Chancellor Office, Coruscant; 20 BBY

A lazy puff of dichromatic pink and orange wafted along the skyline, momentarily obscuring the rising sun. It cast the room in a penumbra. Today was an important day. That, in itself, applied to most days, at least for some beings. Given the diffusion of life throughout the galaxy, there were pretty good odds that every single day held meaning for someone. What made it worthy to note lay in its importance to himself, and wasn't that all that really mattered, in the end?

It had been two years, two long and productive years. Years divided by separation and longing, creeper vines of infatuation infecting the compassion they had been destined for. Captain Panaka had been so very useful in passing along the jewel in his masterpiece. Once wouldn't think romance would play much of a role in his schemes, but those beings just didn't have the creativity to appreciate the detrimental effects a relationship could have. She, an anti-war senator trying to weigh her conscious against a husband leading the very troops into battle; troops, as it were, that she opposed funding. The boy, trying to come to grips with his need for companionship while hiding his relationship from the very people he called friends. No, some people just didn't see the bitter truth that to open yourself to another invited weakness, chinks to be exploited, and exploit them he did.

Serpent-cold eyes scanned the skyline, a myriad of angular buildings and a constant flow of traffic. Coruscant was truly the metropolis of the galaxy, a bustling world full of life. On the surface, one saw the affluent and privileged. That's what drew people here, like a honeyed barb, promising opportunity. Untold numbers of beings flocked here for a life they didn't think they could achieve on other planets. There was an ancient saying that wishes never pan out in an expected manner, that once should show caution before voicing one's desires, lest they come true.

The Shadow smirked as the warm orange sky bled to a deep red, another night of suffering for the denizens of the lower levels. The very ones that were drawn to this world through hope often found themselves trapped in squalor, eking out a miserable existence on scraps. True, he found many willing pawns down in the dredges, not that he ever ventured there personally, but it was a two-edged sword. While they provided a willing and able pool of the disenfranchised, it also offered that to anyone. With Maul's resurrection and failed insurrection, he knew the criminals had been neglected for far too long. After all, what good strategist pitted juggernauts against one another, but let a lowly viper sink it's fangs into one's heel? No, it was long past time for the sewers to be purged and he knew just the man to do it.

A pale sienna light pulsed on the arm of his chair—his throne—indicating his guest was waiting for him. A slender finger lightly touched the pulse to activate the comm. "Send the Admiral in, my dear."

The doors to his anteroom slid apart, the illuminated outer hallway bathed the office in white light. Without turning from the skyline, he could see in his mind's eye the deep bow Sly Moore gave, regardless of whether she was being directly watched, before she left the Admiral in the stateroom. The red of evening was gone, replaced by the purplish haze of twilight. The only illumination in the room itself was the numerous buttons and dials that resided in arms of his chair, carefully covered by his sleeve.

"Chancellor," his aristocratic voice held a heavy Eriadian accent, while still projecting an air of emotionless demeanor that the subject of his greeting approved of. Of course, given the events of the past few days, the speaker knew he was most likely here for a reprimand. After all, he had failed to deliver on his assigned task.

"Wilhuff," Palpatine drawled, "please come in. Sit."

The militarist Admiral walked stiffly over to one of the plush seats arrayed before the Chancellor's desk. The man had a sharp mind for military tactics, but he wasn't very flexible. Victory had to be absolute, or it may as well be failure to Tarkin. Palpatine learned early on that one couldn't move through life with rigid plans. The best ones provided favorable outcomes regardless of success or failure. Still, he doubted the man before him could appreciate that.

"I had a rather fascinating conversation with Anakin Skywalker regarding his Padawan this evening." He let the sentence hang.

Tarkin all but bristled at the idea. "I assure you, Chancellor—"

"—Assurances are not needed, my friend. It seems Padawan Tano has elected to resign from the Jedi Order."

The Admiral just stared. He'd expected at least some level of anger, but the Chancellor seemed . . . content? The man might be the best chance for the future of the Galaxy, but he had some of the oddest reactions. News of otherwise devastating losses taken as nothing but a delay in victory, word of resounding success tempered with caution. The man had ice in his veins. Idly, Tarkin wondered what such a person would do in command of a ship. "Sir?"

"That, however, isn't the purpose of our little meeting." Palpatine said smoothly, "I will be paying a visit to our newly imprisoned Jedi this evening. I'd like you to ensure that any surveillance will be . . . otherwise occupied during that time."

"Your Excellency, is that advisable, the prisoner is dangerous. Surely her crimes are testament to that. I must advise against such a meeting, for your own safety."

"I thank you for your concern, but I must insist." Palpatine smiled. It wasn't the politician's smile he used to put others at ease, this one was cold. It didn't even come close to his eyes. It made his face seem mask-like. "She and I should speak before the interrogations begin."

"Of course, I will make arrangements."

Detention Cell 38, Block 11

Traitor . . .

She heard the word echo inside her head, much as it would have if spoken aloud in her sparse cell. Why couldn't they understand? The Jedi were never meant to be fighters, frontline brawlers, fodder for a political war of ideologies. They call her a traitor, when they move ships and soldiers around like a game to protect weapons factories and shipyards? What happened to defending peace?

The prisoner heard the soft click of military-issue boots and the soft rustle of clothing at the far end of the hall. She glanced up as the noise stopped at her cell door. It didn't come as a surprise when, a moment later, her cell door slid open. What did come as a shock was who her visitor turned out to be.

"I must confess, my dear, I never imagined you would have it within you to commit such egregious . . . actions against the Jedi."

Barriss Offee gave a snort of derision, it wasn't like her situation could get much worse. "And what would you know of what's in me, Chancellor?"

Chancellor Palpatine appraised the imprisoned Padawan for a moment before turning to his pair of escort guards. In a voice that dropped in pitch, that dripped with authority, he gave a command that left Offee confused. "Leave us."

Pausing, as if wanting to refuse to leave the most important being in the Republic alone with a known terrorist, they nevertheless inclined their helmets and left the pair alone. Turning back to the shackled Jedi, the Chancellor wore a grandfatherly smile. "I pride myself on being a judge of character, my dear, of knowing what lies in the hearts of others."

"Yet here we are, though I'm at a loss as to the purpose of your visit." Barriss shrugged, "I somehow doubt many of the incarcerated are so graced."

Descending into the pit of the cell, the Chancellor took a seat across from Barriss. "No," he admitted, tilting his head, "You gave quite an impassioned speech the other day."

"Nothing you agree with or approve of, I'm sure. Perhaps you're a victim of circumstance, but you're just as guilty as the Jedi, in the end."

A ghost of a smirk lighted the corner of Palpatine's mouth. "You would have made an intriguing politician. Firebrands can come from the most humble of backgrounds."

"Maybe I'll suggest it as part of my parole."

Palpatine gave a negligent wave of his hand. "An unlikely turn of events, given your accused crimes."

Barriss was starting to get annoyed with the Chancellor's aloof words, it was time he was reminded of just what she was capable of. "Crimes that include murder—in this very facility, no less." She gave an open-palmed gesture to the statesman before her, "Yet you willingly put yourself in my cell, alone. What makes you think I wouldn't do the same to you?"

"Other than the retribution the Republic would exact?"

"It's not as if my future prospects would get any worse, the Jedi would never sanction torture." She considered it, "I could cripple the war effort here and now."

Instead of flustering the Chancellor, this line of thought only seemed to bring out the coldly rational portion of the man. "One would presume that a living hostage would be more advantageous than a martyred corpse." He gave a small shrug before continuing, "Still, this academic discussion isn't the purpose of my visit, however engaging a young lady you are."

"Academic? You doubt my resolve?"

"Oh no, on the contrary, I think you've shown remarkable dedication to your position." Something slithered behind the icy-blue eyes of the Naboo noble, like a distant firelight. "You even deceived the Jedi Council, not an insignificant feat."

The conversation was starting to become surreal. Barriss found herself unable to figure out if the Chancellor was seriously complimenting her deception, or this entire event was an isolation-induced hallucination. Despite this, she had learned early on in her combat training that, when on unsure ground, it's best to keep moving forward, lest it give way beneath her feet. "The Jedi are blinded by the war, it wasn't particularly difficult. They wanted a simple explanation, so I gave them one."

"You're quite perceptive for someone so young, no doubt influence from your master?"

"Master Unduli knew nothing about this."

Palpatine's eyes sharpened, focused, as if a predator spotting a vulnerable prey. It was a look politicians and lawyers got when they heard a flaw in an opposing argument. "Ah, but is she your only master?"

The imprisoned Padawan just frowned, not understanding the question. "What are you asking?"

"Such a talented girl, no doubt others have noticed your potential. Perhaps even a former Jedi Master? Tell me, have you ever met Count Dooku?"

Bariss gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Is that a roundabout way of asking if I'm a Separatist?"

The penetrating gaze in the Chancellor's eyes never left. "I couldn't care less what you call yourself. I am asking if you've ever met personally with the Count, he does have a soft spot for the young and impressionable, women especially. With such potential, who wouldn't want to help guide you?"

"And why do you care?"

Palpatine rose, his suddenly towering form cast a shadow over Barriss. "Let's just say I have a vested interest in your answer." He paused a few seconds to wait for a response, but the former Jedi merely looked numbly up, unsure as to the purpose of this line of questioning, much less why the Republic's Supreme Chancellor would be asking her personally. When it was clear she wasn't going to respond, the tone he had use with the guards like a whiplash, practically a snarl from the normally docile politician. "Answer me!"

Barriss unconsciously flinched at the shout. "No—no, I've never met him."

Like a switch was thrown, the affable smile was back in place, and he took his seat again. "Excellent, I'm glad we could clear that up, my dear." Adjusting the fall of his robe, Palpatine raised a slender finger. "You are wrong about one thing, though," he said softly, pointing it at her, "I do agree with what you said at the trial."

"You—what?" Barriss gapped at the Chancellor, he couldn't possibly mean what he was saying, especially not with security cameras recording her cell.

"No, I'm afraid the security recorder for our little meeting has been disabled," he leaned back, "as I am sure you could fathom the implications of what I'm saying, should they ever leave this room."

Given the turns of this conversation, Barriss hesitated before answering. "What makes you think I won't tell anyone?"

The Chancellor gave her a patronizing smile. "Apart from no one believing you?"

Her eyes narrowed to cerulean slits. "You agree with me?"

"I've gone to considerable effort to make your accusations true. Never fear, the Jedi, all of them, will be on trial soon enough." The Chancellor's smile morphed into a vicious smirk. "And for their part in this little war of mine, they will be executed. Every last one."

Barriss couldn't keep the look of shocked horror off her face. "What are you talking about?"

"You should know, you said it yourself already." Palpatine raised one of his hands, loosely clutched into a fist and the fallen Padawan felt her windpipe constrict. "The Jedi are fighting for the dark side; fighting for me. And it is only a matter of time before I tear down the rotten remains of this . . . Republic."

Struggling to breath, she didn't even see the Chancellor move. He seemingly appeared in front of her, his bony hand adding physical pressure to the Force's grip on her throat. His careworn face inches from her, Barriss could see the yellow of his eyes glowing brightly in the darkness of her cell. The hand not choking her trailed gently along the side of her face.

"You needn't worry, my dear, I have no intention of killing you. I merely had to ascertain whether Dooku was overstepping his station, again." He released the pressure on her windpipe, letting her limp body slump down, her head jerked up from the presence of his clawed hand still in place.

She tried to get up, but his arm held her in place, strong and ironclad, not the soft arms of a politician. "You'll . . . never . . . succeed."

"I've yet to decide if Republic Intelligence will tie you to the Separatists," Palpatine started conversantly. "There are obvious benefits to implying that Dooku can reach into the Temple itself, but having a Jedi turning of her own will fit rather nicely in with the narrative of the Jedi not being able to be trusted." He trailed off, as if lost in thought, before snapping back to her eyes. "But that's my dilemma. You will have other, more pressing, concerns."

With his free hand, the Chancellor slipped inside his robes to withdraw a tiny syringe filled with a pale green liquid. "This," he said, holding the needle up between them, "is a potent amnesiac laced with a sedative. Apart from a rather harsh migraine side-effect, the past twelve hours will be a complete blur."

Without warning, he used his thumb to tilt her head and jabbed it just below her jawline. The drug felt like ice water entering her veins, a quick numbness spread throughout her body. Now her complete weight was resting on the Chancellor's hand around her neck, but she couldn't even struggle to breathe. Thankfully, Palpatine relinquished his hold, kneeling as he lowered her down to lie on the bench that doubled as a bunk.

Her vision was starting to blur, but she could see the golden glow of his eyes were back to a vibrant blue, as if they were never there at all. He considered the Padawan. "Pleasant dreams, my dear." He leaned over and gently brushed his thin, bloodless lips over her forehead, as a parent might to a sleeping child.

Giving a pitying glance towards her disheveled clothing, Palpatine's face naturally formed a sneer. "I suppose red just isn't your color," he chuckled as the syringe were capped and returned to the layered folds of his robes. A small flick of movement and he was ascending the steps. The guards who had escorted him in were easy enough to influence. By the time the Chancellor had departed, the pair would have sworn on their oaths to the Republic that they spent the entire day in the security booth. Of course the footage from the facilities databanks would be corrupted, should anyone think to examine them, but no one would.

The dark crimson airspeeder looked pitch black in the night, its surfaces reflected the world-city's lights like polished obsidian. Palpatine's private airspeeder was well armored and armed, the fair bluish haze of a force field—only readily visible to occupants—acted as a partial wind buffer. The last time the Chancellor had piloted this craft had been shortly after a terrorist attack on the Coruscant Administrative Sector, he'd taken Senators Organa and Amidala on a tour of the carnage. This particular jaunt might not have been as pleasant as that one, but it had been one he couldn't trust outsourcing. The girl was quite fortunate Dooku had not recruited her, for she wouldn't have gotten off so easily if he had. So, too, was the Count lucky. After the debacle with his assassin, and his failure to eliminate her, Sidious was not going to be so lenient if he had tried to ascertain a new disciple.

It was true that the proposition of poisoning the girl had been considered, but that would have caused more problems than it solved. Alive, she was a simple traitor to the Republic; dead, she was a martyr. Of course, one needn't be living to be thought alive, and he hadn't been entirely truthful about the injection. There was no amnesiac, just a simple sedative. One was less likely to fight the effects if they believed they'd wake up again.

Behind him, the Republic military base exploded.

Excerpt from an Op-Ed Published in the Coruscanti Times

In light of recent events, televised for the entire galaxy to witness, can we continue to ignore the white bantha in the room? We're all thinking it, I'm just giving voice to the words that are already there in the common rooms and dinner tables of citizens across the Republic: can the Jedi be trusted? Don't misunderstand me, I'm not advocating for a dissolution of the Order, and am by no means a Separatist, but time and again we see Jedi upon Jedi turning on us. Whether it be the nearly disastrous campaign on Umbara, where General Pong Krell practically gave the planet to Dooku's forces or the Temple bombing by the traitorous Barriss Offee, there is one vein of commonality that connects them: treason. That is not to say that Jedi are more susceptible to it than others, but why do we continue to hold them up on aurodium pedestals? One fact that cannot be disputed is the disproportionate damage Jedi and former Jedi cause when they turn on us.

That statement is sure to incite the Jedi protectors in the media, but my voice is not alone in this. The Senate has reportedly scheduled a session to listed to a bill that would place the Jedi Order under the office of the Supreme Chancellor, and this writer couldn't feel more heartened by that news.

Author's Note: This one has been nearly finished for a while, I just couldn't decide how I wanted it to end. I had wanted it to stay as canon as possible, but with the whole Legends thing, I guess it's only relative at this point. Unless they continue to write Legend stories, then there's never going to be a final resolution to inconsistencies like Barriss Offee between the show and the books.