist decided to stand me up today. He promised he would be back after a short nap, but I haven't seen him all day." She cast an annoyed glance at Kenobi. Said man inclined his head, gracious, and seemingly genially chastised.

"My apologies, Madam Nu, I encountered rather... unforeseen circ*mstances." He glanced at Bant, who seemed to catch on immediately on whatever Kenobi tried to ask.

"Obi-Wan made a seizure today, and he needed to rest. But he's better now."

"Oh?" intervened Mace. "Was it after taking Anakin to eat downtown, Kenobi?" The hypothesis his mind had slowly generated since earlier was suddenly gaining strength. If it turned out to be correct, it would explain a lot. It would elegantly unify many of the elements of which they were aware. Whole chunks were still incomplete, but parts of the problem were becoming clearer.

"...yes?" answered Kenobi, warily.

"Hmm. I think your particular situation needs to be addressed."

Tera chuckled. Kenobi looked at the old Cosian with an almost scandalized air, unconsciously projecting a presence and charisma that had nothing to do with what Mace had saw of him until now. Kenobi seemed to have completely forgotten the appearance he had carefully and deliberately projected until now. Mace could see it clearly now. Kenobi had been toying with all their perceptions, and seemed wrong-footed enough today to have forgotten to keep his glamours in place.

"Don't worry, I'm well looked after by my personal physician," said Kenobi, frostily.

"Certainly," replied Mace, closing the folder in which he had accumulated the relevant pieces with a sharp snap, signaling the end of the meeting. "Fellow Jedi, thank you for your work. That's all for tonight. Go and get some rest, you all need it."

The meeting participants began to get up and leave the room, when Mace called: "Kenobi, you're Temple-bound until further notice. You're free to come and go within the Temple, but forbidden to leave, is that clear?"

Chapter 14: Rest

Chapter Text

When Mace entered Yoda's quarters, he was greeted by the warm, quite welcomed aroma of tea. Yoda liked to entertain visitors, and Mace was certain Yoda preferred his guests often wrong-footed. To do so, he would offer treats that were, to say the least, interesting and exotic. But apparently, tonight, it was just plain, good, old tea.

The time was for serious discussion, and not levity. Qui-Gon Jinn was already here, cross-legged on one of the stools carved from wooden stumps. The two Jedi waited in silence while Mace sat next to him. Qui-Gon poured him a cup of tea with a grave look on his face. It smelled of dried herbs that evoked late summer. Mace was more of a caff person, but tea would perfectly do tonight. He felt like that was all he had done today: drink hot beverages while he racked his brain trying to manage everything.

Yoda's apartments looked just like the old Master: down-to-earth and warm. Many natural elements were present here, from numerous thriving potted plants to furniture made from wood and stone. Mace was sure Yoda would have set up a fireplace with a real fire to simmer his famous stew, if it had been possible. Instead, Yoda liked to burn actual oil in crude, ceramic lamps, that made the shadows dance on the walls.

Mace supposed that one didn't live in a specific place for so long without gradually shaping it into one’s own image.

And, although all of the living accommodations within the Temple were more or less based on the same plan, specificities had been implanted, according to the particular needs of the many species welcomed within the Coruscant Jedi Temple.

Like Coruscant, the Temple reunited beings from all the galaxy's corners, for the Force blessed everyone equally, regardless of species or social rank. To become a Jedi, on the other hand, you had to be lucky enough to have been spotted at the right time by the right person.

But Mace wasn’t here to think or talk about Force-related sociology. He was there to discuss about a specific reason. Or rather, a specific person.

Kenobi.

Mace wasn't stupid, and with enough clues at his disposal, his intelligence—along with the Force’s insistent nudges—could do the rest in terms of deduction. They would probably need official confirmation, but Kenobi hadn't protested when Mace had told him he was barred from leaving the Temple. Kenobi hadn’t even asked why, settling for a scathing glance before storming off, definitively having forgone his meek—and obviously false—persona

The Force kept whispering to him that Kenobi was an ally, and that the Jedi had nothing to fear from him. In light of the latest elements, in fact, the Jedi probably owed their survival to Kenobi’s actions, for Mace couldn't see how the Order could have managed in the long run, positioned as they were under the heel of the Senate, and therefore under the heel of a Sith Lord.

Mace did wonder, however, about his modus operandi. Kenobi had apparently orchestrated and acted almost single-handedly to bring down Palpatine, which had been an uncontested success. The man had been wounded in the fight, however, which explained some of the things Mace had noticed since last night.

Why hadn't Kenobi shared his knowledge? Why had he acted alone? Where did his knowledge come from? And, almost as importantly, who had trained him?

There were immense dark areas to which answers had to be found.

"Mace, waiting for you, we were. A lot to say, apparently you have." Yoda also seemed weary, as almost everyone Mace had had the pleasure to interact with today. The last events had a world-shattering effect that was quite hard to ignore, and the Order as a whole was concerned.

“I admit I am rather curious about what kind of knowledge you have to share, Mace,” said Qui-Gon, inclined his head in wonder. The two men had a cordial relationship despite the numerous subjects they liked to argue about. Qui-Gon was a fundamentally independent man, with little respect for rules that didn't fit his interpretation of a given situation at the moment. And he might well decide the next minute that these were in fact, perfectly reasonable and coherent rules to follow.

Qui-Gon liked to say that he followed only the will of the Force, but Mace wondered at the extent to which the man used this as an excuse to do only as he pleased.

And the rules were there for a reason, Mace could attest to that. After all, he was somehow the living embodiment of the rules. So, sometimes, Mace took it a bit personally when someone seemed to be breaking the rules just for the sake of it.

Qui-Gon had been an apprentice to Yan Dooku, one of the greatest duelists the Order had counted in its time. He was also now one of the Sith Lords known to the Jedi, who had fallen to the Dark Side of the Force, due to little-known events. All that was known was that Dooku had left the Order, only to turn out to be one of their arch-enemies a few years later.

Qui-Gon had the dubious honor of being part of a Lineage with the reputation of being cursed. His master, Dooku, had Fallen, while one of his apprentices, Du Crion, had also turned. Mace wondered to what extent Qui-Gon could feel responsible for all this, for even if the reasonable part of everyone could recognize that the Fall to the Dark Side was, at the end of the road, a matter of personal choice; the more emotional, unreasonable part would always wonder about the share of responsibility. In any case, Mace knew he would feel responsible if any of his students turned to the Dark Side at some point.

Qui-Gon must have some unresolved issues about that, because he since had made it a point of honor to cling almost fiercely to his independence, and refusing to take on a padawan since then. With one notable exception.

"I'm in great need of your valuable advice, Qui-Gon, Yoda."

"Know more, you do?"

Mace sighed. "A load more, and for most of what I've been able to learn, I need to discuss certain facts to gain perspective." He massaged his temple in an attempt to relieve his migraine, but the soothing lasted only a few fleeting seconds.

"Is it to do with the latest events? It's all anyone's talking about today, and it's hard to miss."

"I suppose you've seen the recording, Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon inclined his head in assent. "It was... spectacular, to say the least. I don't think anyone within the Temple has missed it. You can't take a step in the hallways without overhearing a conversation about it. They call the man the Sith-Slayer."

"Better and better." Mace rolled his eyes. "There's been a concerning breach in information containment, obviously, but that's not the priority. I have strong suspicions about who this man is. "

Yoda's pointed ears perked up with interest, and Qui-Gon put down his cup of tea.

"A Jedi from the Temple, he is?"

Mace didn't answer immediately. He knew that, in any case, things wouldn't remain secret for very long. He had already warned the Temple Guards, and Jedi were generally a rather intelligent lot. They would be able to connect the dots, sooner than later. But he was curiously reluctant to reveal this critical information. The image of Kenobi's face, when he had announced that he was not to leave the Temple for the time being, flashed through his mind. The man had an iron countenance, but he was obviously exhausted and not in possession of all his means. No doubt, with a good night's sleep, Kenobi would certainly be more difficult to handle.

That's why it was probably a good idea to bring as many powerful Jedi as possible into the loop. Kenobi was going to need supervision, and for the moment, he was in the capable hands of Master Vos, who had, if Mace was reading the situation correctly, quite gotten into Kenobi’s good graces.

But just because Kenobi seemed cooperative didn't mean they shouldn't be cautious.

"I don't think we'll be able to keep this a secret much longer, and we still have much to explore to understand exactly the ins and outs of this whole affair."

"Our help, you said you needed ." The statement felt like the question it really was.

"This person is indeed a Jedi, apparently raised in the Temple. We have a file, but it's probably been altered."

"Altered?"

"Hmm, yes, this man apparently has a wide range of skills, which it would interest me greatly to know where and when they were acquired. I've put Tera on this part of the case, and we already have a lot of points that need to be thoroughly investigated, but at least we're making progress. But that's not the specific point I needed to raise with you two."

Mace paused, not knowing exactly how to address the question, but he guessed bluntness was as valid as any other means.

"I need you to tell me everything you know about the man who calls himself Obi-Wan Kenobi, currently Jedi Archivist. I recall he was your Padawan for a very short time, Qui-Gon."

]o[

Obi-Wan was cursing his life. He wanted to scream and throw it all away, but he felt so utterly exhausted that he certainly didn’t have the least amount of energy to expend. All he wanted was to get into bed and sleep. He didn't even know if he really wanted to wake up afterward.

Obi-Wan had reached the point where he almost didn't care what happened to him. The fact that the Jedi, strangely enough, weren't really putting pressure on him was destabilizing and totally unexpected, if he had to be honest with himself. Maybe he hadn’t given them enough credit. A deeply buried part of him was oddly comforted, if he was honest with himself, and was telling him to finally let go and let his natural tendencies finally express themselves. Obi-Wan clamped hard on this part of his mind. Now wasn’t the time to let his guard down, no matter how much he wanted to. Regroup, then refocus. He would assess the situation later.

For the moment, Obi-Wan had won over two shadows, whose concern and determination radiated quite plainly through the Force. They walked in silence towards his quarters, Obi-Wan leading the way, Quinlan and Bant a few paces behind. When he'd left Mace's office, he hadn't waited or sought to consult them on what to do next.

He didn't know exactly what kind of face he was making, but the few people he met along the way seemed to cautiously move out of his way, allowing him to advance unbothered.

Deep down, he knew that the time when he could go about his business in anonymity and tranquillity was definitely over. By his actions, he had gained a very luminous spot it would be quite hard to leave.

And he wasn’t ready for that.

Bant and Quinlan knew enough to not leave him to his business unsupervised. It was the sensible and wise stance to adopt. Obi-Wan wouldn't trust himself as well.

Obi-Wan supposed that the only reasonable thing to do was lay down and shut his eyes.

They finally arrived at his door. Obi-Wan turned, one eyebrow raised in silent question. He wouldn't do them the pleasure of making their task easier.

But he could see that his attitude tended to slip on Quinlan, who remained impassive, arms crossed and looking nonchalant, patient, while it seemed to affect Bant, who was wringing her hands in nervousness.

He sighed.

"Bant, I'll see you tomorrow morning, I'll meet you at your office first thing, I promise. The ailment affecting the Clones isn't dangerous, but they do need protection. I have extensive documentation to share with you, and surely it will help you find a way to treat them efficiently."

Bant nodded, her brow creased with concern. She replied: "I'm counting on you. But in the meantime, I really want you to get some rest. You can go save the galaxy tomorrow."

"I really don't know what you're talking about. And I can’t leave the Temple anyway, so I’ve nothing better to do. Go on, my dear, you need your rest too."

Bant gave a flash of a smile, and began to take a step away, before returning abruptly to hug him briefly. She didn't linger, but Obi-Wan had the time to catch her warmth and the genuine affection she had for him, that she had taken care to let shine through the bond they shared.

As she stepped aside—too quickly, too soon, his mind told him—she left only the cold emptiness he knew so well.

He watched her walk away with a mixture of complex feelings that he was far too tired to try to decipher. He turned to Quinlan: "Any chance of you getting back home too?"

Quinlan smiled, showing too many teeth. "Don’t count on it, I'm mandated by Master Windu anyway. He wants me to keep an eye on you. Which is perfect, mind you, because it aligns perfectly with my will, and that's really the best kind of mission. I told you, I'll settle for the sofa.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, resigned, as he unlocked the door. He breathed a sigh of relief as he entered his den. He kicked off his boots and removed his outer robe before hanging it on the coat hook on the wall next to the door. Feeling suddenly lighter, he collapsed onto the sofa.

"Hey, That's my bed," said Quinlan while slumping next to him. Obi-Wan was too tired to protest. It was easier to let Quinlan do whatever he felt like.

They remained like this for a few minutes, in an almost companionable silence, Obi-Wan trying unsuccessfully to muster enough energy to get up and prepare for the night.

"So. We still have a lot to talk about, you and me,” said Quinlan, with a pleasant tone. “In fact, you probably have a lot to say to the Jedi in general. And I understand how uncomfortable it can be for you, but from what I can see, I think you know a thing or two about uncomfortable situations. What I also understand is that now you'll have no choice but to share. You're on our side, and the Force is particularly clear on this point. So now, the only thing left for you to do in the immediate future is to let go and rest."

Obi-Wan didn't have the strength to reply. His tired brain wasn't providing him with any clever or witty retort anyway. Moreover, he felt overwhelmed by the consideration everyone had shown him so far. And he didn't know if it was just fatigue that was making him feel so upset.

He supposed he'd been alone far too long to remember what it felt like to feel supported and protected.

And it was painful.

He straightened up, fighting the strong dizziness that accompanied the return to an upright position, and rummaged in the trunk where he stored the spare bedding. Extracting a blanket and pillow, he handed them to Quinlan with a smile he knew to be neutral, vaguely kind but cold.

"Here, I'll let you settle in. I'm going to sleep, I hope you have a pleasant night."

Quinlan grabbed the blanket and thanked him with the determined smile of the hunter whose hunt was successful, but not quite over.

Obi-Wan supposed he was apparently an interesting prey to stalk. But hey. Better the Jedi than the Sith.

]o[

Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan was dreaming. He had this slightly strange certainty about it, which came and went, between moments when he was detached from what he was perceiving and moments when he was no longer able to tell the difference. As always, his dream had a crystalline quality that made the sounds resonate, as if he were walking through a glass cathedral.

Obi-Wan.

Someone was calling. And he didn't know if he should be worried. He had spent so much time hiding. It seemed important that he should answer, though, but the way to reveal himself eluded him.

He was lost in his own intimate labyrinth, whose twists and turns seemed both familiar and completely foreign. He wandered for a brief moment of eternity, where time had no hold and was no longer a relevant dimension to make sense of one's bearings.

In his crystalline dream, large reflective walls lined dark divides. The crystal panels played sometimes scenes from his life, which he wasn't sure had really happened. The disorientation was something he registered as present in a distant part of his mind, but which kept him moving forward in the darkened corridors of his mind. Light played a strange game here, reflecting incidentally on myriads of suspended colored shards that formed flowing cascades, losing themselves in the unfathomable gaps Obi-Wan was led to skirt on his journey. He tried to tread carefully, walking on the shards that littered his path. He didn't want to damage the essence of his dream any further.

But he needed to keep moving.

After what seemed an eternity, he finally arrived at his inner citadel. The name was maybe a bit of a stretch, because it didn't look like a fortification. Rather, his citadel took the form of a portico, like a gateway between two worlds, between two times. The portico stood at the top of a hill, as if in a sunny clearing surrounded by crystal trees.

The place was deeply familiar to him, for it was from here that the transmigration process of Old Ben’s memory had begun. It was perhaps the most sacred place in his psyche, and one whose preservation he had to guarantee at all costs. He vaguely remembered defeating the Sith mind curse before it had penetrated too deeply and gained access to his inner citadel.

The damage he perceived now was of a different nature.

Old Ben was standing there, watching with concern a crack that had opened up in one of the crystal panels framing the portico.

The old man was crouched down, probing the depths of the crack with gentle taps, generating a dissonant cacophony. Old Ben grimaced and straightened up, before welcoming Obi-Wan with a crooked smile.

Well, well. You didn't pull any punches. I understand why you made this choice, but I wouldn't recommend putting any more strain, though.

It had been a long time since Obi-Wan had a discussion like this with Old Ben. In the last decade, the two psyches had become so intertwined that most of the time they had remained completely synchronized and inseparable.

Obi-Wan was struck by a wave of melancholy so strong that it made him temporarily dizzy, which was a curious sensation to experience during a dream. Old Ben had been his only confidant, for years, and especially during those early times when he'd been a teenager and had methodically, scrupulously worked to break off and distance himself from all emotionally significant relationships. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this strange being.

Obi-Wan knew Old Ben wasn’t a friend, for the bond went much deeper than that. Old Ben knew everything about Obi-Wan. Old Ben knew his every thought, his every regret.

Old Ben was his alter ego.

But Obi-Wan had long realized that the reverse was not necessarily true. He knew, he had sensed, that Old Ben had not given up everything he had been. Some things had remained closed, barricaded behind massive doors, hidden deep in the labyrinth that was his mind. Old Ben's last years, before he initiated the transmigration, were patchy and confused. Obi-Wan had learned early on not to go in that direction. Old Ben had seen to that, and had told him every time he'd tried that he didn't need to go there.

Obi-Wan understood that some things didn't need to be known. Over Old Ben’s last few years, the galaxy had become so dark that it had been difficult to connect with the Light Side of the Force. Corruption had gained everything, and it had been hard to find places that were truly untouched. In this context, it wasn't hard to understand what must have happened to Old Ben.

Obi-Wan had quickly stopped trying to find out when he had understood.

Old Ben lived up to his name. Despite a general appearance of vigor and good health, Old Ben clearly bore the weight of years on his shoulders. His face was furrowed with wrinkles, and was partly eaten away by a short, luminous white beard, which contrasted with his tanned complexion. Old Ben had preferred to spend his time planet-side, rather than out in space, where the Living Force was best perceived, and his skin bore the stigmata of long hours spent meditating and training under whatever sun he happened to live under for the moment.

To his typically Jedi outer robes—Old Ben had never been able to bring himself to forgo it completely, liking too much wide and comfortable sleeves—were added saddlebags, pouches and various containers. It covered a classic spacer outfit, practical and comfortable, complemented by a pair of heavy combat boots.

Generally speaking, Old Ben had a remarkable allure, but he could obfuscate it at will with glamours and subtle redirection of light that easily blurred certain features of his face and gait. Over the years, he had learned never to part with his arsenal for the sake of anonymity. He had other ways of remaining discreet, and had used them shamelessly.

The first time he had appeared in Obi-Wan's mind, Obi-Wan had been stricken by the impression of power Old Ben gave off. Despite his apparent old age, this old age was not associated with frailty, but rather with the accumulation of overwhelming knowledge. Long years of existing taught economy and efficiency, and Old Ben was the living embodiment of this fact.

His gestures were meticulous, and not an ounce of energy was wasted. In the early days, when Obi-Wan was still sufficiently disassociated, they had both fought to enable Obi-Wan to internalize more quickly the gestures and movements that were the foundation of his combat effectiveness.

Old Ben had taught him endurance taken to the extreme.

What it really meant, to be the last one standing.

By an ill twist of fate, it had become an identity for Old Ben, something that defined him to the core.

And, obviously, the damage Obi-Wan had done to his psyche didn't sit well with Old Ben.

The old man had surveyed the damage with something akin to regret in his eyes, even if his smile was as always, warm and welcoming.

Obi-Wan, you've completed part of the objective, and gone far beyond what I was able to do in my time. I'm proud of you.

Old Ben ran a hand thickened by manual labor over the crystalline panel beside which he stood. When he spoke, his words and phrases seemed to be generated directly inside Obi-Wan. Old Ben didn't actually have a voice per se, but was more like one of Obi-Wan's inner voices, like the one that constantly criticized everything he did. The difference was that Old Ben's was never critical, but rather understanding, and most of the time provided useful, well-chosen advice.

It had been a long time since Obi-Wan had felt so dissociated from himself.

Now they would have to find a way to stabilize it all.

"Is it worrying?" asked Obi-Wan, still feeling disoriented.

Old Ben didn't answer immediately. He seemed to consider the question for a long moment, then sighed. I don't know, he said. Let's assume that it isn't, but that we must do everything we can not to make it worse. You'll have to take the time to meditate more regularly from now on. I wish you'd done this earlier, before I dragged you here, but I understand that you haven't had the time. Your life has been quite hectic for you these past hours, no? Old Ben's smile took on a sly quality that told Obi-Wan he was again the butt of a joke.

This time, it was he who sighed.

"I wish things hadn't gotten as out of hand as they did."

Obi-Wan. I don't think you realize how precisely your life has been regulated by your knowledge of the future and its context. All your life, you've played a well-established game of Dejarick, taking advantage of your position as an unknown player to quietly advance your pieces. From the moment you revealed yourself, whether you wanted to or not, things immediately went out of your control. And you're going to have to deal with it like a normal sentient being. You're entering uncharted waters, and now you're going to have to rely on your resilience, rather than your foreknowledge, to navigate. Maybe not unscathefully, but purposefully.

"Purposefully?"

Your work isn't fully done, Obi-Wan, you have much to learn still, and quite a few loose ends to tie. But you'll soon need to learn to live for yourself, chart your own course, and leave me behind.

Old Ben approached, laid a heavy hand on Obi-Wan’s right shoulder. Obi-Wan could make out the blue-gray of Old Ben’s eyes, which lit up his weathered face. They had a limpidness as deep as the pure water of a dark, bottomless well.

Have faith, Obi-Wan. You're doing fine. The Force is with you, always.

Maybe Old Ben tried to be comforting, but his words sounded too much like what one might say to another when parting for good, and it didn’t sit well with Obi-Wan.

]o[

Obi-Wan woke up with a start, abruptly, without the usual transition that marked the change from one state of consciousness to another. A deep feeling of loneliness crushed him for a moment, before he dealt with it and compartmentalized it to address it to the Force later. It was an exercise he did so often that was doing it almost effortlessly, without thinking about it. He wasn't sure if it was healthy anymore, or if he would ever have to pay the bill, but it was working for him lately. The disorientation that had marked his dream was less pronounced, but it still existed, as if he had to struggle constantly to keep the thread of his consciousness into something coherent.

He sat up silently, consulted his chrono, and sighed. The middle of the night, again. It was not an hour to start a day, and yet he knew sleep would elude him. He had too much to do anyway, and too little time to address everything that had been left undone since yesterday.

His bed was niched in an alcove, the relative privacy of which he could guarantee by drawing a curtain. He hadn't drawn it last night, keeping an eye on Quinlan, who had, as promised, settled on his sofa. Quinlan definitely looked like a big tooka who'd made himself comfortable, sprawled unshamedly with limbs protruding generously from the blanket. He looked asleep, his consequent frame completely relaxed and at ease.

But Obi-Wan knew better.

The Force surrounding the Kiffar just spelled awareness. And Obi-Wan wasn't surprised. Quinlan still had to maintain some semblance of decorum, and sleeping like that in the lair of someone of unknown quantity was not the most prudent thing to do. Quinlan had had to remain in a state of superficial meditation in order to keep a modicum of vigilance regarding Obi-Wan's actions. The fact that Quinlan was still willing to show him signs of trust was even concerning, and reinforced the idea that something was going on with Force bonds Obi-Wan had forged in his previous life.

Too bad. Obi-Wan apparently didn't have the power to keep away those who wanted to be close to him anyway. Obi-Wan just had to make the best of it. And, as Old Ben had said, start forging his own path.

Finally a little more rested, Obi-Wan could begin to sort out what he was feeling, and consider what to do next with a slightly clearer mind. He finally recognized that he was now in completely uncharted territory, and his ways of coping had to be adjusted. Anything could happen, and he had no way of knowing what.

At most, he could concentrate on the ennemies he knew were still threatening. He'd dealt with Maul years ago. That left Dooku and his cronies: the most notable being Grievous and Ventress. And remained the thorny question of the Star Forge. He was reluctant to involve the Jedi in these endeavors, but, as things stood, perhaps he would have no choice but to accept their help.

Obi-Wan picked up his pillow, and threw it precise aim at Quinlan's falsely sleeping head—who chose to do nothing to deflect the object's trajectory.

"Hey!"

"I'm up. And you're not sleeping, obviously, don't pretend."

Quinlan straightened up into a sitting position, running a hand over his tired face. Obi-Wan assumed that he, too, hadn't been getting enough sleep lately.

"Yes, I hadn't planned to stay up all night again. But it'll do."

"Are you planning to follow me all day?"

"Yes again, and I think you're reasonable enough to understand why."

"Fair enough. I suppose I could use an assistant."

Quinlan rubbed his hands together with a smile. "Ha. Give me all the work you want, as long as it doesn't involve fetching something for you. I'll stick by your side."

"I think I've got a busy schedule today. But first, meditation. You can join me if you want."

"Sure. And then, breakfast? But we need to restock your cooling unit."

"I've got other priorities, Quinlan."

"What's more important than a full stomach? If you're so keen to keep slaying Sith Lords, it seems to me that the first thing to do is not to be hungry, doesn't it?"

Obi-Wan sighed, “Sith Lords will have to wait. I'll have to face the Jedi first.”

Chapter 15: Focus

Chapter Text

When he visited them, the Clones never took their eyes off him.

Obi-Wan could read the accusation in their dead eyes. He had fled rapidly to the safer place of Bant’s office, but he still had wanted to show up and apologize to them. He would do it again when those men were really free of their psychic collar and fully cognizant.

He knew, on an intellectual level, that they recognized him as the one who had activated the control chip and that they were attentive to any order he might give. It was surely the reason why their gaze followed his every movement.

Still, it was unnerving, making him deeply uncomfortable. In a dark corner of his mind, Obi-Wan often wondered what he could really do—and to what extent he would consider it right to use certain means—to achieve his ends.

When you decide to fight a monstrosity, you risk ending up like one yourself.

The Clone question had kept him awake countless nights, where he had been unable to reach a perfectly satisfactory solution. Obi-Wan had long wondered whether he shouldn't simply sabotage their creation, and prevent the Clones from being born for good. But he had never been able to resign himself to this possibility.

It was too much like killing. And, as Obi-Wan insisted on repeating to himself, Clones, even if they had been designed, created and produced as such, were not tools that could be set aside and forgotten. They were people, and they had a place to fill.

For Obi-Wan, the Clones had existed in his past, and would exist in his future, for it would not be he who decided to deprive the galaxy of their presence, and of the cultural wealth they had managed to create in so few years.

Old Ben had always warned Obi-Wan against the temptation of becoming a demiurge, that his knowledge and skills would predispose him to formidable, and probably unrivaled, power.

And, when power burned your fingers, you were tempted to use everything around you as a tool, things and people alike. And that was the path to the Dark Side.

When Obi-Wan had finally decided not to intervene in the Clones' birth, he still had to find a way to influence the control chip, while keeping his intervention secret. If he left too visible a mark, he risked jeopardizing everything, including the very lives of the Clones concerned.

Obi-Wan had thus chosen to implant an additional command, and thus become somehow complicit in the way of absolute servitude the Clones could potentially find themselves in.

With Sidious out of the way, Obi-Wan deeply hoped that the majority of the Clones would not have to suffer this ultimate indignity.

It was still very early in the day, but, as promised, Obi-Wan and Quinlan had joined Bant in her office to discuss the case of the Clones. Those that had the chip still activated hadn’t been able to really sleep since the fateful order. They were apparently stuck in a perpetual state of waiting, and it was becoming urgent to do something for them. Bant had chosen to print the documentation Obi-Wan had managed to retrieve on the precise design and scientific background of the control chips.

It was a big bundle of flimsi, which Bant seemed intent on using to whack him on the head or something.

She was livid. Absolutely livid.

And Obi-Wan, with all the justification he could invoke to explain his decision, had his cheeks burning with shame.

Obi-Wan was aware that he would have to answer for unforgivable acts, but he wasn't sure he was ready to do so. He hadn't envisioned he could get this far, really, with Sidious out of the way and the Jedi Order untroubled in any way. At most, he had vaguely imagined that his struggle would necessarily result in significant collateral damage, and that his actions would be lost somehow in the chaos.

But now Obi-Wan was in a position where the Jedi Order had the means and the time to take a very close interest in him. If they didn't end up choosing to lock him up, Obi-Wan would be the first to be surprised. Not that he would let them, but, damn. He really didn't want it to come to deal with this kind of fallout.

Obi-Wan had already a taste of it with Bant's scandalized face, and the reproving eye of Quinlan who, of course, hadn't left his side. Quinlan had heard everything and put two and two together, but had chosen wisely not to comment.

And that was only the beginning. There was Vokara Che, who was quietly working in the office next door and would probably be informed of the whole deal very soon. Bant would involve her and the rest of the healers in setting up the necessary procedures for treating the Clones.

And since Jedi were the worst kind of gossips, Obi-Wan had no doubt that any relevant information about him would be disseminated at the speed of light.

"You mean every soldier in the Grand Army has that chip in the middle of his brain? How is it possible that we haven't been made aware of it? And why is this chip so resistant to attempted scans?"

"It's implanted at an early stage, and the neural tissue grows around it. This means that the procedure is part of the Clones' cultivation. None of them are spared. Kaminoans say the chip regulates mood and behavior. That it blurs the most neurotic personality traits that the original individual is said to possess. But it does much more than that."

"Much more? I can see that, and I read a good deal of the document, Obi-Wan. It's not a regulation chip. It's a control chip, and it's turning these individuals into something worse than machines. Obi-Wan, this is an abomination. What, for the love of the Force, have you been involved in?"

"I wish I could promise you I had nothing to do with it, but that would be lying to you. I can only tell you that I was aware of what was going to happen, and that I could only intervene in a very tenuous aspect of the process. Installing an overdrive, to regain control in case... things went wrong."

"Went wrong?" Bant raised her hands to her head. "Obi-Wan, I really don't like what I begin to understand about this. The Chancellor was a Sith Lord. He had at his disposal an army several million strong, which he could apparently turn into mindless killing machines with only a word. Oh, by the Force." Bant had tears in her eyes. She had always been too empathetic for her own good. "We can't leave them like this."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I’m with you, Bant. Believe me. I just don't know how to proceed exactly. The medical part isn't my forte, and I'm glad you're here to enlighten me."

Bant's expressive mouth turned into a determined line. "I don't think we'll have any choice but to resort to surgery."

"That's going to be a lot of surgery to consider."

"Yes, but I think we can make arrangements with Haven-class medical stations that serve as war medcenter,” said Bant. “There’s one situated in each Sector, and they can treat a lot of men if we train the medical staff posted on station."

That could work, but it remained the main obstacle to tackle.

"The difficulty will be convincing the politicians to devote time, resources and men to this task, while we're still at war," warned Obi-Wan.

Bant's eyes hardened, making them gleam with a metallic, unyielding glint. "I no longer believe in politics, Obi-Wan. I won't be an accomplice to a criminal state."

Quinlan, who had been following the exchange with interest without feeling the need to intervene, laughed outright at this outburst. "Oooh, Bant, so sweet, so wise, and now she feels like rebelling." He lowered his head suddenly to dodge the datapad Bant threw at him. "Oh hey, I totally agree with what you just said! I think the Jedi are going to seriously think about disassociating themselves from the Republic!"

"What? What kind of radical idea is that? Beware, it would take a lot less for the Senate to accuse the Jedi of sedition."

Unfortunately, Bant was probably right. The Jedi were not generally well regarded by the Republic and its citizens. They were perceived as an elite out of touch with reality, close to the seat of power and the interests of the privileged. The disinformation campaign orchestrated over the years by the Sith had borne fruit, and the Jedi had few sincere allies within the Republic, except among the most cultured and literate, unfortunately reinforcing their reputation of being there only to defend the wealthy.

"Now, now, we're not here to determine the trajectory of the Jedi Order as a whole,” said Obi-Wan. “We're here to discuss plainly what we can do for the Clones. Bant, with the documentation, do you think you can come up with an extraction method that can be taught to the medical teams in each battalion?"

Bant nodded. "I think it's indeed possible. We'll have to deal with the medical staff first: dechipping them, then train them to do the same on their brothers. Starting with the Marshall Commanders and the rest of the chain of command."

"We'll have to refer this to the Jedi Council,” said Obi-Wan, even if he didn’t look forward to it, “and see how we can act with maybe bypassing entirely the Senate. If we wait for a vote in our favor, we risk having to go through a political battle that could last several months."

Quinlan nodded, obviously perfectly okay with this stance. He didn’t seem particularly fond of the Senate.

"For now, I'll study the matter with Vokara,” said Bant, “and we'll probably test and refine the method on our four friends here. I can’t imagine what it must be like, to be imprisoned in your own head." Bant visibly shuddered, and Obi-Wan felt his shame rekindle.

"I'm glad you're on the case. I know that thanks to you, things will get better for them."

"Hmm, I'm still angry with you, Obi-Wan. I hope you're not hiding anything else as awful from me."

"Don't worry, Bant," Quinlan interjected, "Now that we're on Obi-Wan’s case, he'll have no choice but to tell us what he knows, sooner or later. Right, Obi-Wan?" He pronounced his name in a sweet tone that annoyed Obi-Wan.

"You will know what you need to know, nothing more, nothing less." Obi-Wan straightened up, and almost unconsciously adopted the posture he had been familiar with when leading a whole Sector Army. It was what came most naturally to him, and he no longer saw the point in pretending. "Quinlan, I've got some calls to make. Do I have the right to do so?"

Quinlan shrugged, still looking at him with interest. "Master Windu didn't say anything about it, but I think it's okay. He didn't confiscate your comm, after all. But I hope you’ll say nothing too compromising, because I fully intend to hear everything, and it's going to end up in your file."

"What file?"

"You know, the one that says you're not really an Archivist."

]o[

"What do you mean, the Order is under official investigation?"

Mace was facing the acting Chancellor, Mas Amedda. They were both seated in a pleasant enough room designed to entertain officials, not very far from the now devastated Palpatine’s office. Mace had come to keep him up to date regarding the investigation. He had thought—or rather, hoped—it would not take a lot of time. Mace had tried to convince the Vice-Chancellor to give him his report via HoloCall, but the Chandrian had insisted that they meet in person. Amedda had explained it would be safer in terms of information security that way. Mace wasn't sure he agreed, given the current state of this part of the Senate.

"You can't claim that the Jedi had nothing to do with this. This video is compromising enough. It's very clear that some kind of Jedi is the perpetrator."

Mace closed his eyes for a second.

An hour. It had been an hour since he had tried to make this individual understand the difference between a Force User and a Jedi—not to mention, of course, the fact that the late Chancellor was obviously a Sith.

"Vice-Chancellor. I implore you to listen to me. You can't take away all our authority over the investigation overnight. We have promising leads." Mace wouldn't say anything about Kenobi, obviously. He only hoped that things would remain contained within the Temple walls, and that no one would do anything stupid. He really didn't need things getting any more complicated.

Mas Amedda was the Chandrian who had held the Vice-Chancellorship since the days of Chancellor Valorum. Mace had sadly underestimated the fact that this individual had apparently been a fervent supporter of Palpatine, and that the last unsavory information about the late man wasn't enough to disavow that loyalty. Indeed, Mas Amedda seemed determined to greatly complicate Mace's existence, and the existence of the Jedi Order in general.

The individual was pretty closed off in the Force, and possessed an impressive mental discipline that left little to perceive through it. However, Mace could still sense a vague feeling of hostility.

Not an ally, the Force whispered.

Obviously.

Apparently, Mace was going to have to sail against the tide, and against a head of state who made no secret of his anti-Jedi stance.

Did this individual know about Palpatine's darker side? Mace couldn't rule out the possibility, and he would probably have to act on the assumption that it was the case, and, as such, a clear enemy of the Jedi.

"It seems to me there's a very clear conflict of interest here, Master Jedi. You can't lead the investigation if one of your own is involved." Mas Amedda’s tone was dismissive. He stated those rather heavy-implications facts like he was discussing Coruscant’s non-existence weather.

"Everything Force-related falls under our administration, Vice-Chancellor, that has always been the case since the Order allied itself with the fate of the Republic. You can't deny that fact." Mace tried very hard to control his voice. It would not support his case if he were visibly less than respectful of the Vice-Chancellor.

"I will raise this point with the Senate at this afternoon's session. We'll see what we can do with your jurisdiction. After all, this is first and foremost a privilege that the Republic grants you, and it's absolutely not a due." Amedda nodded as if they had reached a consensus, and that was absolutely not the case, but Mace didn't have the courage to continue arguing in a vacuum. The Chandrian resumed: "On the military side, we'll continue as before regarding your involvement at the head of the army, and, after consultation with the government, we must discuss the strategy to be followed. Withdrawing our troops from the front may not be the wisest course. The Separatists will certainly take advantage of this to gain precious ground."

Everything that Mace had painstakingly taken the time to explain hadn’t, apparently, been listened to or understood. Or was purposefully ignored.

"I've already told you, there's a good chance that Chancellor Palpatine has played both sides of this conflict. It's even highly likely that he designed this war. The wisest course of action is to gather the troops and position them in defense until we can see more clearly."

Amedda didn't bother to hide his doubtful and vaguely condescending expression. "If you say so, if you say so. But again, this kind of decision has to be taken collectively, through the Senate. The question of your independence will be assessed as well. There is no reason why an entity such as yours should have such independence of organization and movement. The citizens of the Republic want to be safe, and the fact that individuals as dangerous as the Jedi should have so much autonomy is concerning."

Mace gritted his teeth. Mas Amedda was obviously missing the point here on purpose. He managed to present things as if the risk presented by the Jedi was far greater than a Sith Lord at the head of the Republic government.

Things weren't looking good for the Jedi. Palpatine had had time to do some serious damage to their reputation, apparently.

The Order was going to have to rethink its stance within the Republic.

Urgently.

]o[

Back in his apartment, Obi-Wan had taken the time to review the situation with the various informants he had managed to contact. He had read and compiled the latest reports, and particularly on the movements of the persons of interest he kept tabs on. His information networks stretched far and wide across the galaxy, enabling him to keep an eye on the alliances and whereabouts of people who could easily have a major influence.

His prescience enabled him to know who, and when, would have a role to play in the unfolding of certain events. However, Obi-Wan had influenced history enough, since he had started acting in the shadows, that events as he had known them and lived through them as Old Ben were no longer relevant. Obi-Wan did, however, keep an eye on a large list of persons with a potential. They were beings that had the capability to become influential, through their personality and their history. Of course, circ*mstance and luck played an important part too, but Obi-Wan had discovered that some people had a significant impact on those around them, no matter what choices they made.

Jango Fett was one of them. By ensuring that the battle of Geonosis didn't take place, Obi-Wan had effectively prevented the untimely death of the bounty hunter, who was probably still on Dooku's payroll.

Apparently, Fett had been spotted the day before on Coruscant, but the informant wasn't fully certain of it. The fact that Fett had been the template for the Clone Army made him particularly difficult to spot wherever the army needed to be stationed, and the man used this advantage shamelessly.

Obi-Wan didn't like knowing he was so close. And he sensed that his presence on Coruscant had to be related to Obi-Wan’s actions. This meant that Fett was probably on a reconnaissance mission, to learn more about Sidious demise. Either Fett was doing the mission for himself, or he was doing it on behalf of someone else, and that someone was probably Dooku. With the money Fett had made by accepting the cloning mission, only some employers had the financial means to pay the wages he demanded nowadays.

Because Fett was apparently a doting father, and felt concerned about the fate of his child, he didn't really take any more risks unless the pay was worth it. Or if refusing could get him into trouble, which was typically the case when dealing with a Sith Lord.

Obi-Wan would need to inform the Council, probably today. He sighed. Later.

In any case, he had many reports he needed to read and summarize before that.

He had settled down at his dining table, and set up a holo to broadcast an image of the galaxy, with the latest known movements of the persons of interest. Interestingly, many of them had moved as soon as they'd learned that the Chancellor who'd just been killed was in fact a Sith Lord, as attested by the highly incriminating video now circulating widely on the HoloNet.

This recording business hadn’t been Obi-Wan's best move. It would have been better if he hadn't tried to install the recording device under Sidious's nose. Ultimately, the event had unfolded in his favor, but it could have ended badly. Very badly.

Quinlan had also settled down at the table, and was following the displayed information with interest. Obi-Wan wasn't even trying to hide anything. He left it to Quinlan to make the necessary deductions, however, as he didn't feel like bothering to explain anything to him. This seemed to suit the Kiffar perfectly, whose keen eyes never lost a crumb of what Obi-Wan was doing.

Obi-Wan was a master at organizing, compiling and synthesizing information. This knowledge, the beginnings of which had already been developed in the youth of his first life when he had studied diplomacy, had been reinforced by years of leading an army to war.

Battles were essentially won through information, preparation, and flexibility of movement. Good strategy was not based on predicting enemy movements, but on the ability to prepare one's army for the unexpected. For the unexpected was at the heart of battle, and arose from the very first minute of contact with the enemy.

Thus, well-prepared soldiers were expecting the unexpected, and that the challenge was to maintain the coherence and cohesion that would enable them to execute a decision taken under enemy fire effectively.

Over time, Obi-Wan had developed a pretty unique attunement to the Force in his role as High General. It was almost like the Force technique called Battle Meditation. At least, from what he'd read about it, he thought what he'd developed came pretty close.

His power over the Force had never been exceptional, not in the way Anakin had been. Obi-Wan had built his power on the subtle use of the influence he could exert. In war, this influence was wielded through his ability to unite. With time, Obi-Wan had become aware of the loyalty he could arouse in others, almost naturally and effortlessly. It had baffled him, because he didn’t understand half the time what these people found in him.

Still, he had used it to fight the enemy effectively: his soldiers had trusted him, and had never questioned his sincerity.

Battle Meditation acted as a consciousness overlay, synchronizing what the soldiers tended to notice, inducting the combatants into an entity that shared a kind of augmented awareness. Each individual contributed to the influx of information and suggested decisions; this could easily have become overwhelming if an essential component of the process didn't include the harmonization of the feed done constantly by Obi-Wan’s mind.

Maintaining this state over long periods of time could be trying for Obi-Wan, and was all the more costly the more people the overlay included, but he soon realized that he much preferred the headaches it induced to the distress of having seen too many of his soldiers fall in battle.

Intelligence flimsiwork tended to put him in the same kind of mindset he had used when running wars. Looking at the numbers, synthesizing, and brainstorming solutions: beyond the tactical aspects, a well-run war was above all about managing logistics, and these aspects held no secrets for Obi-Wan. It may have seemed arid to many, but it tended to soothe his anxiety. When his mind was overrun by ruminations, he liked to focus his brain on this kind of work.

Between the dullness of fastidious work taken quietly at night and the absolute horror of a battlefield and its aftermaths, Obi-Wan had set his preference long ago.

The synthesis that emerged this morning was interesting.

There were a number of noteworthy movements, notably concerning the armies involved in the conflict between the Republic and the Separatists.

The Chancellor's death had shaken up the tactical map, and Obi-Wan could clearly see that each faction had begun to withdraw and regroup its forces. Minor skirmishes had been broken off, abandoning some significant tactical points.

This was interesting, but also worrying. For, if forces were being withdrawn, they were destined to be situated and employed elsewhere. And Obi-Wan still didn't have enough information to predict their likely deployment. With Sidious out, he suspected that Dooku had probably kept the lead he already had over the Separatist faction, while being freed from his Master's influence, which had kept him on a tight leash until now.

Obi-Wan knew little of Dooku. He'd had little opportunity to interact with him in his past life. He knew that he had been Qui-Gon's Master, and Yoda's Padawan, and therefore part of the same Lineage. Probably some of the values that were important to Obi-Wan had been passed on by this man, whom the Dark Side had led astray.

Qui-Gon had never spoken extensively of his Master, preferring to quote Yoda and his shenanigans to illustrate a point. Qui-Gon was apparently too stubborn, too independent, to interact in a relaxed manner with a Master apparently so attached to decorum and tradition.

Nevertheless, he was now Obi-Wan's opponent, and Obi-Wan wouldn't make the mistake of underestimating him this far down the line. In his first life, Dooku had left the tactical part and the management of the droid army to General Grievous, but Obi-Wan had no doubt that the man probably had a formidable intelligence. What he had read about him spoke of a man exceptional in many ways: outstanding duelist, wealthy planetary lord, and leader inspiring great loyalty, not to mention the fact that he had probably perceived the Sith problem within Coruscant itself before anyone else.

Obi-Wan sighed. So much work to do, and so little time. He stretched gingerly his left shoulder, testing his healing and still sore muscles. He would need to do some light physical exercises soon, to help the wound heal better.

Quinlan was consulting a stack of documents, brow furrowed in concentration. Obi-Wan had decided that it would be pointless and probably counterproductive to prevent him from accessing the information he had gathered.

The Jedi, Quinlan and Mace in particular, had made the choice to believe in him, and to trust him for now. When he dwelt on the idea, Obi-Wan felt torn between bafflement and quiet warmth suffusing in his heart, and the feeling was so foreign he felt there wasn't enough room inside him to contain it.

In any case, they had chosen to let him go about his business without getting in his way—at least reasonably—so he felt he could return the favor. He was now compiling a summary which he would no doubt have the opportunity to present later in the day.

"This list of people... did you compile all this information yourself?" asked Quinlan, looking absent-minded as he kept his eyes fixed on a list. Obi-Wan leaned forward to get a better look at the document he was consulting. Ah. The persons with a potential list.

"With my network of informants, yes," Obi-Wan answered, prudently.

"Mmmh, I was aware of the existence of some of these people. For those that the Jedi have spotted, these individuals possess influence and have importance in their milieu. That's interesting."

Obi-Wan felt compelled to agree, he'd been keeping an eye on these people for a reason.

"What I'm wondering about, right now—because I really do have lots of other questions, is why are some of these people apparently still children?"

Kark.

Obi-Wan had forgotten to consider this detail.

Oh, hell. He would let Quinlan come to his own conclusions. He was just doing fine on his own. Obi-Wan just looked at him, raising an eyebrow. Obi-Wan knew that with that expression, he could make anyone feel uncomfortable. Cody had told him once that he really didn't have to try very hard to make someone feel stupid. Just raise that damned eyebrow and let the other person marinate in their own sweat.

Obi-Wan liked to be unhelpful sometimes. He had used and abused it with Anakin, but hey, it had been fair play.

Quinlan returned his expression, undeterred. They remained like that for a minute, left eyebrow raised in an attempt to stare each other down.

The humor of the situation was not lost on Obi-Wan, and, unable to stand it any longer, he grinned and leaned back against the back of his chair. "Don't worry, they have nothing to fear from me. Despite their age, they're important, and I want to keep an eye on their whereabouts."

Quinlan's expression morphed into something considering. "Are you a Seer? Because it would explain a lot of things."

Obi-Wan felt as if a bucket full of ice had been poured down his back. His smile disappeared instantly. This was far too close to the truth, and Obi-Wan wasn't okay with it. And at the same time, maybe he could pass on some of his knowledge on this excuse, which could, as Quinlan said, be pretty convenient.

Quinlan raised soothing hands. "Maybe I should say that I don't mean to pry, but that would be totally untrue. I'm very very curious, I won't lie." And his face was indeed pretty open, and was like an invitation for Obi-Wan to say more, to confide.

And it was really tempting. But not very wise. Maybe later.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I don't feel like saying any more right now." He made a gesture that encompassed all the documents, before adding: "and I think you already have access to a lot of information, so I think you've already got quite a lot to get your teeth into, mmmh?"

Obi-Wan stretched, tired of sitting still for too long. He consulted his chrono. "I'm going to have to go back to the Archives, and resume my post there. I don't think Madam Nu will let me neglect my duties much longer."

Quinlan snorted. "I'm not sure there's anyone who can force you to do anything out there, but maybe it is the fearsome Madam Nu. She’s more terrifying than a Sith Lord."

]o[

The path leading from the Corpsmen Quarter's to the Archives was relatively long, and involved passing through some fairly busy main corridors at this time of day. Busy was a strong word, given that the Temple was quite deserted due to the war, but some hallways were much busier than others.

The Temple was an impressive building. The fact that it was still overlooking the built-up surface of Coruscant was symbolic of its extraordinary history: although it was ancient, and thus had existed for much longer than many of the buildings that adorned the planet, it had not yet been overtaken by the unstoppable verticalizing urbanization that was the essence of Coruscant.

The Temple was ancient. Almost as old as the history of the Republic itself. Obi-Wan had complex feelings about it. It had been both the sanctuary where he had grown up and the scene of one of the greatest tragedies he had ever experienced. For the memory of the children's corpses, strewn across the large marbled flagstones, stained with blood and ashes, had left an indelible mark on his mind. This event, coupled with the realization that Anakin had been the perpetrator, had marked the true end of the Jedi Order in Obi-Wan's mind.

After that, he took Ben for his name.

For Obi-Wan had died that day, along with all the others.

The Temple, after the Purge and the rise of the Empire, had been Darth Sidious's seat of power. The millennia spent sheltering countless generations of Jedi had imbued its walls with potency, and the Force had an almost palpable quality within. Sidious had used this energy, which he had patiently misused and corrupted, to fuel his unquenchable quest for power.

Being away from the Temple for long missions in his second life had suited Obi-Wan just fine. He had preferred to put aside certain painful memories, for in these long corridors, the echoes of a bygone age—but also one with real potential—made him uneasy.

This morning, though, his mind was far from such considerations.

He had noticed a pattern.

When something odd happened, you could easily blame chance and circ*mstance. But when this thing happened repeatedly, without the same people being involved, it was because this little something was hiding a something definitely bigger.

Quinlan was flanking him, as he had warned he would, and Obi-Wan had resigned himself to putting up with his presence.

Admittedly, Master Vos was probably a well-known Jedi among the Temple population: he was charismatic and was reputed to be powerful. But he didn't think it was his presence that attracted attention.

Obi-Wan was sure of it: people were watching him.

And he didn't like it.

Jedi were a generally polite population, and didn't usually stare rudely at others, but Obi-Wan could feel their attention in the Force. It wasn't the majority of people they met, but it happened often enough to set Obi-Wan on edge. For example, he came across two young senior Padawans whispering excitedly to each other, one of whom, on spotting him, gave a startled squeal while elbowing his companion in the side to get her attention.

Obi-Wan stopped dead in his tracks and glowered in their direction. Rude. The two Padawas ducked, apparently cowed, and fled

"What was that?" No one was able to keep a damn secret here?

"Jedi like to gossip, you know. This couldn't stay a secret for long. Especially not something this big."

Other Jedi had stopped—conspicuous in their immobility where most individuals remained in motion—to openly gape at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan wanted to disappear on the spot—and even maybe die a little, like, right now.

He pulled his hood firmly over his head, and grabbed hold of Quinlan's sleeve before moving again. Of course, Quinlan was snigg*ring, openly mocking him.

With his face thus concealed, the journey became less arduous, but Obi-Wan still felt a kind of eagerness in the Force. Apparently, enough people had connected the dots, and reached to certain conclusions.

Which ones, specifically, Obi-Wan had no idea, but he knew he had to be in the middle of conjectures. He had already experienced this effect, when enough Force-Sensitive people gathered in one place were concerned about the same thing. The phenomenom influenced the Force enough to make the attention perceptible in a large area.

The first time was when he had came back from Naboo, having slain Maul after the Sith had killed Qui-Gon. At the time, grieving and newly knighted, in charge of a Padawan almost too old to be learned, he had only moderately appreciated the attention.

Now, he loathed it.

Worst of all, glamour would probably have no effect; Obi-Wan couldn't fight a collective will intent to learn as much as possible about an interesting mystery.

And Obi-Wan had no desire to be an interesting mystery.

Chapter 16: Unlocking

Chapter Text

Fox was monitoring the move of his command center, now integrating a network of rooms near the Archives, in the Jedi Temple. He had left the Senate with something akin to relief, and he knew his brothers were feeling the same.

After yesterday's fiasco with the barracks, he was still finding it hard to get over the blow and move on. At least, they didn't have to stay stationed within the Senate. Anti-Clones sentiment was quite strong and blatant there, and hadn't improved since the assassination of the Chancellor.

Who was apparently an evil, terrible scheming asshole.

And who hadn’t hesitated to play with countless lives—his brothers lives—to advance his kriffing plot for power.

Fox wasn't quite sure what to make of the whole thing, but what he did understand very clearly was that his existence, and that of all his brothers, had been orchestrated to guarantee absolute power to one person.

It made him sick.

He and Surge were due to visit the Healing Halls later that day, as the Jedi Healers apparently had important information to share. Fortunately, they apparently had found a solution for the brothers trapped in their psychic paralysis.

The atmosphere in the Jedi Temple was very different from what Fox had been used to in the Senate. There existed a certain kind of peace, which could be almost heard in the deep echoes that inhabited the wide, high corridors running through the Temple.

It would be easy to get lost in this immense, thousand-year-old building, and Fox felt, at times, the crushing weight of the years that had shaped the existence of this sacred place. He was acutely aware, having fought for months to guarantee a semblance of security and privacy for his brothers stationed on Coruscant, of the extent to which this place belonged to the Jedi. It was their home, their refuge, their protection.

Although not Force-sensitive, Fox could almost feel a deeper current permeating these walls and stones. Maybe he was simply imagining it. But the strange atmosphere was getting to him. The Temple was a sacred place, a place of worship, which would surely endure the passage of time, for millennia yet to come.

Fox, although not a Jedi, felt welcomed within these walls in a way he hadn't in the Senate. There, politicians ignored you. At best, they might show consideration by saying a greeting, or thank you when you held the door for them, but most of the time, he and his brothers had been treated like furniture. When it wasn't downright blatant contempt.

The Jedi had allocated them a series of unoccupied rooms. Apparently, the Temple had a lot of unallocated space, as the Jedi population had dwindled considerably in recent decades. So much space was a real luxury on Coruscant, and Fox felt honored to have so much consideration, for the first time in his short life.

His brothers also seemed quite happy to be moving their base of operations. There was a bounce in their step, an energy in their movements that indicated enthusiasm.

Being away from the Senate was a relief for everyone, Fox realized. Perhaps one of these days, he and his brothers would have to reconsider their life plans. Because he felt rebellious, in spite of his training, in spite of his design that called for absolute obedience toward any form of authority. He guessed the Clones would have to choose the authority they wanted to serve under, or suffer a pointless death.

His brothers had set up rows of tables to serve as desks, and two sofas had ended up, somehow, in a corner, next to a caf maker. Fox had also overheard two brothers discussing bringing in some bedrolls. Apparently, some of them were planning a sleepover at the Temple.

And well, why not?

The Temple had all the necessary facilities: sleeping, eating, training and washing. Fox would ask Master Windu if it would be a problem if some of the brothers settled there for a while, while they refurbished their barracks. He would also approach the quartermaster about the cost of their accommodation, and whether it was possible to redirect some of the credits allocated to the Clones maintenance to compensate the Jedi.

Fox really didn't feel like bothering with the regulations today. And, as long as the regulations only treated them as cannon fodder, he had no intention of continuing to comply willingly. And the less contact he had with politicians, the better off they would be. Mas Amedda may have been marginally better than Palpatine, but Fox had had enough of politicians’ snake-like ways and hypocritical rhetoric for his lifetime.

]o[

Apparently, Jedi couldn't keep a secret—at least not among themselves. Quinlan was quite right when he said that Jedi were the worst gossips. Obi-Wan didn't quite see how the kind of information that concerned him—and was probably of the state-secret variety—could have spread so quickly within the Temple.

He wasn't sure what people knew, but he supposed that from the moment Mace had broadcast the ban to the Temple Guards, things must have gotten out of hand. All it took was surely one nosy person with a juicy piece of information to spread it like wildfire.

Obi-Wan could understand it, on an intellectual level, but it was still pretty damn annoying.

He was going to have to mourn his anonymity anyway. He had really enjoyed being able to move around and go on solo missions without anyone worrying about his disappearance. In his first life, Obi-Wan had been too high-profile to be able to move around incognito, aside from some very specific missions.

Obi-Wan supposed he would have to re-acclimate himself to a mode of operation where his every actions would have impact and importance.

Apparently, Madam Nu hadn't been listening and wasn't aware of the latest rumors, or maybe she was aware, but had decided it didn't make any difference. In any case, she treated him no differently than usual, and was even expressing clear displeasure with him. Since joining her to make progress on the coffer matter, Quinlan still in the vicinity, she addressed him in a dry, annoyed manner.

She had promised him a whole rotation at fetching duty in the library, where apprentices were usually posted. Nobody liked fetching holobooks— a tedious tasks since the same few books were continuously being requested—for bored students who were obliged to fulfill their assignments.

But first, Obi-Wan needed to open the damn coffer. He would do this morning, now that he hadn’t to pretend a false level of skill anymore. He might as well get the chore out of the way today, allowing him to advance to the next stage.

In any case, Obi-Wan knew he would have to go explain himself to the Council soon. Might as well do it by giving them some relevant insights on the affair, and it would surely help mitigate the level of attention he would get then.

To have an impact and be able to influence the Council's decisions in the right direction, he might as well start practicing transparency.

The coffer stood in front of him. It had to be handled with care, like most Sith artifacts, requiring the panel of tools lined alongside the workstation. At last, Obi-Wan could examine it with his mind mostly in working order. Obi-Wan could feel the intricacies of the Sith locking spell, anchored in the engravings that adorned its surface.

On his dominant side, he situated the datapad detailing the semantic subtleties he would need to keep in mind and whose intricacies he was explaining to Madam Nu.

"But then, when you try to activate this set of symbols, it doesn't unlock the mechanism?" She asked, positioning herself to get a better look over his shoulder.

"No, in fact, it's most likely a trap. The whole canvas has its general meaning completely changed by this symbol." Obi-Wan pointed to a small arabesque, positioned almost innocuously on one of the rear edges of the box. "It's a contextual reversal, speaking of opposites in all things. It's subtle, but important to consider."

"Hmm. Interesting. Also interesting that you're apparently less stuck on that translation than yesterday." She said with a rather scathing tone. Obi-Wan was glad not to have her in his line of vision. "One day you'll have to write me a comprehensive analysis of this kind of spell, so we can archive it. No doubt it will come in handy in the future."

Obi-Wan sighed, "Very well, Madam Nu. I'll do an article on it—when I have the time."

The box had remained all night in his office, unattended. This had been a major oversight on his part. Indeed, with the information Obi-Wan had gathered this morning, especially concerning Jango Fett's presence on Coruscant, it wasn't wise to leave this kind of artifact unattended. Obi-Wan felt that Fett, or someone else, could very well break into the Temple if necessary to retrieve any interesting objects. The Temple was far from inviolable, and had enough people and traffic that it would be easy, with a little preparation and cunning, to break in.

Obi-Wan would open the safe and ensure that the artifact it probably contained was placed in the most secure vault available. Even though he would actually prefer to keep the thing with him, where he could keep a constant eye on it. He would have to work with the Council to determine the best course of action anyway, he knew he could no longer make this kind of important decision unilaterally. A pity.

Obi-Wan ran a finger delicately over the engravings on the lid. Sith art could be truly beautiful, sometimes.

The various temples and tombs he had visited in his two lifetimes attested to this. Some Sith promoted a genuine aestheticism in their creations. Often, it tended towards the grandiloquent, particularly in terms of architecture, but there was something poignant behind this quest for beauty, despite the corruption that was the nature of the Dark Side.

Because, as Obi-Wan had learned, there was always a tragedy behind the Fall of a Force Sensitive.

To open this kind of mechanism, Obi-Wan would have to maintain a sort of weave in his mind, and match the vibrations of the Force to exert careful pressure on certain points simultaneously. If this pressure wasn't exerted correctly, this type of lock was often designed to trigger inconvenient consequences, such as an explosion or the outright destruction of the safe's contents.

"Do you think you'll be able to open the safe today, Kenobi? You have other duties not to be neglected, as you are, I hope, aware."

Obi-Wan didn't answer immediately. He was making a definite effort to maintain concentration. Keeping up with the many subtleties involved in weaving the spell took a large share of his mind’s focus. Practice had helped him automate certain processes, but he still needed to make a conscious effort to follow through with the necessary processes.

Old Ben had spent decades wandering the Galaxy, to explore and to learn everything he could, often desperate to find a way—any way—to counter the growing influence of Sidious's Empire. Much of the knowledge and many of the techniques he had amassed in his toolbox often came directly from sources of dubious origins. Over time, Old Ben had come to know large swathes of Sith culture as deeply as Jedi traditions.

Much of what had enabled him to expand his own life beyond the natural limit had come from this knowledge, and Old Ben had sometimes had to resort to questionable acts to have a fighting chance. He had long since given up on doing so on equal terms, but it was possible to keep on fighting, even if the situation seemed hopeless.

Old Ben knew, having learned long ago, how to function despite despair pervading everything.

After all, despair was just a feeling, an emotion in the abstract realm of perception, and it could be dissociated from what had driven him to keep going: a pure, unadulterated grit. It was what had fueled him all those years, when everything around him had collapsed, endlessly crumbling further into utter darkness.

Obi-Wan thought it was perhaps the only quality he really possessed, the one that had never really failed him. And it was the consequences of his resolution that had brought him to this strange situation, to say the least.

Indeed, he wouldn't be in this position, the focus of the entire Jedi Order, if he hadn't carried out this damned transmigration.

But then, he had endured far worse in his life than the unwanted attention of a bunch of Jedi. At least, he thought so?

His concentration slipped, and the canvas he was trying to keep clear in mind evaporated like a wisp of smoke. He sighed. His thoughts were distracting him, and he could feel Madam Nu's expectations in the Force, which she was making no effort to hide. He glanced at her disapprovingly.

"Madam Nu, if you please. Don’t distract me."

"If you were a little more transparent about what you’re trying to do, perhaps I could assist," she replied with the stern face she visibly liked to adopt. Obi-Wan knew she could not be cowed that easily. "Don't try to do everything on your own, Archivist Kenobi. You really need to learn to collaborate. You know, teamwork is important in our field. Just because we're Scholars doesn't mean we stay in our corner all the time. I would hope you know that."

That was... oddly apropos and to the point. Obi-Wan sighed again, massaging his forehead. "Very well." He handed her the repulsor-equipped clamp used to turn the coffer when needed. "Hold this for me."

Obi-Wan stood up and walked over to the shelf facing his desk, which furnished the corner of the room. He used it to store his shard-related equipment. In the small carved wooden box were a few kyber shards he hadn't yet infused.

Obi-Wan grabbed one of them delicately and returned to his place. Madam Nu and Quinlan said nothing, but were clearly interested in what he was intending to do. If things continued on this path, he would have to share his techniques anyway. After all, it would probably help the Jedi face the challenges that surely lay ahead. Obi-Wan wasn't yet sure exactly what risks the Order was running in the immediate future, but the problems were far from over.

He placed the luminous, faceted shard facing him, in front of the box, and cupped his hands on either side. Using the Force, he levitated the shard, which centered itself in the middle of the sphere formed by his palms. The Kyber reacted to the influence of the Force, as evidenced by its increased luminosity. Small wisps of light traveled across its surface, like arcs of plasma following the lines of a magnetic field.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and let his Force-sense take over. Shards could sustain ephemeral Infusions, allowing him to externalize some of the cognitive load required to deploy some of the more complex spells. The shard made the weave last, enabling him to add layers upon layers, dramatically complexifying spells he couldn't have hoped to cast without this support.

He anchored the pattern that would carry the unlocking spell in the Kyber facets. The shard was of good quality, and absorbed the structure of the spell without difficulty. Thus maintained, Obi-Wan had only to add substance. His working memory, freed up in this way, could sort and retain the necessary information without difficulty.

When the lattice proved sufficiently complete, he tested its solidity by attempting to move it from the shard. For a moment, his mind encompassed the entire spell, which he deftly applied to the engravings on the box. An almost audible click was heard in the Force, and Obi-Wan, eyes still closed, clearly perceived a feel of easing around the object. He passed an tentative hand over the lid, trying to feel any residual traps. Sensing none, he opened his eyes and placed the Kyber shard carefully to his right. He would put it away later.

Quinlan and Madam Nu kept a close eye on his every move and remained silent.

"Madame Nu, if you will, we will proceed to open the artifact."

They gathered around the work table. In the Force, the object seemed inert, and nothing emanated from it except for a vague sensation of coldness. Obi-Wan inhaled, holding his breath, and opened the small chest. In the hollow of the trunk, which was lined with a precious fabric that reflected light, was nestled the characteristic pyramid-shaped of a Sith Wayfinder.

Obi-Wan let a bitter smile grace his lips.

He had been right, the box did indeed contain what he had suspected.

The key to Exegol, which allowed its bearer to take control of the ancient Sith citadel and its star forge.

"You know what it is?" inquired Madame Nu.

Obi-Wan nodded, grim-faced. "I do. I'll have to report with the Council soon, because it's a Sith treasure that's sure to attract a lot of interest. Keeping such an object within the Temple walls is dangerous."

]o[

Quinlan didn't regret for a second his decision not to bother the movements of this peculiar man. Kenobi’s strangeness, difficult to perceive at first glance, deepened the more Quinlan interacted with him. Quinlan had quickly realized that if he was to achieve a satisfactory result in this investigation he had been entrusted with—and was happy to carry out—he had to act with finesse, as if he had to tame a wild and dangerous beast.

First, constant presence. Second, make sure they didn't feel cornered. Thirdly, to gain their trust.

And he had to say it seemed he was pretty successful so far. It was as if a part of Kenobi craved for connections, and, after some token resistance, had let things happen with something akin to relief.

Kenobi was acting, whether the man realized it or not, as if he knew Quinlan well. And Quinlan didn't want to rule out that assumption. If Kenobi was some kind of very powerful Seer, it was possible that he had seen futures, possibilities, where this friendship was real. And from what he perceived of the Archivist, Quinlan felt it was indeed easy to become attached to Kenobi, when he was sincere and spontaneous, rather than distant and aloof.

The more they interacted, the more Kenobi relaxed, and Quinlan was glad to see that.

Windu had expressly confirmed the need to stick by Kenobi and not leave him unattended, and the man seemed to accept this reality without too much protest. Kenobi actually seemed surprised to be left mostly unbothered. If Quinlan wanted to be honest with himself, he had first motivated this decision because he really wasn't sure he could overpower this scaringly competent fighter. Quinlan had opted for de-escalation to have a chance of keeping an influence on the course of events.

The more he saw, the happier he was with this decision, for what he perceived of this man's skills was properly terrifying. Quinlan would have to report back to Windu soon, as Kenobi had again demonstrated an astonishing mastery of certain aspects of the Force that Quinlan had never heard of.

Quinlan hadn't quite understood how the Archivist had gone about opening the box. He had recognized a Kyber crystal, which Kenobi had apparently used as a focus for an obscure technique. He would have to examine this more closely at a later occasion.

Quinlan's secondary mission was to assess Kenobi's skills, and the next logical step was to encourage him to come and let off some steam in a spar.

As if on cue, the Archivist had just received a call from Senior Padawan Skywalker, who insisted on inviting him to a training session. Quinlan figured this would be the perfect opportunity to brush up on some of Kenobi's martial skills, even if he had had a taste of it yesterday in the Clone barracks.

Kenobi hadn't protested, and had looked at him with his usual impassive air, which was, Quinlan was willing to admit, a very effective mask. But his facade was gradually cracking, revealing more and more of the real person behind it. Kenobi sometimes radiated, when he was disturbed or wrong-footed and forgot to maintain his meek appearance, a charisma on par with the most eminent members of the Jedi High Council.

"Come on, let's stretch you out a bit, it'll do you good, you're as tense as a bowstring."

Kenobi sighed. Quinlan had noticed that the man sighed a lot, as if he were an elder who had lived too long, and was tired of life's hustle and bustle. Kenobi probably needed a little shaking up; it would give him more flexibility, and reconnect him to the rest of the Jedi.

"I don't know if that's very wise, given my condition..."

From what Quinlan understood, Kenobi had cut himself off from the Jedi so that he could set up his operation unhindered, while posing as a simple Corpsman. It was a clever move, for while still being a Jedi, Kenobi had the benefit of a freedom of movement that would have been difficult for a Knight to achieve.

The Jedi Order was indeed—and unfortunately—organized as a caste system, with a clearly defined hierarchy, in terms of importance, of the various members that made it up.

By choosing such a low-profile profession, far from the action and glitz, Kenobi had ensured that he would remain in the shadows, while still being able to move about without constraint. This seemed to be a conscious choice on his part, even if there was that mysterious neurological affliction Quinlan had witnessed a seizure of.

"Bant doesn't mind you getting a little exercise, does she?"

"No, you're probably right, it'll do me good, I need to loosen up my joints. I might be stuck with the Council for a few hours later anyway, so I might as well get ready for it."

"Perfect! Let's go, maybe at this hour we can get a quiet corner."

]o[

Anakin was pleased that Obi-Wan had accepted his invitation. The day was off to a good start, even if he had risen a little late. After a filling breakfast, he could finally burn off some of his excess energy. Mace had warned him against exercising on a full stomach, but Anakin hadn't listened, continuing to shove the warm sausage buns into his mouth, almost without chewing.

It was an old people's thing, that sort of thing. They were always worrying about digestion and sleep.

Anakin was always glad when someone agreed to take part in a training session with him, especially as it wasn't that often when most of his friends were away from Coruscant, and with his Master being too busy dealing with political affairs.

Obi-Wan was due to join him soon, and apparently he was bringing his new colleague with him. This suited Anakin, who liked to fight with whoever was willing. The reverse was not always true, however, which grieved him greatly. Anakin supposed that his reputation and natural talent acted as a repellent for most people, but he really couldn't understand why. He was always delighted when he could measure himself against a difficult opponent.

Obi-Wan sometimes made the effort to accede to his requests for a spar, even if the Archivist wasn't one of Anakin’s opponents of choice. He was holding his own, though, and had an interesting discipline. Obi-Wan's style leaned heavily on the defense side, and this suited Anakin, who took advantage of the opportunity to get to grips with this kind of opponent. Obi-Wan always ended up folding rather quickly, rapidly pushed to the limit of his endurance. Anakin had never had the chance to train against Master Vos, however, and the Kiffar had the reputation of being a great duellist.

Perfect. Anakin felt he was going to reach his limits today, much to his satisfaction.

Anakin was almost rubbing his hands in contentment when he finally saw Obi-Wan and Master Vos coming towards him. The Archivist's face was partly concealed by the shadows of his hood, but Anakin could make out that Obi-Wan looked better than the day before, even if his features were still drawn, and his skin even paler than usual.

"Obi-Wan! Master Vos. Ready to loosen your joints up?" asked Anakin, enthusiastically.

"Padawan Skywalker," Master Vos greeted, smiling. His expression was open and warm, and somehow a little... eager? Anakin raised an eyebrow. He assumed that Master Vos also had a lot of energy to expend.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, seemed to be trying to disappear into the folds of his robe, and didn't look comfortable, stationed like that in front of the portico leading to the Training Halls.

"What are we waiting for? Anakin, have you reserved a private room for us?" Obi-Wan's voice was laced with impatience.

"Hm, uh, yes. Come with me." Anakin led them to one of the more modest room he had reserved earlier. Most Jedi had implemented martial rigor into their way of life. From the moment the younglings arrived at the Temple, they were trained to use their bodies. The practice of combat, and armed combat in particular, was one of the pillars that united all members of the Order, from youngest to oldest.

Thus, the Temple boasted an impressive training complex divided into several sections, with large halls used for group classes, tournaments or demonstrations, and many smaller rooms that could accommodate more private training sessions.

The place was often crowded, although, with so many off-planet Jedi, reserving a room was more of a precaution than a necessity. This morning, the place was relatively busy, but not uncomfortably so. Initiates were taking a group lesson on how to fall and transform their kinetic energy into a somersault. It was rather cute, all those mini-Jedi doing rolls all over the place.

They made their way along the wall, taking care not to disturb the lesson, and finally reached their room. Anakin distinctly heard Obi-Wan breathe a sigh of relief as he closed the door, isolating them from the outside world. The Archivist looked tense and on guard. Clearly, while the night had helped him feel a little better, he still was obviously troubled by something.

The room was big enough to accommodate them, and had facilities that could be interesting to spice up a classic training session, with training droids and blaster deflection training modules. The ceiling was high, and the walls and floors were embellished with obstacles and platforms to enable training in the use of the environment in combat.

Obi-Wan removed his outer robe, leaving him in a tabard and leotard. He had put on soft-soled shoes, which was a sensible choice for training, but not so much for actual, unprepared combat. Anakin preferred his boots. They were much more effective for impact when kicking.

Master Vos had also removed his outer garments, and had begun a series of stretching and limbering-up exercises, and was bouncing about as if preparing for a fistfight.

Anakin sighed. He wouldn't cut it in the warm-up, unsurprisingly. It was really his least favorite part of training. He too started on an unarmed kata that would serve to stretch him sufficiently. But at least he could make it less boring by, say, discussing the latest news.

"So, did you see the video that went viral on the HoloNet last night?"

Obi-Wan, who was holding his lightsaber unlit in his right hand and had begun to move extremely slowly in a kata Anakin didn't recognize, stiffened. The Archivist, after a slight pause, continued the sequence he was deploying, all the while remaining silent.

"I think it's hard to miss," Master Vos replied. "It seems to me the whole Temple must have seen it by now."

"Impressive, isn't it? I wish I could fight like that. And, I don't know what's more surprising: that old Palpatine could fight so well—though obviously being a Sith Lord, I guess that makes sense—or that there's some guy we don't know who is capable of fighting him head on and winning like that. Do you think he's a Jedi?" Anakin punctuated his question with a routine that required him to hold a handstand for a few seconds.

Master Vos continued his stretching, almost lazily and with feline grace. He replied with a smile that showed his teeth: "I hope so. It would be really worrying if he wasn’t, wouldn't it?"

"Hmm, at least he wasn't a friend of Palpatine. Who was a Sith. So he should be on our side."

"I agree, it would be a real shame if such an example of martial mastery wasn't part of our ranks. Imagine all he could teach us? Or even better, if we could train with him?"

"Oh yes; that would be so great! I'd love to spar against that guy! It would be absolutely epic!"

"Enough." Obi-Wan's voice cracked, almost like a whip. Anakin paused automatically, stopped by the crushing authority suddenly emanating from the Archivist. The man stood straight, shoulders squared, and he looked much taller than usual. Obi-Wan gave Master Vos a murderous look, as if he wanted to strangle him.

Anakin had the impression of facing someone he didn’t know.

"Someone needs to be taught a lesson," Obi-Wan continued, voice cold. “And I happen to need to let off some steam. So who wants to go first? Or maybe I'll take you both at the same time; how about that, hmm?"

Chapter 17: Unwind

Chapter Text

General Windu's office was deafeningly silent. Fox sat rigidly in his chair, body tense. What he had just learned was beyond anything he could have imagined.

Master Windu had summoned him, along with the Jedi Healers responsible for the case, Bant Eerin and Vokara Che, to brief him on what they had just discovered, their faces grave and worried. They had chosen not to delay and immediately present their findings to him. While a small part of his mind was telling him to be grateful that they had chosen to brief him so quickly, the other part of his mind was busy screaming.

His brothers weren’t in this state because they'd fallen victim to a Force spell, but because every single one of them had a control chip implanted in their brain since birth.

The Jedi must have sensed his inner turmoil, because they were silently waiting for him to process the information. Surge was with him, and he didn't seem to fare much better: his CMO was clearly trying to take deep and slow breaths, but his fists were tightly clenched. The Jedi had tried to reveal this information in the most considerate fashion possible, but it hadn't helped to soften the blow. Not even a little bit.

Fox felt terrible. Worse than bad. He didn't know if he had ever been so emotionally affected before, despite the fact that he had seen and experienced some sh*t on Kamino and Coruscant.

What Fox had just learned was beyond any abuse he had ever imagined the Clones going through.

In the middle of each of their brains resided a chip designed to reduce them to something Less than slaves, less than what they already were—canon fodder. This chip, when activated, had the power to transform the Clones into beings completely devoid of free will, good only for carrying out orders—whatever those may be.

Fox needed to let out his rage. Fox needed to be among his brothers. Fox needed some kind of hope, that they could somehow make it to a better future.

The people behind their design had already ensured that the Clones would be as obedient and loyal as possible. Why implant this extra device?

From what he understood of the Jedi’s explanations, it had something to do with the fact that Palpatine was a Sith Lord. The Chancellor had probably commissioned them to take control of the Galaxy, while, in the same move, eliminating any resistance by removing the Jedi from the game entirely.

All along, the Clones had been a blaster that the Jedi had kept unknowingly against their own head.

Had the person who had killed Palpatine not intervened, the blaster’s trigger would probably have been pulled at the most opportune moment to do maximum damage.

Fox’s stomach roiled uneasily, and he wasn't used to feeling like this.

His thoughts spiraled, out of control, fueling an internal pressure he feared would make him explode. Fox consciously tried to keep his emotion off his face, but he knew he would have to find some outlet soon. He needed to wind down, and maybe devote his mind to something else to process his emotional turmoil.

"Commander Fox, I don't know if I have the words, and I don't know if I can truly understand what you're going through," said Master Windu. "But we must make a decision, and quickly. I've convened the High Council to discuss all this, and you are obviously invited to the meeting. Do you agree?"

Fox nodded. He didn't trust himself to use his voice properly right now. He didn't even know how he managed to breathe despite the feeling of oppression.

The Jedi Order had to decide on a course of action, and they were keen on folding him into the process. He wouldn't miss it for anything, despite feeling so wrong-footed. He was sick and tired of his brothers' destinies being decided by people other than themselves.

He understood that they had to proceed cautiously, but as quickly as possible.

"The meeting is scheduled in the next few minutes, this is too important for us to delay discussing it." Master Windu checked something on his datapad. "On the way, we'll pick up Master Vos and... Archivist Kenobi. He'll probably have some interesting facts to share about the whole situation. We'll go through the Training Halls to pick them up."

]o[

Quinlan could clearly feel Kenobi's irritation. He had to admit he liked to poke at him a bit: it made for... interesting reactions. Quinlan could observe an occasional rise of hackles, but it all too quickly smoothed out. Kenobi was obviously a master at hiding who he really was, but his facade was cracking more and more.

Kenobi had put himself on guard. Soresu, unsurprisingly. He stood in the center of the room, dominant arm raised, lightsaber over his head and pointing forward. The blade of his weapon was blue, and not yellow like the one he had used yesterday and against Palpatine. Kenobi seemed indeed determined to fight him and Skywalker at the same time.

Well, why not?

"Obi-Wan, are you sure about this? I don't want this to be a bad experience for you… usually, it’s a bit difficult for you to keep up, isn’t it? I can see that you need an outlet, but isn't this a bit much?" Skywalker voice was laced with concern, as he stepped forward to face Kenobi, a little hesitantly.

Quinlan had heard that Mace's padawan was an outstanding fighter, if a bit Temple-sheltered. Quinlan had not had the opportunity to observe him in combat, and they would probably need some time to adjust and build up an effective dynamic during the fight against their common foe

Quinlan had no doubt that they would struggle. Kenobi had apparently decided to stop pretending, and seemed ready to go all out. While obviously being in a much better shape than the day before.

Quinlan activated his own lightsaber, and set it to an adequate intensity for a friendly spar. Skywalker did the same, and the distinctive hum of the lightsabers filled the soundscape.

Quinlan hadn't had much experience of a real fight with someone who really mastered Soresu, aside from the short bout that had opposed Kenobi and him yesterday at the Clones barracks. Some Jedi Masters had probably mastered it, but Quinlan didn't know anyone who used it as their main style. Battle Master Cin Drallig was proficient in it, but his own style was more a mix of the best of what the different styles had to offer. The Battle Master very rarely stuck to one style aside for educational purposes.

In actual combat, Quinlan couldn't recall ever having to fight a Soresu Master.

"Don't worry, Anakin, I can take it. The real question is, can you?" co*ckiness rather suited Kenobi.

"Of course I can! I’ll show you! And if you want difficult, I can give you difficult, no need to fight us both at the same time."

The poor child. Skywalker didn't know what awaited him.

“Well, come on, then, make me yield.” Kenobi offered. “You expressly wished to try your hand against Palpatine’s slayer, no?” He hadn't moved a hair, arms still raised in guard.

“Well, yes, but I don’t see how any of this is relevant! Well, you asked, so don't come crying to me afterward.”

Quinlan, being a shrewd strategist, decided to wait for Anakin to move, and see how it would unfold. And, as expected, since Skywalker apparently had the patience of a five-year old, he didn't have to wait long before the young man strode toward Kenobi to test his guard with a powerful but clearly telegraphed thrust. Quinlan, who had prepared himself so as to not miss any of the action, could still barely make out Kenobi's riposte.

Somehow, Skywalker's lightsaber, after a very brief contact with Kenobi's blade, went flying from his grasp. Kenobi caught it with his left hand.

Very smooth.

"Well, Anakin? Didn't the instructors ever tell you you had to hold onto your ’saber tighter?" mocked Kenobi, throwing back the deactivated lightsaber, which Skywalker snatched with a perplexed look on his face.

"Wha— How? Wait! Something's fishy here!" Skywalker may have retained his innocence and naivety, but he was also intuitive.

Quinlan chuckled. This immediately drew Kenobi's frosty eyes to him.

"Something to share, Master Vos?"

Quinlan laughed outright. “Maybe some blows, if you will, Master Kenobi.”

And Quinlan went into action. He moved slowly sideways, in an arc, keeping Kenobi at its center. He positioned himself at his six o'clock, opposite Skywalker. Still on guard, Kenobi shifted to keep his two opponents at his three and nine o'clock, his head tilted to let him keep multiple enemies in his field of vision.

Quinlan caught Skywalker's gaze, who still seemed unsettled and hesitant by this unforeseen turn of events, and nodded to encourage him to act. Skywalker really wasn't the type to wait for things to evolve without his help, and once again set himself in motion.

Skywalker’s form was perfect, precise and powerful, fueled by the ardor of youth and the obvious pleasure the young man took in combat. From what Quinlan could already see, he seemed to favor Djem So, a fighting style that emphasized the use of powerful lightsaber attacks to overwhelm the opponent whenever possible. Skywalker used his physical form and the Force to power his blows, and thus create openings by overwhelming his opponent's defense.

But Kenobi's guard was unfailing. The Archivist barely moved. His feet occasionally shifted, planted firmly on the ground, while his torso and arms flexed subtly, almost imperceptibly, deflecting and redirecting the energy of the blows flawlessly.

It was truly a sight to behold. Quinlan had rarely, if ever, witnessed such an impressive display of Soresu. But he wasn't here to just watch, and upping the stakes would surely yield interesting results.

Quinlan waited until Kenobi was focused on parrying a flurry of blows from Skywalker, before launching his own onslaught on Kenobi's seemingly unprotected side, with a transverse slice that worked its way up to Kenobi’s hip.

And, strangely enough, the blue blade of Kenobi's saber was in the way. Sparks flew as the blades clashed. Kenobi had reversed his stance with a shift of his back foot, so fluid that it seemed effortless on his part, to angle his lightsaber just the right way to stop Quinlan’s attack. Kenobi didn't stop at the counter, and, in the same movement powered by the stance change, entered Quinlan's guard, left foot against Quinlan’s heel. Kenobi, keeping the blades locked down, delivered a powerful thrust from his left shoulder. Quinlan found himself off balance, unable to move his foot back, and fell. He morphed his fall into a backward roll that put him out of reach.

Well. That was instructive.

Kenobi wasted no time in contemplating the success of his maneuver and turned to Skywalker. He used a deflection maneuver to enter the young man's guard in the same movement and kicked his standing leg just as Skywalker tried to take a step backward. Skywalker fell as well, Kenobi’s blade pointed threateningly at his neck.

"Ooookay, who are you, and what have you done with my buddy Obi-Wan?"

"What's the matter, Anakin? Frustrated you can't beat a simple Archivist?" Kenobi disengaged with a mean smile, and returned to the center of the room, no longer even bothering to stand on guard. His teeth were uncovered in an open-mouthed smile that was a tad feral, and it radically transformed his face, which sported a curious mix of youthfulness mixed with wildness.

Kenobi's face had gentle lines, with full cheeks and harmonious features. But when he smiled like that, revealing too many teeth, it was clear that he was out for blood, like a predator. And what Quinlan could see here was certainly not a facade.

Kenobi was clearly made for combat, and was an astounding fighter. Quinlan could clearly imagine the burden it must have been for the man to conceal his affinity and proficiency for saberwork.

The adrenalin made Quinlan forget his fatigue caused by the fact that he had hardly slept for two nights in a row. The thrill of battle was far more important, and he threw himself back into the fray.

For a while, Quinlan and Skywalker kept trying to break through Kenobi's guard. They danced backward and forward for a few moments, trading blows to test reflexes and boundaries, getting alternatively in and out sync. Whenever an opening appeared, Kenobi exploited it ruthlessly, without hesitation, and often by brutal retaliations. In those, Quinlan distinguished other fighting forms: a bit of his own style, Ataru, and Djem So as well.

Skywalker was sweating profusely, and Quinlan wasn’t faring much better. Kenobi was distinctively affected as well, hair flying in all directions and the forehead beaded with sweat, but his movements remained smooth and unfailing. He still seemed to be clearly favoring his right side. Even if his left shoulder had been healed by Bant, Kenobi had still been seriously injured, and his earlier maneuver against Quinlan must have awakened the pain.

The fact that Kenobi paid so little attention to his physical wellbeing spoke of a rather concerning tendency to dismiss the consequences of his choices to his general health.

And nothing was more dangerous than someone willing to disregard their own wellbeing to achieve their goals.

Especially someone as powerful as Kenobi seemed to be. Powerful, and potentially unpredictable. After all, while the most obvious weakness of a Sith Lord was their quest for power, which implied, as a secondary objective, preserving their own life in order to exercise that power, things were much less clear-cut for people who tended towards self-sacrificing behaviors. Add an obvious desire to preserve the life of others, and you had a recipe for a disaster.

Skywalker was beginning to deploy more and more outlandish moves, throwing a good deal of Vaapad into his Djem So to try and get through Kenobi's defense, who was unfailingly content to redirect the force that was bearing down on him. Skywalker was becoming increasingly frustrated, and Quinlan wasn't surprised when he began to use the Force to increase the power of his blows, while Kenobi continued to provoke him occasionally.

"So, is that all you can show me, Anakin? Go ahead, go all out, I can take it." And as he said this, Quinlan perceived an odd weight to these words. Kenobi wanted a good fight, but obviously needed more than that to push him over the edge. Quinlan sensed that Kenobi was far too proficient in his saberwork to really get a good venting. Maybe things would go better if they did things differently.

Quinlan stepped back and, choosing his moment, pulled Skywalker back to prevent him from launching yet another attack. "Hey!" protested Skywalker.

"A good fighter knows when to make a strategic retreat," said Quinlan, putting a friendly arm around the young man's shoulders. "You don't have the high ground here, obviously, and neither do I."

Quinlan turned to Kenobi and said, "It's a bit unfair, clearly, with a saber and on defense, we can't compare. Why don’t we change the rules a bit?"

]o[

Mace headed for the Training Halls, where he knew his Padawan would be, and where Quinlan had updated his position as he did every half-hour while continuing to shadow Kenobi. In his wake followed Vokara Che and Commander Fox, whom Mace could still feel seething with anger. Healer Eerin and CMO Surge had returned to the Halls of Healing to arrange the dechipping of hospitalized Clones. The Commander's face gave nothing away, and he had excellent mental discipline for a Force-null, but his anger was too great not to show through the Force.

Mace could easily understand why.

It had been a bit of a shock to learn that the Clone Army was essentially a ploy to slaughter the Jedi and seize power, but it seemed so logical in the end. Mace had always been uneasy about this convenient army, available just when the Republic needed it the most.

This whole deal had been engineered, from start to finish, and the Jedi Order had been caught completely in the net of this despicable trap. Countless lives had already been lost in it.

And, by the will of the Force, the tables had turned, unraveling the plot to destroy the Jedi, and all through the actions of a single person. Bant Eerin had incorporated into her report a good deal of information about the control chip she had learned directly from Kenobi, who had apparently known about the plot for a long time.

Kenobi was a real mystery. He knew about the control chip, and had installed a failsafe while managing to keep his actions secret. And that wasn't all. According to Madam Nu's report, Kenobi had just opened the secured coffer that should have taken days, maybe weeks, of careful work to unlock.

Not to mention, of course, that Kenobi had slain a Sith Lord, without help or backup, while having been taken by surprise.

The Order was lucky that Kenobi had chosen to remain cooperative. The Archivist seemed to value his position here, and had fortunately forged a few bonds he considered valuable. Including, apparently, a solid relationship with Mace’s own padawan, which he had never thought to examine more closely until now.

Kenobi, it seemed, had chosen the perfect spot to be able to act while keeping an eye on all the important aspects, and remain discreetly in the shadows.

Until he finally slipped up.

Mace had chosen not to press Kenobi for answers too soon, and to let him come to them in due time.

But the control chips changed everything, and had to be addressed immediately. The survival of the Jedi Order was at stake. It was a matter of getting out of this terrible mess the Jedi all collectively found themselves in.

And inevitably, the bulk of the work fell to Mace.

He had never cursed so much the day he had been appointed Head of the Order. That day, he hadn't had the heart to refuse, and had even been flattered—inwardly, of course, it wouldn't have been in good taste to gloat.

Mace would have been better off breaking a leg—or maybe going hiking in distant regions of the galaxy to enjoy a change of scenery—and leaving the opportunity to someone else.

But hey, what was done was done, and Mace, unfortunately, didn't have the power to go back in time to correct his mistakes. He would have to live with the consequences of his action, and had to concentrate on giving the Jedi Order a fighting—a surviving—chance.

He walked into the Training Halls, still Vokara and Fox in tow, and his entrance provoked a sudden hush in the main hall, which was occupied by a bevy of initiates practicing acrobatics. Mace nodded at their instructor, who returned his greeting. The instructor turned to the group to discipline them and urge them to concentrate on their exercise, and stop gawking at once.

Mace checked the private room’s coordinates before entering. There, a rather incongruous scene greeted him.

Vos, Anakin and Kenobi were apparently practicing hand-to-hand combat. Although it wasn't the Jedi's preferred means of combat, they had all been extensively trained in its basics. Too many factors could lead to the loss of one's lightsaber during a battle. Understanding the necessity of using the whole body when fighting was essential to being a good fighter.

Currently, Kenobi and Anakin were locked in a duel, with Vos crouched on the side, observing the match. Vos acknowledged Mace's entrance with a glance and a nod, before turning his attention back to the fight, not missing a beat.

Trying to make contact, Anakin barreled toward Kenobi to push into his guard and grab his arm for a sweep. Kenobi didn't try to resist, and let himself fall while locking Anakin's arm under his shoulder. Anakin, unbalanced, fell at the same time. Kenobi took advantage of the inertia of the movement to execute a roll that allowed him to pin Anakin to the ground, his arm trapped in a painful-looking shoulder lock. On cue, Anakin cried out in pain, and Kenobi released him. He straightened up fluidly with a step backward, trying to rearrange his messed-up tabard, visibly smug, while Anakin rose to his feet with far less grace.

It was a strangely open expression on Kenobi’s face. Until now, Mace had only had occasion to see the bland, innocuous mask that Kenobi liked to sport on most occasions. Apparently, Kenobi was letting more and more of his true personality shine through the cracks of his carefully constructed persona.

And, through the Force, Mace could feel Kenobi’s pleasure in engaging Anakin in this friendly spar, under the surface annoyance. The Archivist seemed to feel genuine affection for Mace’s Padawan, and he wondered what story there must be behind these feelings. Qui-Gon and Yoda had told him some interesting facts about Kenobi and his childhood. Yoda had pointed out that he had been a gifted child, intelligent and profoundly empathetic, whom Yoda would have liked to have in his Lineage. And Qui-Gon had given Yoda a look both sad and annoyed, before recounting, rather briefly, the events that had led him to offer a Padawanship to Kenobi.

Mace had learned about these events from an extensive consultation of Kenobi’s file, but it was always much more interesting when someone who had been involved directly told you about their perspective. And their emotions, which, despite the years, were apparently still vivid on Qui-Gon's side.

Qui-Gon had never understood why, after Kenobi expressed such longing to become a Jedi Knight, the teenager had finally given up his dream. With enough perseverance, a physical ailment, though disabling, could be circumvented and compensated for. But Kenobi had never sought to do so, and Qui-Gon had believed that the young man didn't trust him to accompany him on this path. And Qui-Gon, who admitted not without shame that he had been far from up to the task during the events at Bandomeer, had not insisted and let the boy go.

By making Yoda and Qui-Gon aware of the latest developments, Mace had shed a completely different light on what could possibly have motivated Kenobi to give up the Knighthood path.

Whatever happened, Kenobi had drastically changed the day he picked up his first Kyber crystal.

In the deep, ice-bound caves of Ilum, a not inconsiderable number of initiates were known to experience some disturbing Force visions, often relating to how the Jedi path would shape their existence and the impact they could make on the fate of others.

Mace wondered what Kenobi might have seen in those caves.

Nor could he rule out the possibility that Kenobi had been influenced by an outside power, and was working for some unknown quantity. But the mystery had gone on long enough. They had to get to the bottom of this now.

The fighting must have been intense, as each combatant sported various signs of a rather... involved engagement. Vos had obviously been punched in the face, and Kenobi was slightly limping. Anakin was visibly tired and breathing hard, a disgruntled expression on his face. Mace himself had been finding it hard to push Anakin's limits lately. He was impressed.

"Gentlemen."

Anakin and Kenobi both startled, apparently too focused on their fight to have been more aware of their general surroundings.

Mace watched with interest as the bland mask immediately fell back on Kenobi's features, as if by reflex. He must have felt comfortable enough with Anakin and Vos by now to let them see a bit of who he really was.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your play, but we must go immediately to an emergency session of the Council. You, Kenobi, and you, Vos." Anakin immediately opened his mouth, but Mace wouldn't let him speak. "Anakin, you're free to do as you please, but I'd still like to remind you that you have an assignment to do, on trade and cultural relations of prominent mid-rim worlds."

Anakin groaned. "Master! When will you trust me? And Obi-Wan needs my support. He's in trouble, isn't he?"

"If he were, you would have no business to intervene anyway, Anakin,” said Mace, a tad impatiently.

“Don’t worry, Anakin, I can take care of myself,” interjected Kenobi, while putting a reassuring hand on Anakin’s shoulder.

"Come on, I’ve connected the dots; they’ll give you trouble for what you’ve done, won’t they? I won’t let them! Palpatine was obviously the bad guy here!"

Mace felt a surge of focused interest spread through the Force around Commander Fox. Uh oh.

"Anakin, I'd be grateful for your discretion." Kenobi's voice was cold.

"Come on, everyone here knows anyway, don't they?"

Commander Fox voice cut in suddenly, frosty. "No, I don't know. Care to inform me?"

Mace closed his eyes, feeling his migraine coming on again. He sighed.

"Anakin."

It could have come from Mace, but it was Kenobi who had said it. Anakin looked suddenly contrite, wide eyes shifting between Fox and Kenobi.

"Do you have any information for me?" Fox glanced at him. "Master Windu? Do I need to know?"

Mace felt his lips set in a grim line. Fox had been invited to the Council meeting anyway, and would find out sooner or later. By setting up Coruscant Guards’ HQ in the Temple, and given the information about Kenobi that had spread like wildfire since yesterday, it was only a matter of hours before the Clones would become privy to the information

Kenobi sighed, and visibly gathered his courage before moving forward to stand a few steps away from the Commander. He stood tall and strong, and looked Fox straight in the eye, before saying: "I'm the one who killed Palpatine. I also took control of your brothers to escape them that night."

Fox stepped forward slowly, closing the distance. His fury was very obvious not only in the Force, but also in the rigidity of his shoulders and in his clenched fists.

"You... you." Words failed Fox, and he brutally seized Kenobi's tabard to pull him forwards, closing the distance between them further. Kenobi didn't try to stop him.

"And I'm deeply sorry for that."

Fox punched him in the face, twice. The attack was violent and brutal, and caused Kenobi's tabard to tear as the force of the blow sent him staggering and falling. Fox was livid, and Mace thought for a moment that Fox might try to lash out at the downed Kenobi, forcing Mace to intervene. But Fox, after a moment's hesitation, turned on his heel and stormed out.

Kenobi remained on the ground for a moment, motionless and apparently stunned—or contemplating his life choices and finding them lacking.

Vos approached him and asked: "Are you okay?" Kenobi groaned, but didn't answer. He ran a weary hand over his face, before probing the abused area. His lip was split and was bleeding slowly. Vos bent down to help Kenobi up, and in the same motion picked up something that had fallen to the ground. Some sort of... pendant?

Whatever. They had lost enough time here.

"Gentlemen, if you would? We've waited long enough. Healer Che, perhaps you could do something for our friend here?"

"Hmm, I'd rather not. I think he's earned this," she replied, daintily.

"Fair enough. Archivist, can we go now?"

"Hey, why did Obi-Wan get punched? What's going on? Why doesn't anyone ever tell me anything?" asked Anakin, whom everyone ignored.

Kenobi, standing wobbly on his legs, ran his hands through his hair, clearly exasperated. He said: "I hate my life."

Chapter 18: The Meeting

Chapter Text

The Grand Army of the Republic had begun to assemble over Coruscant on Mace’s order, issued following the Chancellor’s assassination. Only battalions holding strategically vital positions had not been withdrawn, but units originally deployed to gain ground were returning to Coruscant. Mace was glad: Depa and Ahsoka were due to arrive that evening, and he looked forward to seeing them. Maybe they would have time to join Anakin and Mace for a real Lineage meal together.

Force knew Mace sorely needed it.

The Council was almost complete, something that hadn't happened since the start of the war. More Councilors meant more disagreements and bickering, and Mace supposed the chances were high that he would walk out of there with a raging migraine. But at this point, he was resigned to seeing his existence definitively plagued by pain.

Mace sensed that this meeting would lead to decisions that would influence the destiny of the Jedi Order, and that, as a community, they would have to put aside their differences to make the necessary choices.

Circ*mstances were forcing their hand, and the Force was whispering to them collectively that the status quo couldn’t remain as it was. But before making any decisions, they had to get to the bottom of recent events. Fortunately, Mace had arranged for the presence of the right person to fill this objective.

"So, Archivist Kenobi. It seems to me you owe us a few explanations," said Mace, casually.

Kenobi stood in the middle of the Council room, with his back straight and his shoulders squared. His gaze was clear and frank, expression open and determined. It was obvious that he had finally chosen to drop the mask.

"I'm willing to agree, but if you could be considerate enough to ask me more specific questions so I can answer them accurately." His voice was strong, his diction precise and even.

Okay, classic negotiation move: not answering an unspecified probe, but showing goodwill while putting the onus of directing the conversation on the questioner. Kenobi probably had a lot more to hide than Mace and his team had already discovered, which was both interesting and worrying.

Hopefully, the number of potential interrogators in the room could help cover as many blind spots as possible, if Kenobi would remain cooperative enough.

"That’s fair. We essentially have three subjects to discuss: the Clones, the Chancellor, and yourself, Kenobi. What do you think?"

"I think it's necessary, above else, to discuss what was discovered in the box this morning," Kenobi replied, and Madam Nu, who was standing back, sitting in a side chair, nodded. Other Jedi who were not members of the Council were present, like Tera and Vos, as holders of first-hand knowledge on the case. The Council Chamber wasn’t a huge room, and wasn’t designed to hold so many people. The atmosphere was a bit stifling, despite the climate control. But the liveliness comforted Mace. Seeing the Temple emptied of its occupants because of the war had weighed uncomfortably on his mind and heart these past months.

Mace bowed his head in acquiescence and swept his gaze over the assembly. "Fellow Councillors, do you see any other matters on which it would be necessary to dwell?"

Heads shook in negation. Mace understood everyone's impatience to get to the bottom of things. He would not delay further.

"Very well, then. A detailed report of the latest finds has been sent to you. We're meeting today to make the necessary decisions, but we need to shed some light on certain matters." As the Head of the Order, the role of moderator most often fell to him in this type of meeting. "Archivist Kenobi, you obviously had critical information concerning Chancellor Palpatine. According to our evidence, you conspired for years to put him out of action," said Mace. "How did you know about his true nature?"

Honestly, it was perhaps the most important question that haunted Mace’s mind. From what information Tera had managed to gather, Kenobi had started acting when he was just a teenager, and that was more than twenty years ago.

"I don't know if this knowledge is really relevant, Master Windu. That's part of the past; shouldn't we be concentrating on the present, and on the decisions we need to make to guarantee ourselves a future?"

"You don't want to answer the question?" asked Mace, not a bit surprised but disappointed all the same. But he had no intention of giving up so soon. “Given the circ*mstances, I think it's preposterous to ask us to trust you with nothing on your part to show some goodwill. While the Force is... kind of vocal on the subject, I think it's fair to ask you for a modicum of explanation, isn’t it?”

Kenobi audibly sighed, before running his hands through his hair to pull it back. His features were drawn and he too seemed to have a headache. Mace recognized the signs. "It's just that I don't think it's relevant right now. The Order needs to act without delay. Our enemies are still numerous, and Sid—Palpatine's death has created a power vacuum. And that's not something to be overlooked."

"Tell us to trust you, indeed, the Force says," Yoda chimed in, "but share what you know, you need, if to do the right thing, we are. Your responsibility, that is, young Obi-Wan."

Kenobi stayed silent for a few seconds, clearly torn. He swept his eyes over the assembly, seemingly weighing up the pros and cons, before answering: "What I can tell you, to assuage your fears, is that what I know is not the product of outside influence. My natural affinity for the Unifying Force has always predisposed me to visions. Much of what I know was relayed to me through the Force, when I bonded with my first Kyber crystal."

Truth , whispered the Force, rather clearly. But Mace also sensed that there was more to it than that. Perhaps they could work with what Kenobi had been willing to unveil.

"Hmm, there's obviously something more to this.” Mace said, glowering. Kenobi held his gaze, unfazed. “But I think it's useless to hope to compel you to reveal what you don't want to. For now."

Kenobi nodded his assent, a small smile thinning his bruised lips. "The Force acts in mysterious ways, fellow Jedi."

The Archivist displayed an assurance that was at odds with the situation. Mace didn't know many people who would have been able to face the attention of the full Council without showing obvious signs of nervousness. This simple fact belied a lengthy experience with similar settings. Kenobi seemed intent on treating the occupants of the room not as a jury, but as collaborators. As equals .

Kenobi acted with a mixture of transparency and mystery that was a tad unnerving. Mace decided to stop playing nice.

"Is it your talent for seeing the future that revealed to you what was going on with the Clones?"

Kenobi visibly winced. Despite impressive shields and a habitually serene expression, he was clearly uncomfortable with this new subject. He nodded grimly, with a glance directed at of Commander Fox. The Clone stood rigidly at attention beside Vos, face impassive and eyes staring into space.

"Indeed. I had a…” Kenobi trailed off, as if thinking of the best way to formulate what he had to say. “I had a revelation of what would happen, if someone didn't intervene. A Galaxy plunged into death, destruction, with a gradual but inescapable disappearance of all hope."

Mace suddenly felt chilled, and he thought he perceived, in the Force, echoes of what this tragedy might have meant for the Jedi. Other Councilors shifted uneasily, and Yoda’s ears dropped suddenly.

"Why didn't you inform us? Why did you fight this battle alone?" Plo Koon broached the questions that weighed most heavily on those gathered, for signs of curiosity were perceptible quite visibly on the faces of the meeting's participants.

Kenobi didn't answer immediately. His contemplative face was turned towards the large bay window to his left, letting the light bathe his serious and tired features. So high up in the Coruscant sky, and while seated, all one could make out was sky and clouds, giving the impression of dwelling in a floating city, not unlike the habitats that swarmed gas giants.

"To fight evil, one has to do questionable things.” His voice dropped, as if making a confession. “I accepted long ago to pay the necessary price to eliminate this threat to the Galaxy and its inhabitants." Kenobi looked more frankly at Fox, who stubbornly refused to meet his gaze. "The Jedi Order is far too tied to Republican politics to have a free hand, and you wouldn't have been in a position to act."

"Bold words. The Jedi are not as weak as you seem to think," answered Shaak Ti, her fiery nature rebelling against the idea that they were powerless. Kenobi looked at her, and replied with a simple: “Yes, we are.”

In his gaze, Mace could see a certainty that was chilling to see. His words had a gravity, a depth, as if the Force itself were speaking through him.

"Still,” resumed Mace. “You could have involved accomplices, without informing the authorities. From what we've been able to see, you've established a network of informants, but you've acted essentially alone with frightening efficiency. Always at the right time, always in the right place."

"Visions can sometimes be... oddly specific." And he stuck to that. Mace was beginning to understand just how stubborn Kenobi was.

Mace sighed. "We can try to get to the bottom of how you were able to build your network and thus act under the nose of the Order later. We need to decide, as a whole and right now, what we can do about the control chips.” He couldn't help but state further, glowering at Kenobi: “Whose existence was revealed to us only this morning, and quite incidentally, if I might add."

"We need to unchip the army, obviously, and as quickly as possible," said Shaak Ti, fangs almost bared.

"If I may say so, esteemed Councilors,” said Kenobi. “You must do so immediately, and not wait for Senate approval to do so."

"We could be accused of treason. Are we sure we want to alienate the highest authorities of the Republic in these troubled times?" asked Plo.

"The same authorities that have been the seat of power of a Sith Lord for more than a decade?" said Kit Fisto, who had stayed silent until now. His whole demeanor spoke of restrained anger.

"You speak of creating a schism. For millenia, one of our tenets has been to serve the Republic. We can't turn our backs on it like this, while we're at war," Plo tried to reason, always the voice of prudence.

"This war is a farce, Councillors. No, worse than that, this war is an abominable trap. The Order must refuse to play this game, immediately.” Kenobi's tone was turning urgent. “It's a matter of survival."

Kit Fisto waved the datapad displaying the detailed report concerning the Clones. "This… list of orders will give me nightmares for the rest of my life. The Order must not risk its survival just to comply with… politics."

“Councilors, please, anyone who thinks we should refer this matter to the Senate should speak up now.” Mace waited, and looked at Plo, but the Kel Dorr remained silent before bowing his head in approval.

"I think we're all more or less in agreement." Heads nodded and no one spoke up to express further doubts.

"The High Council, as a whole, has therefore decided to act urgently, without Senate approval, to organize the immediate dechipping of the GAR, as well as the Coruscant Guards. Commander Fox, do you have anything to add?"

"No sir, I will immediately deploy the protocol we discussed together earlier." Fox looked at his chrono. "I have my operation scheduled in less than an hour. If you'll permit me." He saluted, formal and rigid, before leaving the Council Chamber without waiting for dismissal.

]o[

Jango had managed to infiltrate the Temple. The fact that the Clones had decided to set up their HQ there was rather timely, and he had thus managed to pass himself off as one of them. Being the genetic template was convenient, even if the Clones had been altered for their intended use. While taller and bulkier, the difference was subtle enough for most people not to look twice. Even the Clones couldn't tell Jango wasn't one of them, as he usually played the sole survivor of a unit, with no one able to contradict the version he chose to tell to justify his presence. Maybe the older Clones, especially the Command Class—with whom he had interacted a little on Kamino—, might have been able to spot him. Jango stayed clear of them, and that meant specifically avoiding Commander Fox here on Coruscant.

“Hey Jan!” called Owl. “Can you help me unroll and align this rug?” Jango did a double take. Owl seemed determined to cover the room's stone floor where two couches were situated, with what appeared to be a large, fluffy carpet. Jango himself had his arms full of a crate of datapads. He had taken on the role of moving and filing the documents, which gave him an excuse to go back and forth to places he wasn't supposed to be as a mere Clone.

“Are you serious? Why do you care about decoration?” Jango asked, appalled. He was helping the Corries finish outfitting what looked like an operations room. Jango had seen what had happened to their barracks and understood that they needed somewhere more secure to work on their investigation. “You do realize you'll have to take off your boots to avoid ruining it? It's going to be really impractical.”

"It's already a bit damp, and if it stays rolled up, it'll get really moldy. I'd rather put it here for everyone to enjoy," Owl replied stubbornly.

Clones could get very touchy about material possessions, sometimes. Jango could easily understand why. He sighed and placed his crate on the ground before helping Owl to install his carpet as he wished, taking care not to step on it.

Jango hoped he'd be out of here soon. It made him sick to have to spend time at the Jedi Temple, but it was necessary to meet his employer's demands. He would have preferred to stick to the Senate.

From what he understood from whispered conversations, Fox, the Corrie Commander, no longer wanted to set a foot in there. Rumors were rife, but, apparently the Clones were beginning to understand their true role in all this. And it wasn’t pretty.

Jango didn't like to dwell on the real implications of what his desire for vengeance had driven him to do. When depression struck at times, in the darkest moments of the night and when sleep eluded him, he reflected on the disaster that was his life. Despite how he sought to improve things or make a difference he only sunk further along a path divided from his Creed, a subject which his mind had gotten very good at avoiding whenever his thoughts moved in that direction.

Jango was trying particularly hard not to think about what would become of his Clones if Tyranus' plan came to fruition.

Back then, when the Sith had presented his plan, Jango had felt it was only fair that the Jedi meet their end by his hand. But now that he interacted with his Clones on a regular basis, he couldn't help but recognize them as fully-fledged human beings. It was too easy to see Boba in them.

The only positive thing that resulted from this fiasco was Boba, and Jango was self-aware enough to understand that his son was the sole reason he was still hanging on to life. Jango couldn't bring himself to regret the decisions that had allowed him to welcome his son into his miserable existence. But now wasn’t the time nor the place to wallow in his life choices.

Tyranus had given him a simple mission and updated his orders last night. Jango was to locate and, if possible, get his hands on a specific object. The investigation had led him into the precincts of the Jedi Temple, which could be, along with the holds of a Spice Freighter, perhaps his least favorite place in the whole galaxy. He was looking forward to finally leaving this cursed planet and disappearing off the radar at last.

Jango had learned some interesting things within these walls and Tyranus would probably pay him handsomely for the information he had managed to gather. Some of the rumors he'd overheard stated that the Chancellor's assassin was a Jedi, and probably had a connection with the object he was trying to recover. He'd have to make a trip to the Archives soon.

]o[

Obi-Wan was hot. He could feel the sweat running down his back, and the sensation was truly unpleasant. After the spar, which had ended rather abruptly, he hadn't really had time to change. He had chosen to put on his Jedi robe despite the heat, as he preferred to have its sleeves and folds to hide his hands in if the need arose.

He didn't like moving around in just a tabard, which was too revealing an outfit for his taste. Old Ben had spent decades hiding his arsenal in the depths of his robe, which had saved the day more than once. Obi-Wan, in his current life, had chosen to perpetuate this handy habit.

While it embarrassed him in this particular situation, Obi-Wan still didn't feel comfortable enough to take it off. Being the focus of so many people judging and assessing him was definitively not his favorite spot.

Obi-Wan could also feel his headache returning, and that was rather unfortunate. He needed to keep his mind clear in this situation. The Jedi as a whole had clearly chosen to trust him, and the Force was apparently to blame for that. It was pushing for them to work together and to accept they were on the same side, without wasting time with pointless arguments.

An uneasy silence had fallen after Fox had taken his leave. Obi-Wan sensed that everyone present had been deeply shaken by the information that had been brought to their attention. Obi-Wan was well placed to know that everyone had been led to appreciate, and sincerely like, the loyal men who served under them, united in the adversity brought on by war.

Knowing that these men were in fact a trap specifically designed to lead the Jedi to their doom required an emotional adjustment that was not easy to make, even for the most experienced Jedi.

Mace wore his usual air of sternness, which was doing a poor job of concealing his fatigue. It seemed to be Mace’s default expression when interacting with Obi-Wan.

In his previous life, Obi-Wan had known the Head of the Jedi Order well. He reckoned Mace had even been one of his closest friends, for a time. Countless hours spent in endless meetings tended to bring you closer together, especially as their views on the Galaxy and politics, in general, tended to align.

The night the Order had fallen, Mace had perished under Sidious' direct attacks. Obi-Wan had felt him die, like all the others, and still felt that phantom pain that would never quite fade.

But Mace hadn't finished with him yet. His jaw was set determinedly, and Obi-Wan knew he wouldn't get off so easily.

“Kenobi. What exactly was the order you used on the Clones to put them in the state we found them in?"

Obi-Wan took a harsh breath. The feeling of floating became more intense, as the migraine gained ground. He really didn't want to dwell on this question, but he also understood that he had to show goodwill, if he expected the trust he was being shown to solidify into something permanent.

"I managed, without alerting anyone of my intervention, to integrate the possibility of...short-circuiting the chip. The aim was to be able to cancel an order and replace it with another, but it's also valid for activating the chip.” Obi-Wan rubbed his sore jaw to help him refocus. The vertigo was getting more intense. “I...I was rather desperate, the other night. I was hurt, and not really in my normal state of mind." He didn't like how his explanation sounded like a pathetic excuse, when he was simply trying to contextualize his decision.

"What is this order, Kenobi?" insisted Mace, unyielding. Obi-Wan could feel his determination to get to the bottom of this.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and wiped his sweaty forehead with the edge of his sleeve. His hand was trembling, which wasn’t usual for him. He frowned. "It's an order that anyone can give. You just need to know the right combination of words.” And Obi-Wan wasn't about to pass on that trigger now, in a potentially compromised environment. “And no one will know of it."

He hoped his tone adequately conveyed that he would admit no contradictions. Mace's frown deepened, and he seemed to want to continue arguing, when Yoda chimed in: “The right time to share this, maybe it is not. But, if circ*mstances demand it, have to unload that knowledge, you will, Young Kenobi.”

For the moment, Obi-Wan inclined his head. He would keep this knowledge to himself, and he felt partially relieved. His migraine was still looming and growing rather worryingly, though.

Mace sighed, and dropped the subject. "So, what can you tell us about what you've discovered in the coffer this morning?"

Ah. Obi-Wan was almost happy to finally broach the subject he considered truly important: how to move forward with his plan—nonexistent at this point—to eliminate the Sith threat once and for all. He began pacing up and down in the middle of the council chamber, hands clasped behind his back as if he were conducting a war council briefing.

"It's a Sith Wayfinder. An artifact that acts as both a compass and a key to one of the best-kept secrets of the Bane bloodline.” He stopped to catch his breath. “ This artifact leads to a planet deep in the Unknown Regions, capable of producing an operational fleet in just a few years, thanks to forgotten technology tied strongly to the Dark Side. In my ti— in my visions, this planet also had the means to extend life and clone individuals who are pursuing immortality."

Obi-Wan was afraid he'd said too much, too quickly, when he clearly felt the waves of doubt, and saw the astonished, disbelieving expressions of the Councilors present.

"If what you say is true, this is very concerning indeed," replied Plo Koon diplomatically.

Obi-Wan could feel himself getting dizzy, and he was beginning to think that this wasn't right. He needed to finish this damned meeting as soon as possible, and take stock of his condition. "We must prevent the Sith from getting their hands on this power at all costs. Sidious has been eliminated, but I wouldn't be surprised if he designed a way to cheat death, and if that's the case, we need to act pre-emptively."

"This... Sidious, is that Chancellor Palpatine’s Sith name?" asked Shaak Ti.

"Darth Sidious, yes. But he's not the only Sith.” Obi-Wan could hear himself speaking as if coming from far away, as if he were outside of his body, and his tone of voice seemed almost pleading. “There are others who can take up the torch of this machination, and the Jedi, as well as the Republic, won't be safe while they're around."

"You seem to have come to your senses, then; no desire to do everything on your own?" Mace asked with sarcasm.

Obi-Wan shrugged and answered: "A major player has been eliminated, and I confess I haven't had any visions of what might happen, now that we're beyond the point toward which I've put all my efforts so far. It wouldn't make sense to continue working alone."

"What would you recommend?"

"We must—” The vertigo hit him suddenly like a wall of bricks, and the sensation was too familiar for him not to recognize it at last. He put his hand to his neck, groping frantically for his Soul-Kyber.

He couldn't find it.

The dizzy spell became too powerful for him to resist and he fell to his knees. Exclamations rang out, but Obi-Wan was too disorientated to make sense of what was happening. Only one thought remained in his mind, as he struggled against the darkness invading his mind.

“We must–we must place this artifact in a safe place. The Sith—the Sith will come for it—”

A second later, Obi-Wan realized he should have told them first that he needed his Soul-Kyber to fend off the seizure, but the darkness engulfed him before he had the time to express this critical information.

Chapter 19: The Kyber

Chapter Text

Kenobi had collapsed into another seizure. They were right in the middle of a Council meeting, where he was discussing subjects that were critical for the Jedi Order’s future.

The Healers couldn't figure out what was wrong. Bant had kept him informed between two Clone surgeries. From what Quinlan had understood, it was usually a matter of a few adjustments to get Kenobi to regain consciousness.

But this time, they weren't able to stabilize him.

The Halls of Healing were busy, with only a few healers to spare. The process of dechipping the Clones had begun immediately upon Council approval. Priority was set on Clones being in the chain of command or with close and regular interactions with the Temple. But the GAR counted millions of soldiers, and the process would probably last months, during which the army would represent an extreme danger. They needed to spread the dechipping process, and equip every Venator-class ship with the right technology and with a properly trained medic. It would significantly reduce the time, but it would still probably take weeks.

Quinlan sensed that those in the know were doing their best to remain calm and professional. He could also see that everyone was in fact freaking out—Jedi and clones alike. More and more people requested updates on the situation, despite attempts to keep critical information from spreading.

Quinlan was worried too, because Kenobi had the means to disable the chip, but Kenobi was out, and he might not wake up in time.

The Archivist did, however, have Vokara Che at his side. The best healer the Temple could provide was tending to him. Despite her efficiency, Quinlan was aware that she was still quite worried.

Kenobi’s brain was sending out irregular signals with no recognizable brainwaves, showing a continuous epileptic seizure. It had the potential to damage his brain if it went on like this. Healers were even considering the possibility of inducing a deep coma to stop the seizure, but they were leaving themselves a window to find a less severe solution. Master Windu had expressed that he'd rather have Kenobi in full possession of his faculties than completely unconscious for an indeterminate period.

Vokara had dryly retorted it was up to the Healer to decide, before throwing out everyone who didn't have any business being there.

Quinlan and Master Windu had grudgingly complied. Windu had left for the Archives, a more pronounced frown than usual creasing his forehead, but Quinlan was reluctant to walk away.

He didn't really know why, but he had taken to heart the role of guardian—which, at the same time, gave him a front-row seat to observe the unfolding of events that would shape history.

Eventually, Quinlan had gone to the Room of a Thousand Fountains, relatively close to the Halls of Healing, to rest and meditate.

The lack of sleep over the last few days was weighing heavily on him. While he was used to operating without sleep for long periods of time, that didn't mean it was easy nor comfortable. Quinlan simply had to endeavor to make the best possible decisions, despite the fact that it was becoming rather difficult to think clearly or remain flexible when considering problems. Nor did it improve his tendency to be impulsive.

A bit of meditation would help lift some of the haze of fatigue.

Quinlan settled down cross-legged at the edge of a small pool in a secluded area where he could still make out the comings and goings of the Jedi enjoying the space. Quinlan closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. He opened his senses, especially the one naturally connected to the Force, to taste its flavors. His talent for psychometry predisposed him to capture far more of the information present in the Force than most Jedi. For him, the Force was an amalgamation of colors, smells, and ghostly touches.

In the Coruscant Temple, the Force had a flavor of antiquity and wisdom, mingled with a sense of protection. The Temple's strong identity permeated the Force within its walls. Beyond the Temple, Quinlan sensed the incessant hum of Coruscant, the city-planet with its countless souls. So many sentient spirits gathered in a relatively small space had a considerable impact on the Force surrounding them. Depending on the location, the Force took on a distinctly different feel. While that which permeated the Temple was soothing and protective, the one Quinlan associated with Coruscant as a whole was nervous, hurried, and exhausted.

One couldn't live in a place like this without paying the price in the long run. Coruscant had become a hollow, skeletal planet, surviving only on what outside worlds could provide to sustain the population. Its inhabitants lived in a perpetual state of dependence, and if they wanted to survive, they had no choice but to become part of a large system that was far larger than the planet.

Quinlan turned his awareness more inwards, and refocused on the soothing waves of the Force he could perceive from the Temple, without getting caught up in the more agitated clamor of the city.

Something touched his mind, awakening and drawing his attention. It was as if someone had said his name while he couldn't actually hear it. Quinlan wasn't sure what had aroused his alarm. Attentive, he opened his senses fully: at first, only the usual feelscape reached him, when a tugging became more perceptible.

The source was close to where he was sitting.

Frowning, Quinlan opened his eyes to scan the room. None of the Jedi in his immediate vicinity had their attention focused on him. The source was coming from somewhere else, and it seemed both near and far, as if smothered by thick walls.

Quinlan got up to search for a quieter place. Despite the high ceilings and vast size of the space, the sound carried little, muffled by architectural features that limited echoes. The result was a varying degree of privacy depending on the location, accentuated by the many plants that flourished here, mingling in small pools and climbing the stone pillars. He sat down in an alcove nestled behind a curtain of ivy.

The call became more insistent, eradicating the idea that it was his imagination. Quinlan opened his eyes and, leaning to one side for easier access to his pocket, pulled out the pendant he'd picked up earlier. He hadn't had time to give it back to Kenobi and—he had to admit to himself—he'd wanted to take the time to inspect it.

Something strange was emanating from the pendant.

Quinlan raised it to his eye level. It was clearly a kyber crystal, large enough and of good quality to be integrated into a lightsaber. Its inner light was powerful enough for this, but Quinlan could clearly see fine fracture lines running across its surface.

Following an impulse he couldn't explain to himself, Quinlan removed the glove from his right hand to examine the crystal with his psychometry.

]o[

Something was happening. Jango could see a wave of concern spreading among the soldiers.

"Whose turn is it?" asked a random soldier to Blindcolor. The latter consulted a data-pad, wrinkling his brow, and replied, "General Billaba's battalion has just arrived, so Commander Grey should be examined soon."

Jango was seated at the table next to his stack of datapads. All day, he had made frequent trips back and forth between the Archives and the HQ, allowing him to fade into the background as someone who had every reason to be there. He took his breaks with the others, as it was the best way to keep in touch with the latest rumors. Jango took a sip of his caff. It was quite good.

"Oh man, I can't wait. We troopers always come last," the Clone sighed, but there was no real rancor in what he'd just said. The Clones had been raised with a visceral awareness of what hierarchy meant. They all knew that, at the end of the day, they had been created to die in the service of a cause beyond themselves.

However, Jango sensed that there was critical information behind this seemingly innocuous interaction.

"And you, when are you scheduled?" asked Jango to Colorblind, to dig deeper into the conversation.

"Normally late afternoon, but the schedule keeps changing. We try to put the officers first, and with the army retreating to Coruscant, there’s always more people to fit in and it's a nightmare to organize."

"Ah. I guess us grunts won't be getting called up for a while, then?"

Colorblind had an apologetic shrug. "That's how things are planned. But don't worry, your turn will come."

"I’m just not sure if it’s worth it. I really hate infirmaries."

"You know, vod, I'd rather have both my legs amputated than keep that chip in my head."

Jango made an effort of will to keep his facial expression under control. Okay. The Jedi knew, and had begun acting to free the Clones. Jango felt a wave of conflicted emotions rise inside him. Good for them, but it was probably too late.

He put down his cup of caff and replied: "Will you let me know when it's my turn? I've got to get back to the Archives and I don't know how long it's going to take me."

"Don't worry, Jan. I've got your comm code, I'll send you a message as soon as there's a spot free."

Jango made sure not to flee the room. He adopted a leisurely gait as he walked the few dozen meters that separated the new HQ from the Archives. He would have to pass on the information to Tyranus as soon as possible, but the Sith was currently in hyperspace, and therefore unreachable. Jango had managed to keep track of Tyranus's personal ship with well-placed tracers. This enabled him to anticipate some of his movements, and to take off when necessary.

Jango knew perfectly well what he had to do, but he was angry at himself for not being comfortable with this decision. He'd always loathed the Jedi, for their responsibility in the death of his family and clan, and for the years of slavery he'd had to endure.

However, the more time passed, the less he wanted to see the Clones foot the bill for a tragedy that had nothing to do with them.

But Jango also knew that if he tried to conceal such important information, he might well have to answer to Tyranus. And he knew that if the Sith were to retaliate, he would do so brutally, without mercy, and Boba would probably be the first victim.

Taking a deep breath, Jango headed for the Archives. If the information he had gathered was accurate, the head of the Order was to meet the head of the Archives soon to deal with a certain artifact, and it was taking precedence over the rest. Jango only had to update Tyranus about a location, and not specifically retrieve said artifact. If all went according to plan, he wouldn't have to stay within these walls much longer.

]o[

Quinlan abruptly found himself in a completely different place. Fighting a wave of disorientation, Quinlan got to his feet and turned to survey his surroundings. Tall grass-covered hills, crowned by thick groves full of life, framed the walls of an ancient enclave. The morning light, offered by a golden sun, caressed the ochre stones of the complex. Several buildings were arranged around a large inner courtyard, in which a vegetable garden and fruit trees flourished.

Apart from the song of the local wildlife, silence reigned here. The enclave was empty. And Quinlan couldn't understand why his throat suddenly tightened.

"Quinlan."

Quinlan turned, and faced an elderly man sitting casually on a low wall, staring at him with a penetrating gaze.

"Do I know you?"

The old man smiled, the many wrinkles that lined his face deepening. The expression brightened his features and made him look younger. A feeling of familiarity struck Quinlan. He knew that smile.

"Not in this time. But in another, we knew each other well, yes." The old man rose, alert and supple, with an energy at odds with his apparent age, to approach him. "Some things shouldn't be lost, though, and I'm rather glad you're here. I've got some things to tell you."

"Who are you? And where are we?" Quinlan felt as if he should have been able to answer his own questions, the information tugging at the edge of his mind without revealing itself.

"This place was dear to your heart. It was mostly your doing, it has to be said." The man gestured encompassing the garden. "You had a particular talent for gardening, by the way. You used to say it did you good to make things come to life and grow."

The old man let the silence return, lost in contemplation of their surroundings. Quinlan didn't feel confused, or disconnected from his own experience as if it were a dream. He remembered perfectly that he had used his psychometry on the kyber. What he was experiencing seemed to be a powerful Force vision. With psychometry, he had sometimes relived a memory as if it were real, but this mostly concerned very intense and often traumatic memories. That's why he kept his hands gloved most of the time.

"I would know if I enjoyed gardening, and that’s definitely not something I would do." This vision was unlike anything he was used to experiencing. Because, usually, the memory didn't seek to interact with him. "What are you?" Quinlan asked, an edge in his voice.

"Ah," said the man, raising a finger didactically. "That's the right question to ask, my young friend. Come, I'll show you something." He turned and headed down a track that meandered and got lost behind one building. Wary, Quinlan followed, but he felt the Force whispering to him to go further and to be open to what this strange figure wanted to share.

As he passed the building’s corner, the scene changed completely: he suddenly found himself back on Coruscant, at the foot of the Jedi Temple.

Only, this was no longer the Jedi Temple.

Quinlan didn't know how he knew, but he had an entirely new set of knowledge at his disposal. It came naturally to him, without seeming foreign, but this understanding didn't match with what he normally knew.

The Temple was no longer a Temple, but an Imperial Palace, the seat of power of a Sith Lord who had dominated the Galaxy for decades. Here, the Force was powerful, but distinctively corrupted, far more than the usual whiff Quinlan associated with Coruscant. The building's spires loomed menacingly, spreading deep shadows. Instead of the usual Temple Guard standing beside the great entrance porch, imperial guards controlled comings and goings.

The strange knowledge taught him that these Guards were artificial creatures, specially created to be loyal, and linked telepathically to the Sith Lord who ruled the Galaxy. Those thralls had invaded many worlds in great numbers, overpowering the slightest semblance of revolt, and effectively culling any hope to change the galaxy for the better.

The Jedi Temple was no longer a symbol of peace and protection. It had been turned into the seat of ruthless power and total domination.

"Why show me all this? What does it mean?"

"If things had continued on their current course, Palpatine would have acceded to power unchallenged, and the Galaxy would have gradually plunged into a Dark Age, the beginnings of which you can glimpse here." The scenery changed brutally, again, and the old man continued: "For a while, I tried to reassure myself that the Galaxy had been through many dark times like this. History teaches us that good can emerge from ashes and ruins, with the natural resilience of societies of thinking beings. All you had to do was to wait for the fate of all authoritarian regimes: collapse in on itself under the weight of too much control. I was patient and actively sought ways to speed up that collapse."

Everything was plunged into darkness, but it was not the darkness induced by a normal night. Quinlan perceived they were in the open air. The atmosphere was sharp, cold, and unnaturally still. No moon was there to provide light, and the stars were barely enough to make out their surroundings. Quinlan heard the old man rummaging in one of his pockets, before powerful bluish light suddenly emerged, illuminating the vicinity. From what Quinlan could see in the sudden glare, the man had used a crystal like Kenobi had used to open the Sith coffer.

The light was casting deep shadows, underlining crudely the street where they were standing. They were in the middle of a deserted city that must have been magnificent in its day. Frost glistened in the light, adorning the ancient stones with a myriad of tiny stars. The harmonious architecture, all graceful curves and decorative ornamentation, was stressed by the impression of abandonment. Yet, the buildings weren't in disrepair, as if the population had left them just a few days before.

No plants had taken advantage to spread and flourish, and Quinlan could see fossilized trunks of what must have been trees many years ago. Everything was cold and immobile. He could barely hear a sound.

The Force murmured about the silent cataclysm that had taken place here.

"What happened?"

"We're on Naboo," the man replied. Quinlan knew this planet, and his mind immediately connected with what he remembered about this city he had the chance to visit a few years ago.

"Impossible," whispered Quinlan. He remembered a place that radiated life and lushness, rich in resources and culture. Here, the Force told him, everything was long dead, and nothing had risen from the ashes, as life normally did after great extinctions.

"The system lost its sun three decades ago. Since then, the planet has been wandering aimlessly in the astral void. Perhaps one day, it will cross the path of another star, and that will be the beginning of something different for it. But I have little hope."

"How is that possible?"

"In Sidious' Empire, it’s common practice to destroy entire planets, or to suck all the energy from stars until there’s nothing remaining, just to prove a point," said the old man with a distant sadness, tinged with weariness, as if he no longer had the strength to lament this tragedy. "I have seen it frequently, and nothing I’ve done has put a stop to it," he added bitterly.

This vision was far too precise to be dismissed as mere fantasy.

"But things have changed, right?" asked Quinlan, and his voice sounded almost aghast. Quinlan prided himself on his equanimity, but he had to admit that what he was witnessing shook him deeply. The Force was very much present here, telling him he was facing something too much like reality.

"Things have changed, indeed, my friend." The old man smiled, and the joy that permeated his features was so pure it was almost painful to watch. "And my role has nearly been fulfilled, at last. What I know of this future is no longer useful, since it ceased to be with Palpatine's death. But the fight isn't over, and I'm going to need your help."

"My help? Can we get to the point and stop with the cryptic talk?" demanded Quinlan, fed up and, admittedly, a bit scared by the whole situation. He really couldn't see any way of freeing himself from this strange vision ensnaring him.

"The Force has led you to Obi-Wan Kenobi. He's going to need you, more than ever, and from what I can see, you've already bonded with him again. It's convenient. What I've been through has left its mark on your time, diverting its course. Some strong bonds that existed in the Force are seeking to exist again, and it won't take much for them to blossom again. But time is running out, and Obi-Wan probably won't have that kind of time at his disposal."

The old man approached Quinlan and took his hand. "Quinlan. Don't let him do everything on his own. That was my burden, because I had no choice. Loneliness is my fate, not Obi-Wan's. My time is nearly up here."

"But who are you? Why have you shown me all this?"

"I am Obi-Wan's future, or perhaps his past, it's hard to tell, my friend." And with that piece of information, Quinlan suddenly recognized Kenobi's eyes and mouth beneath the wrinkles and age distorting his features. He didn't have time to ponder the implications when Old Kenobi continued: "I need your help to help my younger counterpart."

The old man reached between the folds of his tunic and pulled out the pendant he wore around his neck. Quinlan recognized the trinket that had probably led him here when he had examined it with his talent.

"You must return this to Obi-Wan as soon as possible. He needs it to function properly."

"We're in the crystal? You’re a real person, aren’t you? When Kenobi said he wasn't acting under the influence of anyone, he was lying, right?"

The old man wore a crooked smile that contrasted with the open expression he'd been wearing. "It is not a lie, but simply one of the many ways to present reality. If I'm a version of him, you can't really say I'm an outsider, can you?"

Quinlan struggled to grasp the true implications of what he had just learned. His talent was telling him he was experiencing something akin to reality. It went far beyond a mere vision, a mere memory. The construct that was interacting with him had sentience and a signature force that was not quite the same as the Kenobi he knew. There were similarities, as he now knew, but it wasn't the same person.

"Quinlan, time is running out. Obi-Wan can't survive long without me, the separation was too brutal, and both he and I are still far too fragile to endure this for long." The man took his time to consider him, his head tilted and his expression pensive, as if pondering a complex problem. "But perhaps you have another role to play than that of a simple carrier... hmm, yes, that could work." Old Kenobi walked toward him. This icy, dead world that had once been a thriving, active planet still surrounded them. Quinlan's feet were pinned to the ground, as if his nervous system could no longer reach his legs. He wished he'd kept a safe distance. The old man took his hand and there was nothing Quinlan could do to stop him. "Your talent makes you particularly suited to this. Even though I believe you would have been there without my help if you'd had more time, I can't take that chance. I apologize for what I'm about to do," he said gently, but with an undercurrent of steel that allowed no contradiction.

With surprising vigor, the old man took hold of Quinlan's neck, firmly, almost brutally, and Quinlan didn't have time to pull away before he was suddenly blinded by extreme pain.

It was as if his whole being had spontaneously caught fire, and after a moment he realized he was under a devastating psychic attack. Quinlan did his best to raise and strengthen his shields, but the psychic storm in which he was caught immediately tore down the walls he built in opposition.

The intrusion was merciless, and it was painful to the point where Quinlan thought he was going to lose all coherence. He couldn't understand what was happening, but after what seemed like a long time, he made out images and impressions, which imposed themselves and anchored themselves in his mind without taking heed of the damage they caused.

The pain intensified to an unbearable level but, after a climax, ceased abruptly. Quinlan felt disorientated and wondered if he hadn't been dreaming all along.

]o[

Qui-Gon meditated, facing the bay window which offered a superb view of the Coruscant skyline. His apartment was bathed in light every hour of the day and in the hottest hours of the afternoon, it was often necessary to lower the blinds a little to prevent the glare from burning the leaves of his precious plants.

Qui-Gon had occupied these quarters for several decades now. He had been given the use of them when he took under his wing his first padawan, Xanatos Du Crion. He had really learned to be a Jedi Master within these walls, which included a reasonably sized common room with a personal kitchen. Two individual bedrooms and a fresher completed the layout.

Qui-Gon had been allowed to keep this apartment despite his lack of padawan for so long, and this wasn’t really good news. The ranks of the knights had thinned considerably in recent decades. This luxury of unused space was yet another symptom of the cancer eating away at the Order's vitality.

Qui-Gon was not one to remain static for long and found his raison d'être in carrying out the many diplomatic missions assigned to him by the Order. He had refused the command of a battalion, because he was quite contentious with rules and protocols. Mace had agreed fairly quickly that his skills would be better exploited as an independent diplomatic agent, with the ability to intervene in a conflict if he deemed it necessary without compromising a whole chunk of the army.

Between missions, Qui-Gon returned regularly to the Temple, to maintain his friendships and tend to his plants. He had created a veritable garden. Every space, every nook, was occupied by greenery coming from the eight quadrants of the galaxy. All this nature he surrounded himself with enabled him to connect more easily to the Living Force, to which he had a powerful attraction. A fountain surrounded by a pool occupied the center of the room, and the clear sound of flowing water complimented the discreet murmur in the Living Force.

But today, Qui-Gon was meditating not out of habit or mental hygiene, but because he had been shaken by the revelations Mace had made to him the previous evening. Yoda had joined him to meditate, as they both had to agree on what to do about his would-have-been Padawan.

Today's meditation had focused on the bond that still united Qui-Gon to the young Kenobi. It had taken him a long time to realize it, but the link was still there and the dreams he had experienced probably bled from that bond.

Aside from the occasional mood those dreams had forced upon him, Qui-Gon had chosen not to dwell too much on something he couldn't control. His natural temperament tended to dismiss quickly what he felt was irrelevant information.

Perhaps Qui-Gon should have paid more attention, now that he knew what he knew.

Kenobi had assassinated Chancellor Palpatine, with skills that easily surpassed the scrutiny of the most rigorous and active Jedi Knights. Qui-Gon remembered perfectly the reasons Kenobi had given for turning away from the path of Knighthood. Fragile health and a life that had to remain as stress-free as possible. Obviously, this was a blatant lie.

Qui-Gon felt he had critical information offered to him all these years. It had been conveyed to him by these dreams, which honestly seemed more like memories, or visions, in the way they remained coherent, fixed and detailed.

Qui-Gon stretched mentally, before folding back his mind within the confines of his body. As he did so, he brushed lightly against Yoda's presence, and received an acknowledgement. Joint meditation, with someone he trusted, was always an exercise he enjoyed, and one he rarely could practice outside the walls of the Temple.

This joint meditation had enabled him to transmit his memories of these dreams directly to Yoda, who could see them with fresh eyes and, perhaps, would permit him to spot important details.

Qui-Gon sighed when he opened his eyes, refreshed by this dive in the Force. It felt distinctly better, now that the Sith Lord had been removed from the vicinity.

"I think I've given you the gist of what I've been able to gather, Master. I don't know if that's any help to you. Personally, I feel like I'm untangling a knot I should have been working on twenty years ago." Qui-Gon shook his head, irritated by his tendency to overlook what wasn't directly under his nose.

"Interesting, this information certainly is," Yoda replied thoughtfully, his wise gaze lost in the view that stretched out at their feet. The Temple allowed them to remove themselves from the incessant activity of Coruscant. Qui-Gon sometimes felt completely disconnected from the concerns of the general population. He appreciated the Temple for what it was: a refuge, a home; but he preferred to spend time on planets that allowed him to touch the ground, walk under the foliage of trees, and mingle with its inhabitants. That allowed him to be truly connected to his surroundings.

"Have you spotted any recurring themes? I note the feeling of having to hide and of being stalked all the time. Fear, for himself and for others."

"Infinite sadness," Yoda added gravely, and Qui-Gon shivered. Indeed, sadness was so omnipresent, in all these visions, that Qui-Gon didn't even register it anymore.

"A tragedy that cannot be named. A loss so catastrophic that it was not possible to recover. Robbed of all hope, this man was."

Qui-Gon let the silence stretch, letting the words resonate within himself and into the Force. It sounded right. He sighed, this time in defeat.

"Kenobi is a genuine mystery. I hope the Healers can stabilize him. We need to talk to him, because this bond isn't there by chance."

"Something to build with this man, we have, my grand-padawan. In my long years, rarely deceived, my instincts have. Always destined to be part of my Lineage, young Obi-Wan has. Too late to make up for lost time, I hope it’s not."

]o[

Quinlan regained consciousness in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He was lying on his back and must have fallen backward during the vision. An Initiate whose name he didn't know shook his shoulder, the features of his innocent face taut with worry. A maelstrom of anarchic thoughts and images was preventing him from thinking.

All Quinlan knew was that he had to get back to the Halls of Healing immediately. The sense of urgency was leaving no room for anything else. Closing his eyes, Quinlan let a few seconds pass to fight the feeling of dizziness he was experiencing. Gritting his teeth, he returned to a sitting position. Kenobi's pendant was still in his clenched right hand. He placed it carefully on the ground, eager to break physical contact with the thing.

Groping next to him, Quinlan retrieved his glove and carefully put it on. He felt he needed to recover and gather his wits, but the conviction that he had no time to lose became too pressing. Quinlan grabbed the trinket before rising on shaky legs. He placed a heavy hand on the Initiate’s shoulder and spoke a few reassuring words. Quinlan couldn't even tell if what he said was coherent or not, and judging by the doubt on the Initiate's face, he had probably missed his goal.

No matter. Quinlan made his way to the Halls of Healing, his mind in tatters. It would probably take him many meditation sessions to sort out what had just happened.

Chapter 20: Lineage

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. He had the pasty mouth and foggy mind characteristic of the aftermath of an epileptic seizure. Until yesterday, he'd been lucky enough not to experience one these past years, but he supposed that the battle with Sidious had drastically destabilized the fragile balance he had established until now.

He groaned, raising a hand to his forehead. Something was wrong. He knew that something important had happened, but he couldn't put his finger on the memory that was nagging his mind.

"You're awake. Good." Obi-Wan recognized Vokara Che’s stern voice. She put a cool hand on his brow and forced open his eyelids to check his pupillary response. He winced, but he did his best to be as accommodating as possible. Healer Che was one of those people it was better not to antagonize; Obi-Wan didn't want to be bedridden any longer than necessary.

"How long have I been unconscious?" questioned Obi-Wan. His voice was raspy, and he cleared his throat tentatively. No pain, that was at least something. He remembered debriefing some of what he knew to the Council, while keeping the most sensitive information to himself, and then darkness.

He frowned. What could have caused the seizure? Something eluded him.

"Almost five hours."

Kriff. That must have been a terrible seizure. When he was younger and his brain was still learning to adapt, those attacks could last a few dozen minutes at most, but never that long.

"Fortunately, Master Vos allowed us to understand part of what was wrong." Healer Che fitted two sets of electrodes to his temples. "We could have saved time, if you didn't have this annoying tendency to keep so many terrible secrets."

"What's Quinlan got to do with it?" asked Obi-Wan, defensively.

Healer Che patted his chest, where his Soul-Kyber rested, prominently displayed.

Oh.

"Apparently, he had an interesting encounter with a Force Ghost," she said plainly, as if discussing the best way to boil tubers. "The Head of the Order has scheduled an appointment for you with a mind healer tomorrow."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to protest, but she added before he could get a word out: "A mandatory appointment." She pressed her finger firmly into his chest to emphasize her point. "Enough with the secrets. If we're going to get through this, you must share the information that concerns us all." The line of her mouth softened slightly to settle into an almost smile. "I'll let you get some rest. Physically you're doing better, although I'll keep you under observation for a few more hours. And don't think about leaving early, because I'll know, understand?"

Obi-Wan nodded, numb. Well. It seemed the tooka was out of the bag, and the Jedi wouldn't leave him alone until they'd forced him to tell the entire story.

"I'll behave, don't worry." He had a conversation to have with an old friend, anyway.

Healer Che gave him a dubious look, patted him on the shoulder and left him alone in the room where he was resting. The smell and the medical equipment around were telling him he was in the Halls of Healing. The atmosphere and ambient sounds were muffled, but Obi-Wan could make out a stir beyond the walls of his room. Despite his persistent drowsiness, he had satisfactory control over the Force, and he projected his perceptions further to get an idea of what was going on around him.

The Halls of Healing were bursting with activity. Obi-Wan easily picked out the luminous signatures of the Jedi Healers, and the one belonging to Bant in particular, who radiated a determination that her obvious fatigue didn't abate. Knowing she was close comforted him. There were also many signatures he didn't know, but which carried the ambiguous innocence typically associated with Clones. Good . Things were settling quite satisfactorily on that front.

Obi-Wan would use this lull in his schedule to meditate for good, as he should have done much earlier. He took advantage of being finally alone to concentrate on what was currently preoccupying him. The ambient Force was unfortunately agitated and the proximity of the Clones was stirring up complex emotions in him, but it would have to do. Obi-Wan was used to meditating in far worse conditions.

Meditation had become as natural an activity for Obi-Wan as a basic necessity of his daily life. It wasn't something he did effortlessly, of course, for meditating was in itself the maintenance of an effort of concentration. But he had done it so often in his life that the desired state—a deep and wide perception of what surrounded him, and in particular of what the Force had to transmit—was reached in just a few seconds.

Obi-Wan had his own preferred posture and places to enter meditation, but he managed it without difficulty in a wide variety of situations. Even in combat, he could enter meditation while continuing to fight and make strategic decisions.

Because of the peculiarities of his mind, frequent and extensive meditation sessions were necessary to help him support the coherence of his identity. In recent years, this has been more a matter of maintenance than genuine progress in this endeavor, leading to a satisfactory continuity of his consciousness, with Old Ben's memories and knowledge blending seamlessly with his own.

However, ever since his fight with Sidious, he had felt Old Ben's presence dissociating from his mind again. From what Healer Che had told him, something had happened between Quinlan and the persona residing in the Soul-Kyber, and that sounded ominous. Old Ben had apparently reached out to Quinlan to pass on certain information, notably that Obi-Wan needed the direct proximity of the Soul-Kyber to regain consciousness. He had never been cognizant of the fact that Old Ben could act autonomously, without himself being able to intervene or being aware of what was happening.

But something else had happened, something profound.

In the scape of his mind, Obi-Wan could see it perfectly now. In all its solidity and magnificence, a perfectly constituted Force Bond was linking him to Quinlan. Oh, wow . He couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder; he had Old Ben's memories of what it felt like, but he'd never really experienced this sense of belonging in this life. The fledgling bonds he shared with Anakin and Bant couldn’t compare, and that made him happy and sad at the same time.

The bond was currently strongly shielded on Quinlan’s side, but Obi-Wan could still pick up on impressions; the bond so powerful that it would take a constant effort of attention to prevent information from bleeding through.

Incidentally, Obi-Wan's new-found attention to this bond drew Quinlan's attention, and the Kiffar took the opportunity to share just how annoyed he was. Obi-Wan had the impression of hearing him grumble before Quinlan sent him the mental equivalent of a smack on the back of the head.

For a few seconds, Obi-Wan was thrown out of his meditative state, flustered.

Okay. Obi-Wan would have to take account of this new presence in his mind and find a new balance. Concentrating once again, he found himself back in his mindscape and raised his strongest shield to keep the information coming from Quinlan at bay.

Obi-Wan would learn to make room for it. He had no doubt that, in time, he would get used to it. It was strange all the same, to finally share that special intimacy he remembered having experienced with Qui-Gon and Anakin in particular. Obi-Wan was worried about Quinlan, however, because this bond had been imposed on him brutally, without any time for it to form naturally, through genuine friendship and shared experiences.

Well, no use crying over spilt blue milk. They would surely figure it out, given the time.

Diving deeper into meditation, Obi-Wan wandered through the meanders of his mind, walking along crystalline paths that didn't quite reflect his surroundings, but which resonated with ancient, distorted, or vanished memories. With him not sleeping, Obi-Wan had a perfect mastery of the mind-places he wished to visit.

He reached the portico, nested in its bucolic clearing, but Old Ben was missing.

The old man was finicky and definitively gifted with his own will. If he wasn't there, it meant the ghost didn’t want to speak with him, and it worried Obi-Wan. Old Ben had to explain what had happened with Quinlan. Obi-Wan sighed in frustration. How could he save the galaxy if someone purposely kept important information from him?

The portico was still standing tall, the space between its pillars shadowy and warped. Obi-Wan couldn't get through. The path to Old Ben's time no longer existed, for the universe from which he came had collapsed in on itself when Obi-Wan had begun to act to alter its destiny.

On the side panels, the fissures were still there. Of course, they were.

They weren't going to disappear overnight, just because he felt better. Obi-Wan didn't even know if it was possible that they could be healed. He had to do his best, however, to encourage the kyber to recover. Obi-Wan ran a hand over the panel to the right, where the deepest fracture lay. When he looked inside, he could make out nothing, as if it were a bottomless pit, as dark as the cosmic void.

Obi-Wan shuddered. Knowing these rifts existed in the very heart of his mind made him uncomfortable. Obi-Wan knelt, facing the panel, and placed both hands on either side of the crack. Closing his eyes to abstract himself from the metaphorical vision of his mind, he called the Force to him and channeled it directly into the pillar. If a crystal could be alive, then the kyber was, and it fed off the Force. Perhaps infusing a localized flow of Force would encourage the kyber to heal and regrowth around the crack.

Obi-Wan concentrated in this way for some time, until he sensed that the pillar would no longer accept the Force that was offered. Opening his eyes to look closer, he wasn't sure he could see any difference. Obi-Wan sighed. He would probably have to be patient to see the damage being resorbed, if that were even possible.

In the meantime, Obi-Wan would have to be careful not to impose any further strain on his mind.

Sighing again, this time physically, Obi-Wan came out of meditation and stretched. His shoulder was still throbbing, but much less so than in the morning. His jaw no longer ached as well. Healer Che had apparently done what she could to improve his general condition while he had been unconscious.

Obi-Wan may not be at his best, but he was finally free of the bulk of his migraine. His mastery of the Force had returned, unblemished. At last, he finally felt less vulnerable.

]o[

The night had already fallen when Mace returned to his quarters. As the door closed behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Another eventful day. Mace wasn't sure how much he enjoyed these interesting times; he was sure a saying existed on that, about boring life being, in fact, a blessing. Ha.

He really looked forward to this evening. After months off-planet, Depa had finally returned with Ahsoka, and Mace was delighted to be reunited with his entire bloodline for dinner.

A delicious aroma greeted him, which told him that Depa had quickly found her marks in the kitchen that had seen her grow and blossom to knighthood. Mace had taught her culinary art, and the recipes he had inherited from his own master. He had never been able to interest Anakin as much in cooking; his padawan preferred instead to spend his free time in his workshop or training his saberwork. Anakin was nevertheless willing to spend long hours cooking when he did so in Depa's company.

His two padawans adored each other like the siblings they were. Anakin admired Depa, and had retained a respect for her that he hadn't expressed for his own Master for a long time. Her gentleness and flexibility, which complimented her uprightness and frankness, enabled her to get things from Anakin that Mace had to fight constantly to obtain. A few months ago, Ahsoka had joined their Lineage, and she promised to be a perfect blend between Depa and Anakin: headstrong, honest, with a tendency to confront authority.

When he entered the living room, the three young people were seated around the high table, having a drink together. Depa greeted him with her warm smile.

"Mace! I'm glad to see you tonight," she said, stepping forward to kiss him gently on the cheek. Force, how he had missed her. He took her forearm to hug her, and she returned the embrace fully. Underneath the joy and pleasure, Mace felt the ineffable relief of finally seeing his loved ones again after a difficult military campaign failed to take their lives.

Ahsoka hopped towards him to join the embrace, taking advantage of her still-svelte frame to intrude between them. "Grand Master! I want a hug too! And I think you need one too. You look awfully tired."

Mace chuckled. "Indeed, little Ahsoka, indeed. I haven't slept much these last few days."

"For real, the interesting action was on Coruscant, and not elsewhere!" exclaimed Anakin, as if he had concerned him directly. He had indeed been privy to a certain degree of knowledge, despite his status as a mere padawan unable to keep a secret.

Depa smiled fondly at Anakin, reaching up to ruffle his hair. She then glanced at Mace, concern evident on her face, and reached through their bond. Master, what's really going on? Why has my Commander been urgently sent to the Halls of Healing? Depa had mastered the art of mental discussion with disconcerting ease, using the bond between them to convey perfectly formed, intelligible sentences.

We've just uncovered a plot against the entire Jedi Order, and the Republic. I'll give you the details later, when we're alone. He smiled at Ahsoka, his adorable grand-Padawan. The young Togruta had grown up, even if her species developed more slowly than near-humans. This meant that it had been far too long without seeing each other.

Mace hoped that the war would soon be resolved, and that the Jedi would stop paying a high price for the madness of power-hungry individuals. He didn't want to see any more children fighting and dying in a purposeless war. The Sith Lord had played his part perfectly, blinding them to the meaning of the true sacrifice the Jedi had agreed to make, entangled in loyalties that made sense no longer.

The Force sang of their joy and contentment at finding each other again, and in these emotions radiated, powerful and solid, the Light Side.

Fools. They'd been fools to think that war would bring them any salvation.

Mace closed his eyes, and basked in the soothing waves of love and belonging.

]o[

Jocasta Nu was a woman who had lived through a great many trials in her long life. Her position as Archivist at the Coruscant Temple was only the culmination of a long and rich career within the Jedi Order.

In addition to the direct experience she had amassed, she had also been an indirect witness, through her archiving work, to a large number of historical facts. Jocasta was not a naive person, and was not easily fooled. She had a keen eye for individuals who tried to contravene the strict rules she enforced daily at the Archives.

In any case, up until now, she had thought that little escaped her vigilance.

She didn't know what to make of young Obi-Wan. He had managed to fool everyone. She had discussed at length with Mace the conclusions of Tera's research. The old investigator was a keen sleuth, and once he had sniffed out a lead, he wouldn't let up until he had uncovered everything connected with his investigation.

And what he had found out about Obi-Wan was quite astonishing. And rather vexing.

For a good twenty years, Obi-Wan had been diverting the resources of the archaeology department to finance and feed his parallel network aimed at eliminating the Sith Lord plotting the Jedi Order’s destruction.

The fact they owed their survival to a man who had lied to them for most of his life infuriated Jocasta. The meek and quiet man she had come to know was just a facade. At the same time, she partly understood why Obi-Wan had proceeded this way, given the success of his endeavor. But Jocasta wouldn't leave it at that; she was determined to build an honest and transparent relationship with him starting now.

That's why she had offered to keep him company tonight. It was a kind way of saying that she was watching him, and wouldn't leave him alone. Who knows what a man of that caliber might think of doing when he wasn't under the scrutinizing eye of someone.

Said man heaved a particularly audible sigh, bordering on dramatic. Jocasta raised an eyebrow, one that she knew perfectly reflected her ability to placate anyone with her stern obstinacy.

"Come, come, young man. You need your rest. The Healers have been very worried about you, I want to remind you."

Obi-Wan massaged his temple, as he tended to do when annoyed. Jocasta didn't know if this actually translated into a migraine, but, given his medical background, it was quite possible.

"Madam Nu, I've wasted enough time here already—the entire afternoon!—and I'm feeling much better. Why are you here anyway? You must have more pressing things to take care of than me, haven’t you?"

"Are you questioning my ability to make decisions, young man?" Jocasta liked using her frankness to keep her interlocutors on their toes. Diplomacy was overrated. The resulting conversations were always far more interesting than flat exchanges of banalities.

"Who will manage the Archives in your absence?" asked Obi-Wan undeterred.

"The Archives are closed for the time being, I thank you for your honest and sincere concern."

Kenobi huffed out a long-suffering sigh again. "I don't need a sick guard. I've got work to do, you said so yourself."

Jocasta smiled. "Ah, indeed. I thank you for your professional ethics." She pulled from the folds of her ample robe an assortment of datapads she had been careful to gather before coming to the Halls of Healing, and placed them on the shelf positioned across the comfortable armchair he occupied. "Here, I have some filing for you to work on, something you can do very well by staying here."

Obi-Wan frowned, taking the stack of datapads rather obediently. In the years she had had the pleasure of working with him, Jocasta had never had to complain about his diligence. He worked efficiently and quietly, and had never needed much guidance in the tasks he was assigned.

Jocasta supposed that a good level of autonomy was indeed necessary to slay a Sith Lord alone and unsupported.

"Do I have to do this now?"

"Do you want to work or not? Just know that leaving now is not an option."

"Force, why did everyone decide to make my life difficult today?"

"That, young man, I think you brought that upon yourself."

Obi-Wan slowly joined his hands in front of his face, elbows casually resting on the shelf, and looked at her inscrutably. His clear gaze betrayed no emotion, and Jocasta perceived only stillness in the Force. She responded to this rather unnerving stare with a raised eyebrow. Obi-Wan scowled. “Fine!” He spread the datapads out in front of him, displaying their content in turns to have a general look at what he would have to exercise his skills on.

"You've decided to modify the filing criteria of works belonging to the Agriculture section?" Kenobi wrinkled his brow.

"I've started to work on it, but I need your input on these works, and I was wondering about the appropriateness of placing them in the Ethnology and Cultural Practices section instead. For the populations studied, it might prove relevant."

He responded with a soft hum and began stacking datapads in different piles in silence. Jocasta took out the holobook she had started reading earlier in the day, and immersed herself in the work.

Less than ten minutes later, Obi-Wan chimed in: "What have you done with the Wayfinder?"

"Don't worry, the thing is safe," she replied absently, her nose still immersed in her book.

"You kept it at the Temple?"

"Your warning, just before you...lost consciousness, was eloquent enough for me to make the necessary arrangements. I also had specific instructions from Master Windu regarding your case.”

"Oh?" said Obi-Wan, visibly disliking the direction the conversation was taking. "And would you be so kind as to share the substance of it with me, please?"

"Why, certainly. I will be happy to share some sensitive information with you, along with all the parties concerned. There's no need to seek a monopoly on information, Archivist Kenobi."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I won't tell you where the Wayfinder is kept now . You’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning for that. We set a time for a meeting, and you’re invited. Don't worry, it's safe. I've made all the necessary arrangements."

"You can't keep me in the dark, I need to know." Obi-Wani tried to keep his tone of voice even and detached, but he was failing miserably at it. He seemed to feel real emotional vexation here.

Jocasta looked up from his book to look at him and smirked. "What's the matter with you, you who are usually so aloof and cold. You don't like having no control over things, do you?” Obi-Wan blinked, clearly taken aback. “Don't worry, I'm a bit the same, I understand very well what you're feeling."

Jocasta knew perfectly well she was a bit of a control-freak herself. It was a necessary quality to keep something like the Archives in working order. But in her long life, she had learned to dampen that trait, to go along the flow of the uncontrollable when necessary. Obi-Wan was in need of acquiring this learning, it seemed. Obi-Wan had to understand that his influence was, at the end of things, limited. He would survive not knowing everything.

The young man sighed again. "You can't keep me in the dark like this."

"We'll discuss it more extensively with Master Windu tomorrow. I think you've earned the right to relax. How about learning to let go a little, hmm?"

"It's in one of the Vaults, isn't it?"

Jocasta merely replied with a thin smile, accompanied by the raised eyebrow she adopted when asked a stupid question—at least, one whose answer could be easily guessed if one made the effort to think a little.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow, then?" he asked, aggravated.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow. Keep your mind occupied with something else," she said, gesturing towards the datapads.

]o[

Quinlan was lying in the dark, in his apartment. He didn't dare to close his eyes. Every time he let his thoughts drift, horrific images invaded his mind. He felt like a castaway in the middle of a storm, doing his best to keep his head above water, only thanks to a poor piece of wood.

Several hours had passed since his involuntary plunge into Kenobi's strange psyche. He felt he hadn't yet grasped the full implications of what he had just learned, but it made so much sense, as if the light had suddenly illuminated the darkness of his ignorance.

Kenobi had, with an obscure technique based on the particular nature of kyber, managed to project his personality and knowledge into his own past. And thus altered a future so horrifying that hope had been dead a long time ago.

The Temple, gone astray.

The Jedi, all but extinguished.

And Skywalker...Force, Skywalker.

And in the midst of it all, Kenobi had survived. Survived on grief alone, refusing what the Galaxy had become, until he found the means of bending time and fate themselves.

After updating Healer Che with his newfound knowledge, Quinlan had gone to see the Mindhealer, who had helped mitigate the damage his psyche was suffering. Fortunately, it was not as extensive as he had feared, given the intensity of the pain he had felt. The Mindhealer still had to act to help Quinlan recover and to take stock of his psyche’s general state. Things had been tampered with, and it would take time to determine precisely what had been done. Quinlan supposed that a whole memory dump would do that to his mind, but he wasn’t the specialist here.

Quinlan would need to work on his shields as well. Annoyingly, a strange new Force Bond thrived, much stronger than those that bound him to Tholme or Aayla.

He could feel it, vibrant and intense, in the back of his mind, and he knew that if he turned his attention to it, he would become aware of Kenobi and his state of mind. Despite the Master-level shields currently in place, colors of emotion and whispers of thoughts managed to bleed through.

Quinlan was thus able to tell that Kenobi was still awake, and feeling something akin to fond exasperation. Impression of wisdom, unyielding competence, and dry wit . Jocasta Nu kept him company. Quinlan sighed. He wouldn't find sleep easily, despite his exhaustion. He had to find someone to talk to.

He would have liked to spend some time with Aayla, but unfortunately, she was still off-planet. Quinlan wasn't sure where Tholme was. The old man liked staying elusive, even to his close ones, by regularly cutting himself off from the Force to remain untraceable. He might be here, in the Temple, or at the other side of the Galaxy. If he wanted to know, Quinlan could send a message, but he wasn’t assured to receive a response anytime soon.

Quinlan got up, put on a simple tunic, and headed for the Shadows headquarters. Quinlan might find a sympathetic ear among his comrades. The Jedi Shadows, at least, knew how to hold their tongues.

The Shadow HQ was in a slightly removed part of the Temple, off the main thoroughfares. Most Jedi knew that the Temple had a dedicated intelligence service, and that the organization existed for a very long time. The Shadows were the subtle hand of the Order, and had traditionally been founded to fight in secret against the Order's enemies, notably the Sith. This fact intimately linked the Shadows to intelligence as a whole, as such they were overseen by the Council of First Knowledge. Most Jedi, however, didn't know who specifically belonged to the Shadows.

The rooms allocated to their activity were conveniently located between the Archives and the Quartermaster's Office. Going there never seemed suspicious, as anyone could need to stock up on supplies from time to time. Quinlan nonchalantly passed the Cellar entrance, and opened one of the nondescript doors that followed. He entered a plain storage room where crates were stacked in partitions.

He went behind an aisle and put his hand on an unremarkable spot on the wall. A concealed door slid open, letting him into a large room of a completely different kind. There, the devices and equipment the Shadows needed to act were centralized.

At the central desk sat Tera Sinube, who was consulting a stack of documents. Keeping him company was—a pleasant surprise—Master Tholme. Quinlan was genuinely happy and relieved to see him. His encounter with Kenobi’s Force Ghost had severely shaken him, and he felt almost like a youngster in need of a hug.

Tera and Tholme were apparently sharing a hot drink. They raised their heads to greet him with a smile. "What brings you here, Master Vos?" Tera rasped warmly.

Quinlan settled himself at the table, sitting down heavily on the vacant chair. "Is there any caf left?"

Tholme raised an eyebrow, a questioning look on his face. "You look terrible, Padawan. Trouble with your current mission?"

Quinlan took his head in his hands. "You've no idea. Force. What a f*ck-up, I swear."

Tera let out a chuckle, as he continued to consult his documents meticulously, before asking: "Kenobi, I presume?"

Quinlan grunted, as Tholme solicitously poured him his caf. The potent aroma—the drink tended to be more concentrated as the evening wore on, to help the agents get through long hours of wakefulness if necessary—comforted him.

"Who's Kenobi?" asked Tholme, curious.

"That's what we're trying to find out, my friend, and it's a question that is, surprisingly, pretty hard to answer," said Tera.

"Is he your current target?"

Quinlan let a few moments pass before replying, "He's the guy who killed Palpatine. Haven't you heard?"

"Ah! Is he the one everyone's talking about? I didn't have time to look into it, I was out all day. What about this man causes you so much concern, Padawan?"

Quinlan took a sip of the caf, which was still hot enough to draw a line of fire down his throat. He appreciated the sensation, which helped anchor him in reality. It seemed to him that, at times, a fourth person was watching him, hidden in the shadows.

"He's a Jedi, and a simple Archivist at that, who's been working daily at the Temple for the span of these last nine months."

Tera added: "He's the head of his own intelligence organization, and has embezzled a hell of a lot of artifacts to finance his operations for two decades, if this interesting documentation is to be believed." He held up a datapad to emphasize his point.

"And nobody saw anything," said Quinlan. “He acted basically alone all along.”

Tholme chuckled. "Ah, indeed. It's not very glorious for our intelligence services.” he put a comforting hand on Quinlan’s shoulder, and Quinlan couldn’t help but to lean a little. “But it's an extraordinary affair, the likes of which you don't come across very often in your career," added Tholme, almost enthusiastically.

Quinlan could relate, because that's how he had felt ever since he had managed to catch Kenobi.

Now, he basically didn't know what to think. He felt his focus drift naturally to the new bond that had taken hold of his mind. Kenobi seemed to have drifted into sleep, and it made Quinlan curiously drowsy.

"I suppose hiding like that in broad daylight is effective, when you choose the right façade." Quinlan sighed. "I may have made a mistake, Masters. I touched something I shouldn't have, and now I find myself with a Force Bond I don't know what to do with, and a thorough knowledge of who Kenobi really is. And I'm not sure what to make of it all."

]o[

"Are you still in pain?" asked Wolffe, concerned. They both stood at the foot of the grand staircase leading to the entrance of the Jedi Temple. A steady stream of Clones came and went, and more and more of them sported the characteristic little bandage that testified to successful surgery.

Fox shook his head. "A slight headache, quite bearable." He shivered in the evening air, still a little numb from the anesthetic. But his thoughts were becoming sharper and clearer, so much so that he wondered if the chip had had an ongoing, insidious effect on his ability to think.

The relief he felt wasn't complete, however, and he felt a knot, a tension twisting in his gut. He knew he wouldn't feel at peace until all his brothers had been freed from this internal slave collar.

Wolffe consulted his chrono, a concerned crease on his forehead. "It should be my turn soon. Damn, I can't wait any longer."

Fox laid a hand on his brother's shoulder, without answering. Words weren't necessary to understand how Wolffe felt. He continued: "There are millions of us, and it's going to take months to free everyone."

Fox sighed. "We're going to try to hijack the orbital care centers to speed things up, and we need to do it as soon as possible before the Senate asks questions. Cody’s still deployed with General Trebor, and the sector they are overviewing has quite a number we can potentially use. But that would mean sending a good part of the army there. We'll have to be cunning so that the non-Jedi officers don't notice the maneuver."

"Hmm. I don't like it. It's a real kriffed-up situation, if you ask me.” Wolffe shook his head and sighed. “I'd take you out for a drink, but I don't think it's wise to get drunk after brain surgery."

"I guess you're right, vod," said Fox with a tight smile. "Let's be wise and wait until tomorrow."

Chapter 21: Foresight

Chapter Text

In the dead of the night, Obi-Wan awoke. He was alone in his room. He must have slipped into sleep without realizing it, while he concentrated on the task Madam Nu had assigned him.

He admitted that work had done him good, allowing him to leave his preoccupations at bay while he focused his mind on a task that was repetitive and tedious, but whose nature allowed it to be accomplished in a semi-meditative state.

But something was unsettling him now. He frowned. He felt a stirring in the Force, and assumed it was this that had awakened him. He closed his eyes to extend his awareness beyond the limits of his body.

The night was well advanced, and many of the Temple's residents were asleep, tinting the Force with the torpor of sleep. But behind this quietness, Obi-Wan tasted anticipation and unrest.

Obi-Wan stood up cautiously. He needed to move. His muscles were still slightly sore, a remnant of the severity of the seizure, but he felt better than he had in days. No one was checking on him; it was time to leave quietly. Obi-Wan didn't need to stay in a place where people might take too close of an interest in him. He sorely missed his tranquility and anonymity, but he assumed that was a time long past.

For now, he needed to check the Vaults, or at least the manifests relating to their contents. Obi-Wan needed to know where the Wayfinder was kept, and he wouldn't wait until tomorrow for the decision of people who had no idea what the thing meant, even if they were Jedi. Not when a vague feeling of urgency was building steadily in the Force.

He put on his robe and his soft-soled shoes. Someone had put his lightsaber on the little table adorning the corner. He clipped it at his belt and felt his tension alleviate marginally, before quietly leaving his room. The corridor was deserted, still Obi-Wan used a glamor to not draw attention thus slipping out without raising alarm. He didn't think anyone would have stopped him from going out anyway, but he preferred to avoid unnecessary discussion.

Few Jedi were about at this time of night. This was how Obi-Wan preferred the Temple: quiet, peaceful, but alive.

It took him only a few minutes to reach the Archives, and the research unit where his office was located. It was a place that never completely slept, as the various researchers worked there at all hours of the day and night. Taking a quick scan of the surroundings, Obi-Wan noticed that very few people frequented the surroundings. Perfect.

Like a ghost, Obi-Wan entered his office without his presence being registered by anyone. When the door closed softly behind him, he turned on the light, breathed a sigh of relief and felt his shoulders unclench. He still felt a tension in the Force, but he felt better being able to act and not staying powerlessly bedridden.

Sitting in his desk chair, he pulled out his comm to check his messages. Quite a few were waiting for him with updates on the movements of some of his Persons of Interest. He would take stock with them tomorrow; he didn't feel like cross-referencing the movements again when he had already done so in the morning.

He did, however, have a message from... Qui-Gon? The man wasn't part of his contacts list in this life, but Obi-Wan knew his comm code by heart. Some information had not faded with the years.

Displaying the message, he saw that it was an invitation to lunch for the next day. Odd. The man had never sought to pursue their almost-relationship, after Obi-Wan had strongly discouraged it. Obi-Wan frowned. The old fox was surely motivated by curiosity. He had obviously heard the latest rumors and probably wanted to get to the bottom of things.

Qui Gon had formulated his message in such a way that if Obi-Wan wanted to decline, he had to do so unambiguously.

It was maybe the occasion to build a relationship with the man that had been his Master. The way things are going currently, Obi-Wan might not have a choice.

All those Jedi seemed determined not to leave him alone anyway.

Wrinkling his brow, he decided to think it over and answer adequately tomorrow. He had more pressing things to deal with than worrying about his social life right now.

Something was still bothering him. Yet things seemed to be moving in the right direction, which was a surprise in itself. The Jedi hadn't locked him up, and they were well on the way to settling the Clone question. But Obi-Wan felt he was missing something important.

Not knowing where the Wayfinder was seemed to be his current main problem.

The Force was waiting for something to happen, and Obi-Wan had gone through too many tragedies to think it would be anything but a catastrophe.

Pulling out the computer in his office, which was connected directly to the Vaults manifest. Nothing significant had been deposited or removed there today. But that in itself was not revealing. Madam Nu could very well have restricted the information to be accessible only to a certain number of people.

Obi-Wan had the credentials to check the contents of the safes himself. At least, he had until two days ago, but perhaps that had since been revoked. Frowning, he resolved to go directly and check for himself, consequences be damned. If he got yelled at, it wouldn't change his situation anyway. He would rather not wait to find out more.

The Vaults were gathered at the end of a corridor, at the very edge of the Archives. To access them, it was necessary to have the appropriate codes, as well as a tactile recognition system that was not easy to bypass. But, like any security system, if you had the patience and the means, no system was inviolable. And Obi-Wan knew this place well. On several occasions, he had been able to tap into the Vaults to serve his personal purposes, without anyone being the wiser.

If there was one specialty Obi-Wan had, it was how to act and move undetected. Old Ben had had extensive experience, spanning more than a dozen decades. In Sidious's Galaxy, acting without leaving a trace had proved vital for him.

On his way, Obi-Wan met no one. He kept his senses open, scanning his surroundings regularly to detect any presences. There were a few people going about their business, whose attention was not directed at him.

He found himself in front of the access panel, and as he tried to enter his credentials, the Vaults denied him access. Well, that answered part of his question. It was highly likely that whatever he was interested in was indeed behind these walls, but he couldn't be sure, which didn't sit well with him.

Frowning, Obi-Wan tried to assess whether it was worth burning one of his cards just to reassure himself and alleviate his rising tension, or simply surrender and wait for the morning.

"Ah, young Kenobi. I'm glad to see you here. Your expected behavior will let me win the bet I made with Mace."

Obi-Wan turned around, with a frustrated huff. Madam Nu was standing in the corridor, slightly out of breath. She must have set an alarm warning her of his failed access, and she must have run all the way here from her office.

"I wanted to let you rest quietly, but I see you've been unruly. Not unlike a child, if I may say so," she said with a mischievous smile. "And, between us, I had to let you have your freedom to win my bet."

Obi-Wan crossed his arms defensively. He felt vaguely ashamed, and vexed at being so predictable. "So the Wayfinder is definitely here, I knew it."

Madam Nu raised a finger. "Ah, think what you will, you'll get nothing from me tonight on that point."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. Madam Nu was far too shrewd to be fooled.

"Come now, my friend. Since you're up and determined not to want to sleep, why don't you come and share a cup of tea with me?"

Obi-Wan let out a defeated sigh. "Fine, my dear, let's both have a drink. At this point, I suppose I've got nothing better to do."

"Now that's a wise decision, which is amazing coming from you lately, mind you." As she spoke, she reached over to sling an arm over his shoulder to nudge him in the direction of her office. "I'd love to see you go back to being the reliable, sensible Archivist I once knew so well. I'm sure he's hiding somewhere, not so far away, is he?"

Obi-Wan didn't give her the grace of answering, and let himself be led away from the Vaults’ entrance. Rather grudgingly, he had to admit.

Madam Nu kept her arm around his shoulders, crowding his personal space. He didn't know what to make of it, and wasn't sure he appreciated the closeness, even if a distant part of him relished in the physical contact.

They headed for her office, which occupied a central position in the Archives, allowing her to better supervise the Archives activities. Reaching a busier part of the Archives, they passed a few people, most of them Jedi immersed in their research, and a Clone who was carrying holobooks and datapads. Whispered greetings peppered the encounters, but no one sought to engage in conversation.

Obi-Wan frowned. Something tugged at his mind, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was precisely.

"You opened the Archives to the Clones?"

"They moved into a series of rooms not far away, which had previously been unallocated. They needed a safe place to gather, after a particular someone had trashed their barracks." She eyed him. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Obi-Wan reflexively wanted to reply that it didn't bother him at all. On the contrary, he was convinced that giving them access to knowledge would be the path to their freedom. But deep down, he knew he had a real problem with the reality of what the Clones meant to him. He wasn't comfortable with the idea that still chipped-Clones were running about unsupervised in the Temple.

Madam Nu, seeing that he hesitated to answer, continued: "We have a responsibility towards them, my dear. We've contributed heavily to this situation and we have to face up to it."

"I'm well aware of that, believe me.” If anyone bore most of the responsibility, it was him, first and foremost. “I just wish we'd made sure they were… not a liability, before letting them roam freely here."

"Don't worry, things are moving positively on that front. Let time do its work."

Obi-Wan wished he could let go and let the others manage, but the anxiety wouldn't leave him. If anything, the tension that had been building since earlier had risen, and nothing that was happening right now was helping him to distance himself from it. This feeling of mounting anticipation was becoming more and more precise, and knotting his stomach more and more.

"There's something..." he trailed off, and stopped walking. He looked back at the path he had just taken. The corridor was empty, and the few people they had encountered had disappeared.

And then, it struck him sharply. He knew this soldier, whose signature he could still feel in the Force.

He wasn't a Clone. It was Jango Fett.

Obi-Wan exploded into action, not caring to explain anything to Madam Nu. He freed his lightsaber in the same motion that threw him forward. He ran in the direction the bounty hunter had walked, using the Force to power his legs. Within seconds, he reached the corner of the hallway and caught sight of Fett's silhouette. The man, hearing his movements, glanced over his shoulder and cursed. Fett let go of whatever he was holding and started running.

Fett was heading out of the Archives, and he was far enough away that Obi-Wan couldn't easily grab him with the Force. Obi-Wan had to get closer first. He mentally seized the Force surrounding him and compressed it into a tight ball positioned behind his back. He braced himself and jumped at the very instant he released the pressure. His jump sent him flying, the ceilings high enough to accommodate his trajectory. Obi-Wan thus drastically reduced the distance separating him from the Mandalorian.

The man was running like crazy, as if he had death on his heels. He didn't run in a straight line, instead making erratic changes of direction, complicating Obi-Wan's task.

Obi-Wan was about to land on him, when Fett suddenly dodged through one of the doors in the corridor. Obi-Wan crashed to the ground, rolled and projected himself in the same direction. Blindly grasping with the Force the architectural elements of the room they had just entered, he launched himself forward. Overextending himself, he managed to tackle the bounty hunter to the floor.

To be on the safe side, as one can never be too careful with this kind of asshole, Obi-Wan used the Force to hold Fett's hands flat on the floor, while he put his full weight across his enemy's throat, lightsaber powering near his face.

"Fancy seeing you here, Fett," Obi-Wan gritted between his teeth.

The bounty hunter blinked dazedly. "My name is Jan, Sir. I don't know what I've done, but surely we could have discussed it instead of jumping me like that."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to call his bullsh*t—he knew Fett's Force Signature well, having tracked him many times before—but someone said before he could utter a word: "What does this mean?"

Obi-Wan straightened his head to take stock of his surroundings. He cursed. Fett had taken refuge in the room occupied by the Clones during their stay at the Temple. A good thirty men were surrounding them, and their hostility towards him was clearly perceptible. Obi-Wan, however, did not let his guard down.

Jango Fett, posing as a Clone and roaming freely the corridors of the Temple was bound to be very bad news.

Commander Fox stepped forward to stand a few paces away, his blaster aimed at him. "Archivist Kenobi. Care to explain why you’re assaulting one of my men?" The Corries commander's gaze was hard and unyielding, and Obi-Wan knew he had exhausted whatever leniency the man could have had towards him.

"He isn't one of your men, Commander. This man is Jango Fett, and surely you have heard of him. But, most importantly, he works for Dooku," Obi-Wan said, coldly.

"This Jedi is delusional, Commander. I'm a simple grunt, nothing more!"

Obi-Wan had to make an effort to keep his focus on the Force, while remaining attentive to what the Clones would decide to do.

"Power down your weapon, Sir." Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. He knew that Fox was acting in the most reasonable way possible; in a confusing situation, the most intelligent course of action was already to avoid escalating violence. After a second's hesitation, Obi-Wan complied and deactivated his lightsaber.

"Good. Now get off of him please," ordered the Commander.

"I'm not moving from here until you've done what's necessary to verify his identity. This man is dangerous, and has no business here." Force knew what sensitive information Fett had passed on, because Obi-Wan had no doubt that he hadn't stayed idle just for the fun of it.

Fett's features twisted into a mean smile, so alien on the face Obi-Wan had learned to associate with good, loyal men like Cody, Waxer, Boil and so many others. His heart clenched, and anger surged. He grabbed the plastoid edges of the bounty hunter's armor to place him violently back on the ground. "What did you say to Dooku?" Obi-Wan knew he sounded desperate, but he needed to know.

"It's too late, Jet'ii. It's the end for you, and maybe for me, too. There's nothing more you can do to stop it. This place is cursed anyway." And Fett laughed a mirthless, almost despairing laugh.

"What? What do you mean?" The feeling of anticipation that wouldn’t leave Obi-Wan suddenly intensified, transforming itself into a powerful negative presentiment. A flash of light drew his gaze to the windows set high in the wall, but wide enough to make out clearly what was happening in the sky.

Ground-to-air countermeasure missiles were meeting a shower of shooting stars, exploding in Coruscant's upper atmosphere. There, the Confederacy of Independent Systems army had just engaged the Republic fleet.

"It's too late, he's already here," said Fett, unhappily.

Obi-Wan swore. Dooku had chosen the perfect moment to make his move. Of course he was going to act as soon as Sidious' had been removed from the picture. And Obi-Wan had been totally caught off-guard. He had wasted too much time. He should have left the Temple as soon as he had the chance. Now, millions would pay dearly for his lack of foresight.

Chapter 22: Duty

Chapter Text

Quinlan eyed his cup of caf, wishing belatedly for something stronger. He couldn't take this endless day anymore, but sleep still eluded him: he was far too unsettled for that. From what he had understood and analyzed with his rather confused mind, Obi-Wan was, to put it simply, a time-traveler.

“So, you have a whole new set of memories. That doesn't belong to you. And they are from the future?” Tholme asked, his eyes shining as if he were still an impressionable young man. “That’s good material for an exciting story, padawan!”

Yes. A time-traveler, like in holodramas—provided you could call an entire consciousness being sent to the past to speak with its younger counterpart ‘time-traveling’.

“A kind of future, at least. I certainly hope it won't be ours.” Quinlan sighed and massaged his forehead, to distract himself from the headache that hadn't left him since his encounter with the strange kyber. “I know it sounds outlandish, and I haven't really had time to examine it all in detail—the mind healer will help me with that—but it's far too coherent, far too vast, to be anything else.”

Tholme emitted a non-committal sound. His old Master had been, for now, rather open to his explanations, even if Quinlan struggled to organize them to make them easier to understand.

Quinlan had caught a glint of interest in the elder Shadow’s eye, while never feeling that his words were being doubted. And Tera had taken extensive notes—Quinlan hoped this would help him with his investigation.

Sharing his experience brought him relief and, he had to say, comfort. It also helped him to make sense of things, because he had to admit that he himself was no longer sure of what to believe. Quinlan was also glad to enjoy his Master’s all-too-rare presence, in this specific place. It reminded him of the good old days, when they had shared a home and missions together.

But the peace that reigned here seemed oddly fragile. An undercurrent of tension existed behind this appearance of quietude. Quinlan wasn't sure whether this lingering tension was a result of his encounter with the Soul-Kyber and the upheaval it had induced in him, or whether it was there for some other reason altogether.

“I have to say, it's an interesting tale,” Tera said. “…and oddly coherent in light of what we know about this man. Do you have any other information about what Kenobi has been up to now?”

“I don't know yet, it's all quite a mess in my head right now. But from what we covered with the mind healer, those extra memories deal with the life of this other Obi-Wan.” Quinlan took the time to think about it. Even the barest of attention focused on a memory caused the scenes to unfold, unsolicited. It was rather invasive, and it would surely take time and discipline to control it all. There were also random bits of knowledge, not associated with any particular memory. “It seems I have only what was actually encoded in that Kyber.”

“Only?”

“Ah yes,” Quinlan chuckled. “Only two centuries worth of memory.”

As he said it aloud, Quinlan felt a slight sense of vertigo take hold of him. That was about how long the man had lived before he was able to project his consciousness into the past.

“That's a fairly long life for a human,” said Tera, noting this rather odd piece of information.

Quinlan nodded. The memories towards the end of old Kenobi’s life were rather confused, with many parts missing. A lot of time and numerous meditation sessions would probably be needed to make sense of them. “There are gray areas in this story, and it does bother me that my mind is involved.”

Thoughtful, Tholme took a sip of his caf, and said: “Yes, it’s rather concerning. Your mind is precious, padawan. While I believe you have the experience to defend yourself in this respect, I hope you'll be sure to call on the mind healer if necessary.” He laid a comforting hand on Quinlan’s shoulder. “He's a man I'd like to meet, this Kenobi. He sounds like a rather interesting person. With a lot of stories to share. But I really hope it won't cause you any more trouble, my young friend.”

“I could have done without this kind of event, Master.” Quinlan still felt a lingering queasiness about the whole deal, but the previous hours had helped him to see things with the clarity of hindsight. Obi-Wan had come from such a terrible time that he had no choice but to do whatever it took to avoid the tragedies ahead.

Apparently, Quinlan himself had played a significant role in Obi-Wan's first life. They had been friends for decades. More than friends, even. Family.

In his current psychic disarray, Quinlan was having trouble sorting out what he had perceived of this alternate version of himself. Still, he felt it would be easy to integrate these strange recollections as having a place within his genuine memory.

Quinlan was the type to take things as they came, and this flexibility had always been invaluable in adapting to the unexpected. His gift of psychometry predisposed him to integrate feelings and memories that weren't his to begin with.

Of course, Quinlan never had to absorb so many elements at once.

Oh well.

He would deal with it—with time and effort. And keeping close to Obi-Wan, even if it annoyed the Archivist.

Kenobi had well deserved the annoyance.

Thinking actively of Obi-Wan happened to make the shields on the Force Bond more porous, allowing Quinlan to sense Obi-Wan’s thoughts and feelings. Because of that, he perceived the sudden dread and agitation that arose in the Archivist's mind.

And it coincided with the sharpening of the feeling of unrest he perceived in the Force since earlier.

Urging him to act now.

Tholme and Tera must have sensed it too, because they stood up simultaneously, alertness transforming their whole demeanor.

What's going on? Quinlan sent the question through the link, but Obi-Wan seemed focused on a clone-related matter and didn't bother to answer.

“Something's going on,” Tholme said, extracting his frame from the armchair to reach the monitoring console. He opened the communication channels and leaned over to closely examine the surveillance screens in and around the Temple.

There was no sign of commotion.

And yet, the Force continued to cry out in their minds. Quinlan found himself checking frantically with Tera and his mentor for any sign that something was amiss. Flashes of light drew them to a particular group of monitors. These were oriented towards the space territory of Coruscant and there, they displayed the full extent of the impending disaster.

Thousands of warships had just emerged from hyperspace and, within a second of their emergence, they were already dropping warheads toward the planet, effectively taking its defenses by surprise.

“By the Force,” Tera breathed. Tholme swore. Quinlan stayed silent, stunned. Everyone had been taken by surprise.

It would take several minutes, if not dozens of minutes, to mount an effective defense against such an attack. They weren’t ready.

The Jedi would probably have to take the lead, given the state of the Republic's political organization. But this was no time for political reflection. They couldn’t waste precious time on pointless discussions. “We need to recall all Shadows available and stand ready to act,” Quinlan said. He squinted. “It's the CIS army.”

Tholme nodded and said, grim: “We'll probably have to face Dark Force users. I'll stay here to coordinate positions. Maybe you could join your friend. If what you said is true, he knows things that will be of great use, and I think it's wiser not to leave him alone in the coming confrontation.” Tholme cast an evaluating eye over their headquarters. “We're well equipped to coordinate our actions here. I'll get in touch with Mace. You do what you have to do.”

Adrenaline surges, shedding exhaustion for sharpened focus, Quinlan tugged on his boots, whilst checking both his lightsaber and comm. The Force Bond was deep enough to give a general sense of direction leading him to Kenobi.

“May the Force be with you, Masters.” They would soon need whatever help they could get.

“And with you, Quinlan. Be careful.”

Quinlan set off.

It would be a long night before morning.

]o[

The water-slicked ground reflected the flashes of light that burst like fireworks overhead. Mace and Depa stood on the large delivery bay that housed the transit ships, conveniently positioned one level below the Temple, yet still close to the barracks and supply warehouses.

Wherever Mace looked, there was bustle. But it was organized, and he could feel the purpose and grim resolve permeating the atmosphere. Everyone present knew what they had to do, and knew they might meet their end sooner than later.

In any case, if they were lucky enough to get out of this dreadful situation, things would never be the same again. Mace knew that he himself would not remain unscathed. The balance was already lost, and the Jedi's ancient way of living would change. Precious things would be destroyed. Precious people would die. And Mace would have given anything to avoid this. But it was too late.

The cost of their blindness was going to be devastating.

“May the Force be with you, Depa.” Mace wouldn't say anything else. A "be careful," or a “Come back to us alive,” would sound far too hollow.

The Force was screaming in his ears, and he still had a violent headache from the shatterpoint that had exploded when the enemy fleet had begun bombarding Coruscant.

“May the Force be with us all, Master.” Depa said, with a sad smile, which barely relaxed the worried lines on her lovely face. Yet, her frank, direct gaze conveyed the determination that animated her. She held him close to her heart one last time. “I must go, Master. We all have a role to play, and we can't afford to be late with destiny. Take care of Ahsoka and Anakin.”

The outcome of the battle was more than uncertain, and, short of a miracle, they were only supposed to buy time for the more fragile to evacuate. And it devastated him to send Jedi into battle, knowing perfectly well that very few of them would return alive.

But the Jedi had to hold the line, whatever the cost, for as long as possible.

Sirens still wailed in the night, while Coruscant's atmosphere vibrated with the panic of its inhabitants. Myriads of civilian ships had begun to rise in the night, seeking to evacuate the planet, as the enemy fleet had not yet had the time to impose a blockade.

The Republic would fight to keep a way of evacuation open, so that those who could flee would do so.

For the others, Mace hoped that the enemy would show leniency. This was perhaps conceivable for civilians: after all, a rich planet, worth being conquered, had to continue to function thanks to its workforce.

But this would probably not be the case for the Jedi. Being captured by the Sith was probably a fate worse than death.

“Farewell, Depa.” You've always been my precious padawan, and my heart bleeds to send you up there.

“Farewell Master.” Depa kissed his hand, and, with a last smile, started running along with her men to gain her flagship. She replied, with her inner voice: Duty above all, Master. Save what can still be saved.

Depa's shuttle took off quickly, and Mace allowed himself the ultimate indulgence of taking a few seconds to follow it with his eyes. When the shuttle was too small to be distinguished from the myriad of other small dots racing above, he bared his teeth and turned, engaging the elevator that would take him to the Tactical Coordination room.

This would be the first time they'd used it in decades, and Mace wished that this room had remained unused for centuries to come. But reality was knocking at their door, and they couldn't ignore it.

]o[

Bant, her mind numb after so many hours of concentration, sighed as she applied the bacta patch to the Clone she had just finished treating. She'd lost count of the number of men she had treated, and wouldn't take the time to consult medical records to find out.

In the distance, beyond the familiar sounds of the infirmary, she could hear the planetary alarms that had been bellowing continuously since the attack began. Ever the professional, Bant's focus didn't waver until the end of the surgery but she couldn’t help to feel the dread that steadily mounted in her heart. It was only the beginning of the night, but things were about to get worse.

Much, much worse.

It wouldn't be long before she'd have to perform a completely different kind of surgery. The kind that was performed on the battlefield, and which most often consisted of sorting out the patients who had a chance of making it, and the others.

She really didn't want to go through that.

Vokara was already organizing the Halls of Healing in anticipation, and clearing the main hall to set up row upon row of cots to accommodate the wounded.

Bant took a shuddering breath. They were all exhausted from the race against time they'd started a few hours ago, to de-chip as many soldiers as possible as quickly as possible. But they'd been caught short, frantic preparations made far too late, now a weakness, making no difference in the battle ahead.

But first and foremost, a healer had to integrate the unexpected into their way of working. They had to take the reality in stride. Their energy was too precious.

Bant could feel the fatigue building slowly in the back of her mind, like a rising tide that would be impossible to stop. But she had experience. She knew how to put her needs aside and prioritize what was important. And, right now, her duty came first.

]o[

Coruscant was under attack.

The heart of the Republic, the very entity Fox was supposed to protect with his life. That's what he'd been born to do—at least, that's what he'd always believed until very recently.

Fox wasn't ready.

His men weren't ready.

The planetary alerts went off.

Their terrible wail, which no one could ignore, rose into the night. With blunt clarity, Fox knew many of his brothers would not survive in the hours to come. They had only a fraction of their army at their disposal, and had been taken completely by surprise.

Distant explosions echoed like thunderstorms, while the automated defenses met the first strikes, which combined energy blasts and concussive force. The heat of the moment would overtake them before the night was over, and Fox felt his heartbeat rising along with the tingling in the extremities caused by adrenaline.

There was no time to lose.

Fox’ comm beeped on the emergency channel, as did those of all the soldiers in the room. They were called upon to mobilize.

Closing his eyes, fighting the pain and fatigue induced by the brain surgery he'd gone through a few hours earlier, Fox felt his resolve solidifying. But first, he had to deal with the situation at hand, and quickly.

Kenobi was still holding his target down, his grip unyielding, despite Fox's blaster still pointed at his head. The Jedi archivist was disheveled, and his eyes were marked by deep dark circles made even darker by the sickly pallor of his skin. Despite his obvious fatigue, he looked furious.

Dangerous.

“I'm not going to let this man go back to his master. So either you deal with him or I will, but I will not show mercy.”

The man was indeed Jango Fett. He was older, and lighter-built than the Clones. And he clearly didn't care what his choices meant for his offspring. Fox made no effort to mask the disgusted grimace that twisted his mouth, while lowering his weapon. Kenobi seemed like a reasonable man, despite his obvious anger. “This is a matter that concerns the Clones. It's up to us to decide what to do with him.” Although he really didn't want to worry about that now. And, anyway, he didn't have time for that.

“I hear you, but you need to settle on a decision quickly. Fett is Dooku’s agent. His presence here is necessarily linked to the attack.”

Fett took advantage of this moment to say, in a voice slightly distorted by the pressure on his throat: “I've already transmitted everything I was paid to find, Jedi. It doesn't matter now.” Fett paused to take a labored breath. “Let me go, and I promise I will be out of your hair right now.”

“It's too late to ask for mercy, asshole. There’s no way you walk away without answering for your actions.”

Fett grimaced. “I'll tell you everything I know about Dooku.” And, in a softer voice, he added: “Please. I have a son. I don't want anything bad to happen to him.”

Kenobi's eyes widened slightly in surprise, like it was crucial information. “Boba,” he said, tone cold and distant.

And Fox could see what was unmistakably fear in Fett's gaze, for the first time since he'd been under Kenobi's power. “How do you know that name?”

Fox was missing some context, which made the situation even more confusing. Time was running out, and he could sense his brothers, who had spent the last few days lounging at the Temple, preparing with a nervous energy for battle. He, too, was in the rush for action, and the explosions they could all perceive heightened the sense of urgency.

His duty demanded action now, and he had neither the time nor the energy to worry about Fett. Fox sighed, “I'll leave that to you, Kenobi. If we get the chance, we'll consider his fate, after the battle.”

If they survived, of course.

His comm had continued beeping continuously, updating his orders, which, as he could see at a glance, were contradicting each other. He frowned. The orders were issued by Tarkin, the senior official in charge of CorSec. And, sadly, CorSec was doing little better than politicians regarding the way they dealt with his brothers.

Given the current situation, it would be a miracle if the politicians could agree quickly enough to set up a chain of command that would hold together.

“Kenobi, I'm sorry but we're going to have to part ways,” Fox said, making no effort to mask his displeasure. He would have preferred to fight alongside the Jedi–at least they showed basic respect. “Take care of your prisoner.”

Fox handed his regulation handcuffs to the Jedi, who, in one fluid movement, turned the bounty hunter over to bind his hands behind his back. Kenobi then stood and helped Fett get back to his feet.

“Commander, one moment before you go. I have important information to give you.” The Jedi said, and Fox knew immediately what Kenobi was going to tell him, and he hated knowing that he'd probably get to use that information very soon.

]o[

Watching the last Clones vacating the room, Obi-Wan clenched his fists. He felt dizzy after the brutal physical exertion following his forced bedrest. But his physical state mattered little. Obi-Wan had waited too long, and now was not the time for passivity and discretion. He turned to the bounty hunter.

“What would you be willing to do to ensure Boba's safety?”

Fett didn't answer for a few seconds, clearly fighting an internal battle. Obi-Wan could make out, beneath his closed expression, real fatigue, and perhaps a genuine desire to end it all. His face then expressed defeat. “I can help you take down Dooku. I have codes that allow access to his ship.”

Obi-Wan let an unkind smile uncover his teeth. “Ah. Now that sounds interesting.”

Madam Nu chose this moment to enter the room, disheveled. She must have waited outside for the Clones to leave. “What's going on here?” Her supple movements and alert mien were noticeably shaken in deference to her advanced age.

“We caught a spy,” Obi-Wan said wryly, placing an assured hand on Fett's shoulder, and proceeded to update her on what had just happened. Fett had adopted the bored expression of someone who didn't feel concerned by the situation. But Obi-Wan could perceive that it was only an act by the few subtle signs he had obviously passed on to his offspring. He recognized the way Cody liked to sulk: only those who knew him well could see when he wasn't okay with the situation.

“The hour is grave, Obi-Wan.” Madam Nu said. Her face had lost the attentive gentleness of the last few hours, replaced by exhaustion and worry. “We need to get in touch with the Council now,” she said while putting a hand on his arm, as if looking for support to stabilize herself under the burden of each of her long years of existence. She looked at Fett and raised an eyebrow, probably wondering about his uncanny resemblance to the Clones. Obi-Wan kept a part of his attention on the bounty hunter, ready to act if the man expressed the desire to escape. He had plans for him. But first, Obi-Wan had to make sure he had something to negotiate with Dooku.

Obi-Wan knew why the Sith Lord had come all the way to Coruscant. Beyond the fact that it was a sound strategy–for he had chosen to strike at the heart of the Republic at a moment of vulnerability–Dooku had come to secure an even greater power.

He had come to recover Exegol's Wayfinder, and thus gain access to the Stellar Forge.

So, like Sidious in his time, nothing and no one in the galaxy could hope to oppose Dooku, if he were to get his hands on this weapon. That cursed planet had the facilities to create an entire fleet out of thin air, at a rate no other shipyard in the galaxy could possibly match. Sidious had effectively squashed any form of rebellion with his endless army. He had used cloned soldiers, and later, monstrous creatures to man them. No way to cut supply lines, no way to stir up rebellion between the imperial ranks. The resistance had finally died a slow death of despair, as Sidious ensured himself a more and more unchallenged power.

And Obi-Wan hadn't gone through all that effort and sacrifice to get to this point with another Sith. All his life; he had believed that Sidious was the endgame, and that by eliminating him, things would be easier. But he had never imagined that his actions would bring about this catastrophe.

It was time to play a different tune.

Placing his hand on Jocasta’s to take it and nestle it between his two clasped hands, he begged, “Jocasta. I need the artifact. Now.” He took a deep breath. “We can't leave it here. Dooku will come, and he'll destroy everything in his path to get it.”

She shook her head, looking towards the windows, before sighing, “Perhaps you should have told us more.” Outward, flashes of light testified to the ferocity of the early fighting. “Yet, how could we have suspected it could have gone this far? I find it hard to believe what's happening, and yet I'm a direct witness to it.”

“It’s my fault. I did everything I could to avoid this, and I failed. But I must correct my mistakes, and to do that, I need the key. Will you entrust it to me?” It was urgent that he finally get his act together.

“Why must you always insist on doing everything on your own, Obi-Wan? Isn't it time we finally worked together to find a solution? And don't think you're responsible for what's happening, because I won't believe a word of it.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “You don't understand.”

“Then explain it to me," she said, with a glint of challenge in her eye. “Of course I can't understand, if you don't tell us anything.”

“I…” He trailed off.

How could he?

How could he explain the f*cked up situation that was his life since his early adolescence? And would it change anything to finally be transparent about the reasons that had brought him to this point? The Jedi had chosen to believe in him, to give him the benefit of the doubt, but they really didn't know very much. How could he justify all the decisions he had made, which had required him to make impossible choices? How could he justify the deaths of those he had let die? And the death of those he had killed preemptively, when they hadn't yet done anything wrong in this timeline?

For the greater good, Old Ben whispered. Obi-Wan closed his eyes tightly for a second. Did it still make sense?

But Obi-Wan couldn't back down now. If he didn't want all these sacrifices to have been in vain, he couldn't falter and have second thoughts.

Jocasta joined her other hand to their linked hands. Her fingers were cold. “The war wasn't supposed to come this far.” She whispered. “We hoped for a quick resolution. After all, what were a few rebel worlds on the outer rim worth against the might of the Core worlds?” Jocasta shook her head. “Fools. We were fools, and contemptuous to boot. I'm tempted to blame the Sith Lord for devising this horrible plan, but he didn't force us to behave as we did. We were too avid to seize the promise of peace and stability. We lacked courage when we should have reformed the Order. And, of course, you had nothing to do with that.”

It was indeed the mindset that had been the Republic's and the Jedi's at the start of the war. They had been lulled into believing it would be just a small war, a matter of a few months, to put the Separatists back on the right track.

The years spent fighting had deprived citizens and Jedi alike of the necessary hindsight to realize that it was all folly. The Order had fallen into the trap of protecting institutions that had long since deviated from the values they were supposed to defend. A small war, to protect the interests of the powerful in power.

Their blindness had cost them dearly.

But not again. Obi-Wan still had cards to play, and he hoped all was not lost. He turned to Fett, who was following the conversation with a calculating gleam in his eye.

Ha.

If the bounty hunter had the chance, he'd probably find a way to monetize the content of their exchanges. But Obi-Wan no longer had the luxury of going forward masked. It was time to lay his cards on the table.

“Maybe. But I know I can still change things, and unfortunately, I don't have the time to ask the Council's opinion before acting. I need that artifact, now.” He took a deep breath and looked her squarely in the eye. “Don't make me force you, Jocasta.” You can't back out now, Obi-Wan. He furrowed his brow. “Please.”

Jocasta didn't answer immediately, holding his gaze. In her eyes, Obi-Wan couldn't help but read questions, disappointment, and hurt. She said, desolate, “How did it come to this?

Chapter 23: Setting the Game

Chapter Text

“If you can ensure your end of the deal, I’ll be sure to reward you handsomely. I'm counting on you to prove yourself as a future governor."

"You can count on me, my Lord."

The communication ended, eliciting a small, satisfied smile from Dooku. Despite his usual composure, he couldn't stop his heart from racing. At last, after so many years of groveling, he was near true power, without a real challenger.

Things seemed almost too easy.

But the Force was telling him to keep going, and that luck only smiled on the brave.

So, even if it was an elaborate ploy of Sidious faking his own death to test loyalties, he was willing to take the risk.

They had just emerged from hyperspace. The journey hadn’t been easy but fortunately secured by the pathway Sidious had provided a few months earlier. The old fool had planned for Dooku to intervene much later, but he was in command now, and he would not give the Republic and the Jedi time to reorganize.

He could feel a deep satisfaction of lording over Coruscant while the first warheads tested the planetary defenses that would soon fall. The full might of the CIS Army was there: countless warships, including several Providence-class destroyers such as the infamous Malevolence and their newer Invisible Hand.

A new order would soon arise.

But first, there were things that needed to be cleaned. By fire and destruction.

Their fighters had already deployed to engage the GAR ships currently stationed in orbit. Dooku was more of a political leader and a duelist than a military leader, but he understood the art of war. He knew he was in a powerful position to take what was rightfully his. While he still feared it was a trap, Dooku hadn't hesitated long to take his army to a full confrontation. If the CIS didn't act as soon as possible, chances were they soon find themselves at a disadvantage.

Because there was a mysterious third party that had upset the power balance.

One of his agents on site had confirmed the presence of the artifact he coveted. All he had to do now was seize it to guarantee, at last, his unchallenged domination of the galaxy.

But if Dooku wanted to succeed, he still had to be careful, and not rush things. His beating heart whispered there was still danger. He wouldn’t fail so close to the end.

He raised a finger delicately, keeping his hand placed on his armrest. "Ventress, dear."

"Yes, my Lord?" Ventress waited, motionless, behind his armchair.

Outwardly calm and collected, Dooku clearly sensed in the Force her eagerness to take action. "We've talked about this at length, you know what you have to do. I expect nothing less than success."

"I won't disappoint you, my Master," answered Ventress, while bowing. Dooku enjoyed these demonstrations of submission. He had missed it during his years as a Jedi. After all, beings were not equal, and it was crucial for order in the Galaxy that everyone knew their place.

]o[

The tactical display showed the extreme complexity of the battle. Depa was trained to pick out relevant information, but she still needed her officers to pre-select what was useful to highlight.

The large transparisteel windows gave them an unobstructed view of the system and the battle that had just begun beneath their feet.

Their army was facing an enemy tide whose numbers were hard to estimate. Dreadnoughts, destroyers and battleships were the most prominent elements, and they masked the real number of units they would have to fight. It seemed the enemy army was playing for all it was worth in this battle; she was seeing, for the first time, the full might of CIS military power.

The Malevolence. The Invisible Hand. They were facing Grievous, Ventress, and the like. From what she knew of the enemy ships and their generals, it seemed they were all there.

"I feel like I've been fooled all these months," Depa said, bitterly.

Gray gave her a concerned look. "Indeed, what we're seeing here doesn't match up with what we knew about their military capability."

Yet another argument this entire war had been engineered, as Mace had told her. Depa now felt the particular despair of playing a game in which you knew your opponent had cheated and wasn't playing by the same rules, and which you were forced to play, anyway.

The stationed army and the orbital defenses had arranged themselves quickly to put up a united front against the attacker, but they had lost precious time and were already suffering heavy losses.

Depa had one aim: hold the line, and keep the mobile defense organized.

The enemy army had emerged from hyperspace via the deep core, whose peculiarities were supposed to prohibit hyperspace flight. Grievous and Dooku must have had secret coordinates to fool the surveillance systems and lookouts set up on the usual routes.

Depa took a fortifying breath. She had her men, she had her brothers and sisters; they would make sure that all was not lost, even if defeat awaited them.

But Depa was worried about her men, and particularly about the Clones who hadn't had their chip removed. A few officers, including Gray, had benefited from the surgery, but the vast majority of their ranks had not. This gave Depa the impression of having to fight with a weapon liable to jam at any moment.

But these fears didn't help her, and she had to deal with the possibility, anyway.

Her strategic decisions were supported by the regular information provided by Mace's on-planet team; who was their main liaison. Sometimes, they had vague updates and instructions coming from the Chancellor's team, but they were sometimes contradictory, and Depa found it easier not to prioritize them.

The time for politics was over. If she had to suffer the consequences, she'd do it gladly if it meant surviving this battle.

The numbers weren't good. They were clearly outgunned in terms of firepower for the fleet itself, but Coruscant had a substantial number of defense turrets, whose action could be coordinated with their own movement to hold a line of defense.

Depa had one hope: that the army still en route could join them. According to the most optimistic estimates, they would have to hold out for a few more hours if they were to improve their chances. Depa was trying not to linger on the fact that this would probably not be enough to change radically the course of the battle.

But the Force was with them, and they would not—could not—give up.

"General, our fighters are putting up adequate resistance, but the enemy seems intent on deploying a multitude of solo fighters. Their targets are still unclear."

"Enemy fighters must not leave the perimeter. We must hold the line, so no wild chase for glory, understood? Make sure the turrets are properly protected."

Most of the units deployed were clones, and Depa wasn't too worried about their ability to follow orders. She was more concerned about the tendency of some regular soldiers to believe themselves above orders and rules. A single hothead could disrupt a line and open the breach.

This meant not responding to provocations, and sacrificing buildings and resources that were unfortunately too far from the chosen perimeter. To defend a planet, you had to put the thickest possible wall between the last defenses and the enemy fleet. But Grievous would not stand idly by. He was bound to send out squads to bypass the defenses and try to break through.

For all Depa knew, there were probably undercover or stealth units that had already crossed their lines, or bypassed the planet. But that wasn't her problem. There were men and women stationed elsewhere on the planet who would do their best to protect what they could. Depa had to hold the line.

To the end of the night if necessary.

]o[

Obi-Wan led Fett to his quarters. He had some equipment to pick up before going into battle. Walking with a confident, purposeful step, he left his coat billowing behind him, not bothering to keep the flaps of his robe against him.

Not bothering to keep a low profile, as was the rule until now.

As he walked, his mind began descending into the pre-battle calm. It was a kind of cuttingly clear consciousness, totally focused on the present, untroubled by worries, doubts, and unanswered questions.

Obi-Wan couldn't afford to have doubts. Not anymore.

The corridors of the Temple vibrated with activity. No one was asleep. And while fatigue could be seen on everyone's faces, it was above all nervous anxiety that showed in the Jedi's expressions.

Obi-Wan could see, behind the semblance of organization and purpose, the confusion and fear that reigned in people's minds. War was, for many, a reality that was not meant to come to their doorstep. A significant proportion of Jedi had already been deployed to the front, but the battlefields had mostly been in remote regions of the Galaxy.

The non-combatant Jedi, who made up a large proportion of the Temple's workforce, had never really come face to face with that reality.

Most were too preoccupied to really register the pair’s presence, but all stepped aside as they passed. Not once did Obi-Wan have to deviate or slow his pace. Fett turned out to be surprisingly obedient, keeping silent almost all the way to Obi-Wan’s quarters.

But when they were alone in their portion of the corridor, Fett said, “What do you intend to do? You can't do anything against an entire army. Hell, even the Clones aren't truly on your side, Jedi.”

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth but didn't answer. If he'd had any doubts about Fett's lack of knowledge of the clones' true purpose, he had none now.

“The Jedi are doomed to disappear,” Fett continued, “and I fail to see how you can avoid the fate that now awaits you.”

The enemy was indeed at the gates of the Temple, and Coruscant's defenses would not hold much longer. The prospects weren't good. Obi-Wan had decades of strategic experience to fall back on when estimating the odds of victory. As they were, Coruscant’s defenses were far too outclassed in the aspects that mattered to hope to turn the tables.

Unless he played his cards right.

“I have arguments,” Obi-Wan said.

His skills. His knowledge. The key to Exegol.

Fett eyed him and sneered, "Do you think you're powerful enough to prevent him from taking what interests him by force? With the resources he has at his disposal? He came with his whole army."

They had almost reached their destination. The darkened corridor was now mostly empty.

"Palpatine had Dooku on a leash. Now that he's his own master, Dooku wants to consolidate his freedom. He must make sure that nothing and no one can threaten his power." Obi-Wan placed a hand on the key he had carefully slipped into the inside pocket of his tabard. "And to do that, he's going to have to confront me. And that's where I'm going to need your help."

Fett stopped, and said, “Of course, you f*cking do. But I won’t help you; I hate you.”

Obi-Wan considered him for a few seconds. “You want your freedom.”

Fett didn't answer. But it was as clear as day.

Obi-Wan said, “You're still as much a slave as your poor clones.” As expected, his words solicited a rage echoing in the Force–burning, violent–hidden behind the Mando's mask of fake indifference. “The only difference is that you choose to remain as such.”

"Be careful of what you say." Fett stood, motionless, his dark gaze locked on him.

"Boba. Your son. Is he a slave, too?"

"Stop saying his name, you have no right!" Fury distorted Fett’s features, and despite his hands clasped behind his back, he lunged suddenly at Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan side-stepped, and in the same movement, extended a foot to trip him. Fett toppled forward, using his inertia to perform a perfect roll, and began to run away. Even shackled, he moved with precise grace.

But Obi-Wan didn't let him get away. He jumped, grabbed him by the shoulder, and tackled him to the wall with his forearm, using the Force to increase his strength.

"Then it's time to act like a father, and take responsibility. If you no longer wish to be a slave, then it's time to break your chains. Or strike down the one on the other end."

"Jedi scum. You've taken everything from me."

"And that gives you the right to do the same to other innocent people? At what point will you finally move on? You wanted a son, but for what reason? Do you think it’s fair to impose your fights on him?"

Obi-Wan could feel the inner battle raging inside the bounty hunter. Jango Fett’s entire life was indeed yet another tragedy in the Sith’s machinations. Galidraan had been one of the historic turning points. Dooku, Fett, the Haat’Mando’ade. Many destinies were sealed that day. A tragedy Obi-Wan had deliberately chosen to let happen.

For the greater good.

But now, Obi-Wan needed Fett and his resources to find Dooku. He needed to win him over, at least for a short while.

The Mando was seething. Obi-Wan understood he was having trouble bringing himself to listen to a Jedi, but it was too important to let him go. He eased his hold.

"It's not too late to find freedom. I know you think I can't do anything against him, but I killed his master. The one he was afraid of. I can beat him. But I'm going to need every advantage I can get."

"I just want Boba to be safe. If I stand up to Dooku, he'll use my son against me."

"I will do everything in my power to keep your son out of Dooku's reach."

Fett didn't believe him. Obi-Wan could see it in the resignation in his eyes, behind the anger that was still very much there. But he had no choice but to yield. Fett sighed, and whispered, "What do you want me to do?"

Obi-Wan shoved his prisoner through the open door of his apartment and followed him in. The door slammed behind them. Obi-Wan took a deep breath that allowed him to absorb the familiar, reassuring scent. These walls had been his home for some years, and though he had tried to avoid becoming emotionally invested in them, they bore the imprint of who he was. Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, Obi-W–

And he needed to center himself.

With the tension that had invaded his mind, it was as if he could hear Old Ben whispering, mostly unintelligibly. Now and then, a precise thought would come to him, commenting on his actions and decisions. This morning's loss of consciousness was probably just one symptom of the Soul-Kyber's weakening, and Obi-Wan knew things would inevitably get worse in the following hours.

Fett slumped into Obi-Wan's chair, without bothering to ask permission, eyeing him with an eye both curious and resigned.

Obi-Wan bent down to access his nestled trunk under his bed. There he found his second lightsaber, the one he used against Sidious. He attached it to his belt alongside his official Archivist lightsaber, and added a blaster for good measure. Obi-Wan, despite his intentions, had a propensity for losing his weapons in the heat of battle, and it was best to be prepared for all eventualities.

Also in the trunk was his battle gear. A reinforced tabard, vambraces, and pauldrons, unequivocally similar to what Old Ben had been accustomed to wearing when he had served as High General for the Republic.

For him, going to war meant wearing armor.

Next, Obi-Wan opened the small lead box containing his supply of kyber crystals. He couldn't take them all, at the risk of rendering them unusable because of parasitic resonance. He completed the bracelet, and placed three more in his utility belt. Some bacta patches were added to the lot. Finally, he straightened up, and gently placed Fett's comm and the Wayfinder on the low table, setting his eyes on the bounty hunter.

“We have some calls to make.”

]o[

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't understand what you expect us to do."

"Did I say the wrong thing? It's quite clear. We need the Coruscant Guards to be ready to act to control the population's rebellious impulses."

"We need to... monitor the population?" Fox couldn't wrap his mind around that. Slightly taller than Fox, the man had a face with sharp features. Fox had already had occasion to deal with him on several occasions, but never had he had such a strong impression of contempt.

The man stretched his lips, but it was more a grimace than a smile. "We have to make sure that calm prevails, so as not to hinder the action of the authorities and avoid looting. I think you can fulfil this simple mission."

A part of Fox could understand the logic behind her words, but it wasn't what he wanted to hear. He'd expected to have to prepare for ground combat, against enemy troops, not the populace.

"No disrespect, sir, but our mission is to protect the Chancellor."

"CorSec is already taking care of that. The Chancellor and his security council have already reached the emergency bunker. There's no point in leaving your men around."

"Agreed, but we need a liaison with the Chancellor. CorSec doesn't have our military experience and training, it would appear."

"I'm getting tired of having to justify my orders, Commander. Chancellor Ameda has decided, and it's up to me to coordinate the ground defense."

Fox slowly counted to three in his mind before saying, "Perhaps we'd be more useful against the invader. We could link up with the army and the Jedi to coordinate on the ground."

"You know, if we're in this mess, it's the Jedi's fault. After all, it was because of one of their own that we lost Palpatine."

"Palpatine was an enemy of the Republic. He was a dark Force user."

Tarkin made a derogatory gesture. "Yes, that's what I'm saying, it's all a bit the same, and it's because the Jedi don't know how to control their own that ordinary citizens have to suffer for their mistakes."

Fox didn't even know how to react. It was the first time he'd heard such blatant distrust directed at the Jedi. Perhaps Tarkin was a victim of the disinformation campaign that was raging, or he had more nefarious purposes. He sensed Tarkin had no intention of being swayed. Tarkin's piercing blue gaze was polar, unkind. "I didn't ask your opinion, and I don't care what your preferences are, Commander. I'm your superior officer, and if you don't want to risk a decommissioning for insubordination, you and your men had better comply immediately. Is that clear?"

Fox felt his face freeze into the blank expression it had served him so well on Kamino, when he'd had to pretend that it didn't matter how he was being treated. "Perfectly clear, Sir." It was indeed perfectly clear that one had to choose one's loyalties. Now.

"Good, dismissed."

Mechanically Fox saluted, before turning to leave the room. Like the good little puppet he was.

Inwardly, though, he was boiling with rage.

This was it.

One insult too many. It was high time to win the freedom for which they had never been destined.

And even if he had to die for it, he'd do it gladly.

]o[

Anakin consulted his chrono, pacing back and forth in their living room, desperately waiting for news from Mace. Ahsoka was sitting on the sofa, facing the bay window that gave them an unobstructed view of the battle.

She was biting her nails, full of the same nervous energy Anakin was feeling.

Before storming off to manage the battle with the Council, Mace had told them that they would probably need to evacuate at some point. And that they needed to be ready.

But Anakin didn't want to evacuate, with the children and those unable to fight.

He wanted to join the battle, with the other Jedi Knights. He was no longer a child, and it was high time he joined the others in defending the Jedi Order.

Anakin was willing to wait for Mace's orders, but he already knew, deep down, that he wouldn't obey if Mace ordered him to stay with the other youngsters. “There’s no way I’m running away,” he grumbled under his breath.

But Ahsoka, with her keen hearing, had heard. "You planning to disobey, really, Skyguy?" she said, frowning.

Ankin didn't answer immediately. He didn't feel like saying out loud that he had every intention of going into battle, permission or not. Ahsoka was looking at him with an almost... eager air, as if she too simply wanted the right incentive not to stand by, doing nothing, while her Master went off to fight in a battle that was all but lost in advance.

"Do we have the luxury of standing by and doing nothing, Snips?" said Anakin, agitated. "We could make a difference."

Ahsoka stood up and hopped over to the bay window, pressing her nose against the glass. They'd turned off almost all the lights in the apartment so they could better see what was going on outside. Staying in the dark was almost reassuring, with those several thousand enemies hovering over their heads, just waiting to rain down on them.

The bigger ships were clearly visible. Out of the planet’s shadow, they were silhouetted in the sunlight, their graceful forms shining like thousands of moons.

"Master Depa...," Ahsoka sighed. Anakin went over to her and put an arm around her shoulders, trying as best he could to bring her comfort, even though he himself was worried sick. This situation was driving him mad.

He had to do something. Anything.

And, as if the Force had heard his prayer, his comm suddenly beeped. Ahsoka looked around curiously and said: "Is that Mace? What's he saying?"

Anakin furrowed his brow.

It wasn't Mace.

"It's Obi-Wan. He says he needs me for something important."

"Who's that guy? And why does he need you right now?"

]o[

"What do you mean, you don't know where the Chancellor is?" asked Mace to the comm, suddenly very worried. He had stepped aside so as not to interfere with the frenetic discussions of the tactical team. Their attention was essentially focused on the battle being fought by Depa.

"His protection is provided by CorSec." Fox's voice was crisp, almost mechanical, and Mace knew Fox was really pissed. "Tarkin claims to have the authority to coordinate defense, and we have a…memo from the Chancellor's office to guarantee legitimacy."

"A memo?" Mace closed his eyes, fighting his headache. “A kriffing memo? We need functional communication with the strategic center! Hold on, commander.” Putting the comm on hold, he asked Kit, “Do we have a Jedi in the Chancellor’s entourage?”

The Nautolan shook his head. “Amedda dismissed everyone today. Either he had a paranoid attack or…” Kit trailed off, and then added, whispering, “He knew what was coming."

Mace breathed carefully. Force. It made sense. It had been years since lies had been told at the highest levels of government. And today, loyalties were finally being made transparent.

The more the hours passed, the more Mace felt his kind had to make a sacrifice that made no sense.

“Careful, now isn’t the time to speak of those things.” He didn't feel like talking about treason, but the values for which the Jedi had given their lives for centuries were clearly being flouted by those who had their loyalty. "We have to find the Chancellor and force a liaison on him. We can't afford to run blind on this." Mace re-established communication with Fox, "Commander, I'll send you a team. Your priority is to find the Chancellor. I'll answer to CorSec and the Chancellery if I have to."

“...Understood, Sir. Who can I expect?”

"I'll send Master Vos over. His specialty is finding things. And people."

]o[

Quinlan stepped out into the cool night air. The atmosphere was oddly muted, apart from the flashes of light coming from Coruscant's orbital space. A lot of transports and aircraft had ventured outside, not respecting the regulated lanes, probably in a hurry to get to safety. Which meant getting out of the planet as soon as possible. Corries patrolled the vicinity, ensuring that chaos remained manageable.

Quinlan had been diverted from his original aim of finding Obi-Wan. Mace wanted him to find the Chancellor, and as quickly as possible. Quinlan had to check the various bunkers in the surrounding districts to pinpoint the Chancellor's position.

While it wasn't very smart to put the entire Command in one place, at least it wasn't in a well-known and identifiable building like the Senate. The command center couldn't be far away; because, to win a war, you had to ensure reliable communication means, and distance could jeopardize them.

Coruscant's defenses were up to the very best, but they would not withstand a powerful, continuous assault. It was quite possible that they would fail in the night, if the Defense Fleet failed to resist.

And the inhabitants had understood this.

Coruscantians, in all their diversity, were equal in the fear they were experiencing. Senate’s district was one of the most upscale places on the planet–and on the galaxy–, and its residents had a lot to lose in a conflict of this kind. Though, not necessarily from the enemy up there.

One family had docked their personal starship in the middle of the street to facilitate the load of their belongings, scolding their household staff for not going fast enough. Their damn ship obstructed the way, forcing Quinlan and the other passers-by to go around it.

Other similar scenes were taking place in different parts of the neighborhood, privilege flaunted even at dire times like this. They were going to leave Coruscant because they could afford to.

All experienced the fear, but the true despair remained the sole preserve of the poor and destitute.

But now was not the time to lament about those realities. His priority was to locate the interim Chancellor, and update the Jedi on his position so they could act if necessary.

Of course.

His comm biped. "This is Commander Fox. General Vos, the Chancellor has acted without bringing the Coruscant Guards into the loop. We don’t know about his precise location." Despite the transmission interference, Quinlan could clearly make out the silent anger in the Commander's words.

"Didn't any of your men see anything?"

"Negative. If the Chancellor came out of the Senate, he didn't come out through the usual doors."

"Understood, I'm on my way."

Quinlan quickly reached the Senate doors. The building was crowned by a huge, flattened dome, which hid the sky from him. Despite the ambient light of the night lighting, the flashes of energy fire from the battle raging above their heads were clearly visible.

It had been about twenty minutes since their defense fleet had been engaged by the Separatist army, and it was still difficult to predict how things would develop from here.

At this time of night, the Senate was relatively empty, as sessions were usually only scheduled during the day. This didn't mean it was completely devoid of life, but it would be easier to navigate its meanders without its usual crowds to slow down its movements. A few politicians and their aids were hurrying through the corridors, their arms full of documents, fear written across their features.

Quinlan was going against the flow, with long, purposeful strides, never deviating from his course. The few people he passed gave him glances that barely registered his presence, too preoccupied with the circ*mstances to question his reasons for being there.

Eventually, he reached Amedda’s office. No one was guarding the entrance, and the corridor was empty. The room had been left in a haphazard state: piles of datapads were toppled over, with pieces of flimsi littering the floor. While this room was not as luxurious and vast as Palpatine's, many symbols of wealth and power were still on display.

The two men must have got on well together, and Quinlan wondered about their relationship. Perhaps Amedda had known more about Palpatine's true nature than the Jedi had suspected? If so, they had probably made a mistake in letting the Vice-Chancellor seize power for those short days.

Quinlan had to get his hands on this man, and fast. He consulted his datapad, on which he had uploaded extensive plans of the Senate and surrounding area, and highlighted secret passages and back doors. The Jedi had been collecting useful information for centuries. Now it was time to use it.

Chapter 24: Decisions

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan considered Fett’s comm, hesitant. He had managed to mobilize the assets at his disposal, but there was still a call to make—the most important of all.

"Dooku is a slippery bastard. You won't find him easily," Fett said.

It was like a complex game of Dejarik: when the opponent was good, it was necessary to create openings to hope to win. But this meant taking risks that could prove fatal, and trying to anticipate more than a few moves in advance required considerable mental resources.

But reality wasn't a Dejarik board: there were so many variables, so many situations that could simply go wrong. It was impossible to foresee everything. Obi-Wan breathed and closed his eyes, trying to find reasons not to go down the path he was about to take. It's the only choice, whispered Old Ben's voice.

The only way to preserve as many lives as possible. But it required sacrifice. For the greater good. Obi-Wan sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "All I have to do is make sure it's in his best interest to meet me."

Fett raised an eyebrow, and his gaze went to the case that held the Wayfinder. "What exactly is this thing? Why would he be so interested in it?"

Obi-Wan passed his fingers over the still unarmed case to open it. He would have to reactivate its security before getting out of there. "This is a key. A key to a great power. And if there's one thing a Sith can't resist, it's the promise of power, of control." He paused, feeling a deep sorrow wash over him. "Even if control, in the end, only robs one of freedom."

Fett didn't answer. His face was marked by shadows, which emphasized both the unyielding angles and the tired lines. The bounty hunter seemed less hostile than earlier, his grim expression betraying a form of understanding. Everything has a cost: his presence here was only the price for his decisions.

But enough delaying.

Resolute, Obi-Wan composed the code Fett had given him. The comm was one provided with holographic capacity, and he waited only a few seconds before Dooku's image appeared before him. He was dressed in his usual tunic and cloak, but it was impossible to guess where he was and what he was doing. The Count frowned immediately at the sight of Obi-Wan.

"Obviously, you're not Mister Fett, and if you're taking the time to contact me, it's because you have something to offer me." His voice was cold, but a tad curious. Obi-Wan guessed they would not lose time on pleasantries

"I have in my possession something you covet."

“Are you proposing the immediate surrender of the Republic, and the Jedi along with it? How very smart of you.”

“No. Something far more precious,” Obi-Wan said, raising the Wayfinder to display it. Dooku's eyes narrowed.

“Interesting. But I suppose you want something in return?”

"I'm willing to hand it over to you, if you cease your assault immediately."

Dooku took a few seconds to reply. His appraising gaze detailed Obi-Wan's features.

"You understand that I cannot accede to this unreasonable demand. I can very well seize that thing from your death-stiffened hands, Jedi."

"I can destroy it before you find me. And you won’t be able to open its protecting case without me."

"Yes, maybe so, but I can also take a group of crechelings hostage, and execute them one by one until you come and find me. How about that?"

Obi-Wan carefully maintained a neutral expression, despite the sudden image of bodies littering the Temple’s bloody corridors flashing in his mind. It was one of OId Ben’s worst memories. However, being the outstanding politician that he was, Dooku must have spotted this tell: he let his narrow lips stretch into a cruel smile. "Yes, I think this would be an effective way of negotiating with you. If it’s not to your taste, come and find me now, and we'll see if I'm in the mood to work out an agreement."

Obi-Wan’s primary goal was to meet Dooku, but he had to keep subtlety on his side. Folding too quickly would not send the appropriate message.

"I can't accept those terms. I need guarantees."

"You have no choice, Jedi. I'll give you one hour to come and meet me on the Invisible Hand. Mister Fett can show you the way if he’s still alive. After that, the sole guarantee I can give you is that I'll take no prisoners."

Obi-Wan knew it was a real possibility. Dooku had been too wrapped by the Dark Side to know mercy anymore. Feeling cold, he said, "You don't know what I'm capable of."

Dooku said nothing, letting the silence stretch for a moment. His evaluating gaze did not deviate from Obi-Wan. After a few seconds, he said, "You will not take me by surprise, as you must have done with Sidious. But I’m curious, do you know what I’m capable of?"

Obi-Wan wasn't surprised that Dooku knew he was the one who had killed Palpatine. Fett roaming the Temple for who knew how much time had been a critical security leak. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. "I'm coming to find you, and we’ll negotiate."

"Yes, we’ll see about that. But in the meantime, know that I will not stand idly by. Time is not on your side, Jedi. I will get what is rightfully mine, one way or another."

Dooku cut the line.

Obi-Wan’s hand tightened around the Wayfinder. One hour. Everything could turn upside down in such a short time. He knew he had no real arguments to make Dooku feel truly threatened. For that, Obi-Wan had to strike at the heart of his power.

He possessed various contingency tools he had accumulated over the years. In particular, he had a datadisk with a virus capable of considerably hindering the operation of battle droids. Getting on the Invisible Hand could be very well the door he needed to deploy it—with Anakin’s aid.

Obi-Wan could no longer afford to hesitate. He wished he would have the means to save Anakin from the fury of battle; to keep him safe forever. But, above all else, he would give everything to offer the Jedi a chance of surviving the night. To do that, people had to die tonight. Even if it meant endangering his precious people. Sacrifices, for the greater good.

]o[

One troop carrier managed to get close enough to Coruscant's atmosphere to drop its cargo. Within a second, it was destroyed by a concerted assault of fighters and heavy laser fire, but too late to prevent the multiple units from entering the atmosphere. Soon, others would follow, and their defense would be overwhelmed.

"Master Windu, we have a breach,” Depa's voice was clear and poised despite the situation, but Mace could still perceive, through their bond, just how much stress she was under. “The enemy army is dropping units. You must get ready for ground assaults."

“Understood, we've got plenty to cope with. You must hold the line.”

Despite what he just said, things were looking bad. They had to make critical strategic decisions on too many fronts at once.

The bulk of the battle was currently taking place in space, but as things developed, they would soon have to fight planetside.

The communications room had been transformed into a command room. There were enough independent communication stations to maintain a continuous flow of information that could easily be centralized.

Mace had recruited intelligence specialists for this purpose, and was fortunate to have a few Shadow Jedi on hand. Tholme, Tera and others were proving efficient. The adrenalin and stress of battle made everyone forget their fatigue, but Mace could see the exhaustion in the drawn features of his companions.

"We need to deploy ground units, moving fast, to deal with the bulk of the aggression." They couldn't leave the people of Coruscant defenseless. Every local government had security forces at its disposal, but they weren't cut out for war. They would quickly be overwhelmed by battle droids facing them.

They had to protect civilians. Coruscant had the best hiding places, but its architecture made it vulnerable to artillery strikes: a collapsing building could have catastrophic consequences for the entire surrounding area.

Mace focused on making the best possible decisions, but, insidiously, a voice was telling him to break definitively with the imperatives that bound them to the Republic and stop their loss for good. But their duty was to the most vulnerable; the Force had endowed them with the power to act for the good. And if that meant sacrificing their lives for it, then so be it.

"Tactic, have you composed the units as requested?"

"Command, Commander Fox has transmitted the orders, about half the units are ready for deployment."

"Very well, we have two lines of defense, deploying upper-atmosphere fighters. We need to shoot down as many vessels as possible before they can deliver their payload. Second line of defense, low altitude in strict mesh: no chase, hold the position, and third line on the ground, hunt, and strike. But the emphasis must be on mobility, maximum priority."

"In position."

On the holo-display, a myriad of luminous symbols materialized the units currently deployed on the battlefield. It was so large that they couldn't afford to keep an overview. Mace had broken down the Jedi at his disposal to monitor the tactical displays, which were updated in real-time.

Kit put a hand on Mace’s shoulder, “I have to go, Mace.” The Nautolan had equipped himself for battle. Like most combat-capable Jedi, he was going out into the streets of Coruscant to support the allied troops. He said, "May the Force be with you."

Mace wished he didn't have to hear that phrase so often. It had a taste of farewell that he intensely disliked. "Be careful. Fight well," Mace said, trying to sound confident. Sending as many fighters out as possible was necessary, but it worried him. The Temple would be virtually without seasoned warriors, aside from Temple's Guards, and Padawans. Hence the need to conduct an evacuation without delay.

He kept an eye on the regularly updated data. The Council had decided early on to evacuate the Temple. No one really believed in their victory, and a race against time was on to save what could be saved.

]o[

Jocasta was packing. She wanted to cry, but her heart was too dry to find tears.

She knew she had to bid farewell to a large part of what had defined her life so far. Yan Dooku, the man who had been her friend—her brother, had returned from exile to destroy everything the Jedi Order stood for.

It had broken her heart.

Jocasta directed her teams, from archivists to students, to quickly and summarily pack up their most precious possessions: pieces of history, documents unique in the galaxy, anything irreplaceable.

Jocasta knew they wouldn't have time to save everything.

Choices had to be made.

That broke her heart a little more.

But saving what could be saved was also a guarantee that the Order would survive despite the possible destruction of their home. The priority was to ensure a future.

"Madam Nu, the last transports are scheduled to leave in thirty minutes! We don't have time to pack everything."

"Take mostly what's remaining in the vaults and in the restricted section. The rest is probably archived elsewhere."

Jocasta was uploading the complete list of documents currently held in the Archives to her datapad. So, although they wouldn't manage to save everything, she would at least have the references of the documents they'd had to leave behind.

If the Force so-willed, she would spend the rest of her life piecing together as much of what would be lost as possible.

"We won't leave without. Don't make us stay behind."

Jocasta sighed. He knew her well. She knew she would have been tempted to stay and fight to her last breath against an enemy who only wanted them harm. But she couldn't let her comrades, and her hopes of rebuilding the Archives, go with her.

She had to think of the future, and that meant running away and not looking back.

]o[

Obi-Wan had given Anakin a rendezvous, giving him a location at one of the remote docking bays, usually housing older spaceships the Order barely used. Anakin's long strides ate the distance, but he kept his composure to avoid raising questions. Occasional tremors and distant explosions told about fights that had broken out outside. On his way, he crossed paths with numerous Jedi, their arms laden with unidentified load. Despite them looking all troubled and hassled, Anakin thought it prudent to do his best to look as if he had every reason to be there. Snips was hot on his heels, eager to be helpful, and Anakin didn't have the heart to send her back to safety with the other junior Padawans.

He knew all too well the pain of being constantly sidelined. He wanted to prove his worth too, and show his Master that he could be trusted.

At times, Anakin felt like he was being treated like a bomb ready to explode. He was willing to admit that he was a sensitive individual, and perhaps a little impulsive, but he knew how to control himself, thank you very much.

"If Mace asks, you'll have to tell him that you came with me without my approval, and that I did everything I could to keep you safe, is that understood?" He kept his voice low so as not to attract attention.

"Don't worry, Skyguy, I'm not stupid," she whispered with a grimace that vaguely resembled a smile. "Who’s this guy again? Why we shouldn't tell Mace we're going to see him?"

Anakin didn't feel like asking himself this question. He knew he was in a difficult situation, with conflicting loyalties, but the promise of finally being able to take some real action was too good to pass up. Besides, he trusted Obi-Wan.

"This guy's my friend, I've known him since... I don't know, I think forever." Anakin said, while checking the floor’s plan. They had finally reached the right level, and now they had to move in the right direction. This corridor would lead them toward the hangar Obi-Wan spoke about. "For decades, he's been pretending to be someone… he's not really. And he's managed to fool everyone."

“What? Even the Jedi? How is that possible?”

Yes, that was a concerning thought.

The last one having managed that feat had been a Sith Lord, apparently.

Anyway.

“Guess he’s talented, and if someone has the means to turn this kriffing battle, it must be Obi-Wan.” As he spoke these words, Anakin felt them resonate in the Force as truth. This reassured him, and only strengthened his resolve. He only hoped that Mace would forgive him.

Finally, they reached the docking bay, which was almost deserted. Anakin let out an appreciative whistle. The cavernous expanse, dimly lit, was a haven for a motley assortment of starships, ranging from sleek and nimble vessels to hulking, outdated behemoths. They weren’t probably the most functional for an evacuation, but Anakin would have liked to take a closer look. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of exploring this place earlier.

A sudden movement caught his eye, and he saw Obi-Wan waving to him beside an old ship that must have been a century or two old, hull dented and pockmarked. The archivist wasn't alone: a clone sporting a spectacular frown was flanking him. Anakin did a double take. Were those handcuffs around his wrists?

"Ah, Anakin. I'm glad to see you." Obi-Wan said, his voice strong, yet poised. Anakin was having trouble reconciling the mental image he'd formed of Obi-Wan with the way he looked now. Obi-Wan looked considerably taller than usual.

No, not taller, but his presence radiated a charisma Anakin had never seen him express. He stood very straight, with square shoulders and a direct gaze. Obi-Wan had even added pieces of plastoid armor to his outfit, and it was weirdly fitting. Totally at odds with the meek persona he sported as an archivist. Obi-Wan frowned slightly when his gaze landed on Ahsoka, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Are you alright? I heard you collapsed earlier; I hope it's not my fault?” asked Anakin, moving slightly to keep Ahsoka behind him. It was too late to regret the decision to let Ahsoka follow him, though.

Obi-Wan smiled before placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and used it to push him aside. “No, Anakin, everything isn’t always about you, don’t worry.” His eyes crinkled as they landed on Ahsoka, softening his expression marginally. “Why are you here, little one? Not to be rude, but it can be dangerous for you.”

Anakin felt Ahsoka’s hackles rising immediately, but she kept civil when she answered, “I've already fought on the front line. I can be useful. Besides, it’s dangerous everywhere."

Something akin to sadness crossed Obi-Wan’s face. “Yes, I suppose it is. But if you’re here, it means you want to fight. The question is why you would fight for me.”

Ahsoka remained silent for an instant, eyes riveted on Obi-Wan. “The Force is telling me to listen to you. And I won’t fight for you. I will fight alongside you, for the Republic. For the Jedi.”

“Ah yes, fair enough.” Obi-Wan sighed, and bluntly added, “It could lead you to your death, are you both okay with that?” His gaze shifted to Anakin, who could sense the emotional turmoil his friend was feeling, despite his shields.

“Of course yes,” answered Anakin, careful to keep his face blank. He wouldn't show his fear, which blended with the excitement he felt building inside him. This was the first time someone was willing to trust him, and he finally had the chance to make a difference. To prove his worth. "What should we do?"

Obi-Wan gave the restrained clone an inscrutable look. The man looked bored, but Anakin could see tension in the line of his shoulders.

“Anakin, Ahsoka. You are both extraordinary Jedi. I have confidence in your talents, but I'll be honest with you: there's a high risk that we won't come back from this operation unscathed. So I want your full loyalty. I don't want anyone questioning my orders. If these terms don't suit you, I'd prefer to leave it at that. Is that clear?”

Ahsoka looked at Anakin, uncertain. She was probably waiting for him to position himself so she could follow him. Obi-Wan spoke like a soldier. Like a general, experienced in combat and command. This added thickness to the mystery of who his friend really was, and the question he'd asked about their loyalty resonated in the Force. Was he willing to put his life on the line for someone who had much unknown in their background?

But you've always known Obi-Wan. He was always there when it counted. Anakin wasn't quite sure where this thought was coming from, but he knew it spoke the truth. The Force wanted Anakin to act. Obi-Wan was probably his best bet to make a difference.

“I’m with you, Obi-Wan.” Anakin felt Ahsoka wrap herself tightly around his arm. “And Ahsoka, too. How can we help you?”

"We're going to board the enemy’s flagship. Here's the plan."

]o[

Quinlan ran a hand over the wooden panel. It was seemingly just another decorative element in the room. The craft was well-made, with intricate patterns. If it hadn’t been for the clues provided by his psychometry skills and his map, Quinlan wouldn’t have known that there was a passage behind this wall. “We need to go through this wall,” he said, both for Fox who was with him, and for Tholme who was following the operation over the comm.

The situation reminded him strangely of the moments when their team had begun investigating Palpatine's assassination. It had seemed like an eternity ago, even though only three days had passed. He hadn't slept much since, but still. His vision of the galaxy had been completely shaken, and he no longer felt like the same man.

Fox approached with his hand-held scanner. The device beeped, and the Commander said, "It's armored steel. We're going to need the right equipment and some time to clear a path." Fox looked exhausted, as they all did, but in his eyes shone a determined gleam, at odd with the kind of resigned patience Quinlan had been used to see on the face of the Corries' leader. For him too, the world had changed radically.

Tholme had tried to obtain the access codes, but had been unable to get in touch with the head of security. From what Fox had told the Jedi, it was possible that the obstruction was deliberate.

Well, they had to act anyway.

"I guess it’s not the time for subtlety anymore." Quinlan closed his eyes, removed his glove, and took in the memory wisps floating in the Force. He soon spotted the hidden identification panel and the locking points holding the security door sealed. Quinlan activated his lightsaber and drove it through the alloy with decisiveness. Few materials could really withstand the power of a lightsaber beam.

Flashes of light illuminated the room intermittently. Coruscant’s defenses were crumbling: bombs and landing units were beginning to fall on the surface. Most were neutralized by anti-air defenses and ground-air lures before reaching the ground, but some managed to pass through.

Irregular tremors could be felt through the permacrete. Each time, Quinlan felt lives blown in an instant through the Force, and this did nothing to improve his concentration.

Quinlan tightened his grip, both on his lightsaber and on his mental shield, and continued to cut steadily through the metal.

"Convenient," Fox said, eyeing Quinlan’s progress appreciatively. He made a sign before adding for his men, "Prepare the battering ram."

Fox had joined Quinlan with an entire platoon. The clones moved and organized themselves almost without speaking, communicating mainly through subtle signs. They were all veterans, and Quinlan could feel their harmony in the Force. Without being Force-sensitive, the Clones' particular nature made them almost permeable to a form of communion of spirit, not unlike the Jedi's relationship with the world. Quinlan enjoyed working with them.

When he judged that he had weakened the panel sufficiently, he deactivated his blade and took a step to the side. The clones, with precise coordination, hit the panel with their makeshift battering ram. They only had to use it twice, before the door collapsed with a disquieting screech, revealing a shadowy corridor. According to Quinlan's information, it led into the depths of the Senate, into a secure section that was a priori resistant to orbital assault.

“Master Tholme, do you have readings on the security?”

Static answered him for a few seconds, soon replaced by Tholme's voice, "It seems that this part of the Senate is off-grid, and it's possible that the electromagnetic waves are dampened there. Your signal is definitely worse when you're standing close to the wall than when you're in the middle of the room," Quinlan frowned. He couldn't see more than a few meters, as the corridor took a sharp bend. "We'll have to continue our progress either way, Master. It might be more prudent to send a Jedi team after us."

"I'll check with Mace to see if we can assemble a team quickly. Be careful, Quinlan."

"I will, Master,” said Quinlan before putting his comm in his inside pocket. “Well? What do you think, Commander?"

"I say there's no backing out, General," answered Fox, flanked by his men. Quinlan couldn't see their faces, but he could clearly feel their determination.

“My opinion exactly. Let's go, gentlemen.”

Without further ado, they entered the bowels of the Senate. It was a succession of dimly lit corridors and elevators that all looked alike, which seemed not to have been used for a long time. An impression of antiquity pervaded. The network was extensive, and connected other parts of the Senate, allowing a select few senators and politicians to move discreetly and maintain privacy when necessary.

“We need to keep going downward,” whispered Fox, to his scouts. Quinlan nodded. He was doing his best to project his senses, but for the moment he hadn't detected anyone's presence. He had, however, spotted the Chancellor's trail. Amedda had been there, but it was impossible to say exactly when. It could have been a few minutes or a few hours earlier.

As they went deeper, Quinlan had the impression that they were becoming more and more cut off from the world. There must indeed have been some kind of shield, as he no longer felt external events as strongly as before, which also affected the information carried by the Force.

After what seemed like an eternity, Quinlan finally detected the presence of a large number of people. They had reached a more open part of the complex, clearly designed for defense. One massive security door closed off a hallway that offered no blind spots or space for attackers to take cover. The defenders, on the other hand, had barricades. Quinlan spotted the concealed presence of security turrets, uncomfortably pointed at them.

As Quinlan and the clones stepped into the space, he could feel the moment they became a target. Fortunately, no one opened fire, but he clearly sensed in the Force that their arrival was not perceived as a positive thing.

"Halt! We're on lockdown, no one gets in!"

Quinlan put his hands open before him in a non-threatening gesture. "I'm on a mission from the Jedi High Council. Known Force darkusers are part of the CIS army. The Jedi must protect the Chancellor from their actions. Or do you think you're qualified for this task?"

The CorSec team leader–as attested by her uniform–showed clear signs of nervousness, and Quinlan could taste her fear in the Force. Still, she didn't back down and continued to stand up to him.

"Orders are orders. No one gets in." Her fingers visibly tightened on her assault rifle, and the other security personnel tensed. They looked at Quinlan with hostility.

Something fishy was happening here.

"I am not your enemy," he said soothingly with the Force. Something was wrong with the loyalties expressed here.

Mace had warned him that Mas Amedda had been difficult regarding relations with the Jedi in the aftermath of Palpatine's assassination. If the acting Chancellor had been aware that Palpatine was a Sith Lord, chances were high he knew about the plan to get rid of the Jedi.

And it was only a short step from there to the conclusion that he was maybe in collusion with Dooku.

Quinlan gritted his teeth.

With these facts in mind, he couldn’t afford to back off.

You need to intervene. Amedda has the power to set off the Clones’ control chip.

The thought came to him clearly, directly from the Force bond he had with Obi-Wan. He had to admit it was handy, even if a bit unsettling on the privacy side. Well. Quinlan would address the problem when the time came. Now, all that mattered was the slightest advantage that circ*mstances could offer him, and unfettered communication with an outstanding strategist seemed to him to fall into that category.

What do you propose?

Get to him, take him to the Temple.

This will be an act of high treason. The Republic will prosecute the entire Order for this.

Doesn't matter. Only survival matters at this point.

Quinlan, for his part, sensed Obi-Wan's intention to confront Dooku directly. And it made sense, even if he didn't like the idea of him going in like that almost without backup.

Through the bond and with the memories that went with it, Quinlan deeply understood Obi-Wan’s motivations and his determination to set things right. But he didn’t like the taste of ruthlessness he could sense in Obi-Wan’s resolve.

This conversation had allowed them to exchange several times, but at a speed far greater than the spoken word could convey. Barely a few seconds had passed, and Quinlan was still facing the security guards, who seemed determined to not let them pass.

Quinlan couldn't afford to eliminate potential innocents either, and he'd have to be smart about this.

There was an entire contingent between him and an armored door. With the Force, Quinlan was reasonably sure he could manage to disable the security agents without too much damage, but his team would have to be creative about the armored door. With time, they could find a way to bypass the security, but he wasn't sure he'd have the hours to do it.

Force, what to do?

And the Force answered with a clear warning.

They were attacked, but not on the front. The attack was coming from the rear. On cue, he heard the telltale sound of smoke grenades being fired, soon followed by the quiet hiss of the smoke being released in the atmosphere. The enemy fire was coming from the one of corridors. Quinlan’s team was stuck in a really uncomfortable position.

“Find cover! We’re under attack!” shouted Fox, and his men retreated immediately toward the barricades.

Quinlan waited a few seconds with his activated lightsaber to fend off the few blaster bolts coming through the smoke, then Force-leaped next to the security chief. “For now, we’re on the same side!”

She swore and let Quinlan take cover beside her. “The Chancellor was afraid of that! We’re facing a security breach!”

“What do you mean?”

“Part of CorSec is on Dooku's payroll!"

Of course. Compartmentalized loyalties were probably the result of cleverly orchestrated corruption. They really didn’t need that on top of all the other things. But things were never fair in war.

Smoke was spreading slowly, blurring vision and making those without a helmet cough. Quinlan filtered the air around his head, but it cost him precious energy. He prepared to launch himself fully in the battle, when he heard the characteristic snap-hiss of a lightsaber being activated amongst the shouts and the blaster shots.

At first, he didn't recognize the cloaked Force-signature, too faint to be perceived clearly. Something tasted familiar, though, and suddenly, a name came to him from the part of his mind that was now connected to Obi-Wan.

Ventress

Oh, no. Quinlan closed his eyes for an instant. He had read a few reports describing the Darkuser that numerous Jedi had had the misfortune to meet on the battlefield. She was probably Dooku's apprentice, and as such, was an outstanding duelist, specially trained to face the Jedi skill set.

Many had fallen under her blade.

From Obi-Wan's memories, a certain amount of information about Ventress came spontaneously to him, about her favorite feints and her fighting style. This flow was laced with anxiety, but Quinlan could do nothing to assuage this kind of fear. Before a battle, one needed to feel fear, and to accept its presence. This was what differentiated an actual combat from a training session or a spar. Because fighting was, at heart, about preserving life.

To fight was to face death.

And today, death would reap its share of lives.