Chapter 36: Anabasis

.

Reformation Year 980.01.17
Coruscant

Pamah Thakkan had evaded them. As frustrated and frankly terrified as she was, Caliiga couldn't even find it in her heart to take the deception personally, it had been done so well. Thakkan likely hadn't even known what she was running from. As tempting as the idea of fleeing, or even trying to contact Davine and throwing herself on his mysterious master's mercy might be, Caliiga knew Tuuz didn't have that option, and would suffer alone for their failure.

She returned to Coruscant to take responsibility, knowing their Lord might choose to kill them.

Sidious regarded the two of them mildly as they knelt before his throne, his usual dispassionate expression revealing nothing of his thoughts. Maul was there, looking better than when Caliiga had last seen him, standing like a sentinel behind and to the left. His face was a careful mask, but his expressive eyes spoke of deep concern.

"I understand that you have failed me, my boy."

Her jaw clenched at her Lord's offhand tone. "My Lord. We apprehended one of the slicers who broke in, and have disposed of him. The other-" she glanced at Tuuz, whose eyes hadn't shifted from the floor just in front of Sidious' throne.

The Twi'lek nodded, looking even paler than usual. "She evaded us. Cracked the spaceport systems and attached her ID to an uninvolved individual. By the time we realised it wasn't her, she was in the hands of the SBI on Corellia."

"And you didn't consider pursuing her?"

Caliiga answered. "With the SBI's awareness of her, a sudden disappearance would raise an inquiry. On my way back, we tracked her down and I fogged her memory of why she fled Coruscant. The disks were nowhere to be found in her apartment, but she won't remember they exist anyway."

There was a heart-stopping silence and the room seemed to chill further. "And you believe," Lord Sidious said softly, "that this resolves the matter?"

Tuuz cleared his throat nervously. "I was monitoring the SBI's system. There's been no mention of the disks, or any information they might have gleaned from the slicer. It appears she kept her mouth shut regarding details."

"It. Appears."

Beside her, Tuuz stiffened and made a choked sound, a hand going reflexively to his throat. Caliiga's spine turned to ice as their Lord stood to pace the dais in front of them. "None of this excuses the fact that you failed. Your security failed. Your oversight on the Holonet failed. If you are so useless to me, Tuuz, why do I keep you around?"

Caliiga was on her feet before she realised it; quicker than blinking, one blade of Maul's saberstaff was at her throat. Beyond the crimson glow, his eyes pleaded with her to not make him move further. With effort, Caliiga looked past him. "My Lord, we need him still."

Sidious eyed her as if she were inconsequential. "Do we?"

Hating herself for it, she protested, "Training a replacement will take time, my Lord, time we don't have. You have competition, and you cannot afford to weaken yourself now."

Tuuz collapsed on the floor, gasping, as Sidious turned his attention to Caliiga. "Competition?"

Maul shook his head minutely at her and she closed her eyes. Sidious wanted Davine; if he got his hands on the other Sith, their lives might as well be forfeit. But this might be the only way to keep herself and Tuuz alive long enough to figure out something else. "In my search for the slicer, I encountered Red Sun and the man known as Gav Davine. He's Sith, my Lord, I'm sure of it. And he hinted at being the apprentice to someone more powerful."

Sidious regarded her for a long moment, yellow eyes glittering in the depths of his cowl, before motioning for Maul to step back. "You spoke to him."

She fought to keep her expression neutral. "I did, my Lord. He- he knew that I'm an acolyte. I swear I did nothing to tell him such, he just knew."

"And what was he doing, my boy?"

"He was leading a Red Sun force to destroy Porla the Hutt's base on Florrum." When her Lord said nothing, Caliiga continued, "It seems Porla had a stake in Krayn's Nar Shaddaa operation. The Hutt placed a bounty on Davine's head in retaliation for his losses." She took a breath. "Red Sun wiped him off the map and dissolved his holdings." Tuuz had done some digging while she'd been paying Thakkan a visit: everything Porla had owned was being sold off or simply dismantled at a startling rate, and the other Hutts had been eagerly snatching up the pieces as they fell.

Her Lord turned to pace a few steps away from her. "They had no interest in keeping the Hutt's assets?"

"None, my Lord. I even heard Davine say they were not there for profits, and that Porla's slaves would be set free." That was the confusing part: a Sith master refusing to conquer and hold. She couldn't make sense of it.

"How interesting." Sidious turned and stopped in front of her. One pallid hand rose, the long sleeve falling back and revealing dark-veined, bony wrists as he offered it to her, palm up. "Show me."

Suppressing a sigh of relief, Caliiga placed her hand on her master's and drew to the fore of her mind everything she could recall of meeting the Sith apprentice.

Reformation Year 980.01.19
Coruscant

"Come in, Padawan. Your Master has been asking after you." The pretty Mirialan Jedi Healer offered a conspiratorial smile and dropped her voice a little. "I think he's getting bored."

Asajj held up the datapad she carried, grinning. "I bet this will keep him occupied. How's he doing?" She followed the Healer down one soft, hushed hallway. Everything here was soft, soothing on the skin, gentle on the mind. The ceilings were lower than in other parts of the Temple, reducing echoes; gauzy drapes on the walls increased the effect.

"The bacterial infections are in recession, although we want to keep him another couple of days for observation." Her full lips pursed in disapproval. "He sustained a number of injuries which weren't quite healed right-"

"We didn't have the opportunity to let him rest for days," Asajj sighed, frowning. The broken ribs hadn't set properly, but being pursued by a warlord hadn't allowed them time to deal with it.

The Healer nodded. "He said as much. Unfortunately, we can't fix most of them without surgery, which he declined. If the scars become debilitating in the future, we may need to press the issue."

The teenager laughed softly. "That's Master Ky, unwilling to rest more than he absolutely has to."

"Now that's a condition we can't seem to cure," the Jedi said tartly as she opened a door. "Unfortunate, since it seems endemic among our field-qualified Knights."

"What does?" Master Ky was sitting up in half-lotus toward the foot of the bed, still wrapped in the soft cream-colored medical robes.

The Healer regarded him narrowly with her arms folded. "Stubbornness."

Ky's lean face cracked an unrepentant grin. "How else could we get anything done, Healer Fatim?" He held his arms out to Asajj, who hugged him tightly. "How are you doing, little hawk?"

She blushed at the old nickname and offered him the datapad. "I'm okay. It's just different. That's the information you asked about. Six years of politics and Council decisions." She pulled a face at the thought. She had glanced through the files and they had seemed exceedingly dry and boring.

Fatim excused herself with a smile. Ky set the 'pad aside and invited her to sit next to him on the medical bunk. "I understand you're making friends?"

Asajj had been invited to stay with Siri and Xiaan until a decision could be made regarding her case - which would have to wait until the Healers were satisfied with Master Ky's health. The Council had seemed...not baffled by her presence, but perhaps exasperated. She was certain more than a few had given each other "not this again" glances when Master Ky had declared his intention to train her. It wasn't until she'd met Xiaan's friends, two human boys who had also come to the Temple late, that Asajj had guessed at the source. "Trying to. Xiaan and Aayla have introduced me to some other padawans who are, um…."

"Unusual?" Ky gave her a wry smile. "The Temple could do with more of the unusual, not less. Have they started you in any classes?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. They had me take a comprehension test, and Aayla brought me some books from the Archives to get caught up." Ky had helped her with numbers and letters, but her reading and mathematics were far behind the average for a fifteen-year old Republic citizen. She had a basic grasp of history, but access to the Holonet had been restricted to the Rattataki warlords. On the rare occasion the rebels had managed to slice into the warlords' networks, they'd had more urgent priorities than basic education.

"That's good! Just throwing you into things would probably do more harm than it would help."

They spent another hour catching up before one of the Healers arrived to collect Master Ky for a therapy session. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly and dropped a kiss on top of Asajj's head as he left.

Asajj wandered the Temple halls, aimless while she had no classes or duties. The place was immense, and she'd been given leave to explore as she pleased, provided her explorations didn't circumvent guards or locked doors. She'd quickly learned that the freedom to explore was considered a passive training exercise - learning to use the Force to avoid getting lost in the labyrinthine depths of the structure.

She turned a corner and found herself in a small courtyard with a single towering tree in the center; its pale trunk was skinny and bare, while spiky, vivid golden branches puffed out at the top like a pipe broom and cast the space in a warm half-light. The ground underfoot was soft with fluffy moss which sprang back as soon as she lifted her foot. Asajj moved forward and ran her hand over the trunk; the surface was crisp under her palm and crinkled like the wrappers on the soft, sticky sweets Tychaaq had sometimes made. Stretching out into the Force, Asajj felt the deep thrum of the tree's life, the slow steady heartbeat and breathing of something that lived on a vastly expanded time scale.

"It's called a molaan," someone said quietly.

Immersed in the Force as she was, the presence of someone else didn't catch her by surprise. "Where are they from?"

"Chandrila. It was a gift from our sister Temple there, if I recall right."

Asajj looked over her shoulder to see a human boy about her own age sitting in half-lotus in the shadow of one of the columns ringing the courtyard. Delicate features were half-concealed by jaw-length dark hair marked by a streak of golden-blond over his right eye. A short, narrow braid trailed over his right shoulder. "I hope I didn't interrupt your meditation."

He shrugged. "I wasn't meditating."

Her eyebrow arched. "Hiding from someone, then?" She winced - that had come out accusatory - and offered a lopsided grin. "Your secret's safe, I won't tell 'em you're here."

The boy's answering smile was wan and disappeared quickly. "If I'm hiding from anything, it's my own mind. I'm Ferus."

"Asajj. I… just arrived here a few days ago." She braced herself for the same invasive, accusatory questions she'd heard from a dozen others already.

They never arrived. Ferus' second smile was more real than the first. "Welcome to Coruscant, then, Asajj."

It was a pleasantly quiet space, and the boy wasn't indicating he wanted her to leave; it almost felt like he needed company, even if he might not want it. She made a decision and moved to sit near him, but not imposingly so. "So how'd you find this garden? I got lost," she added with a laugh.

Ferus shrugged again. "Back when I was an Initiate, we'd play hide and seek games. I was only ever found here once."

Asajj regarded the tall pipe-broom tree for a moment before saying, "I'd never seen a tree before Ky rescued me."

"Ky?"

"My Master." She hesitated, but there was no judgement in his attitude, only mild curiosity. "He rescued me from slavery, but we were stuck on Rattatak. There aren't any trees on Rattatak, so he showed me his memories."

"I've never heard of it."

"You're not missing anything important."

"If you were stuck there, how'd you get here?"

Asajj toyed with the hem of her tunic, still bemused at the softness of the fabric. She would never have imagined wearing anything so nice, let alone having more than one. "Two Knights came looking for Ky. They got us past the warlords and their fleets." Not without some difficulty, and they'd needed repairs in earnest once they had landed on the green planet with the castle. Asajj had been too taken with the presence of water that wasn't a disease-ridden, parasite-infested mire to want to go inside a dusty stone building. Aayla and Xiaan had shown her how to swim while the older Jedi had been making purchases.

That caught Ferus' interest. "That must have been exciting. Two knights? Did they… I don't suppose they have padawans." When she nodded, his face fell.

"What's wrong?"

He was quiet for a long time, sinking his fingers into the soft moss. "My master died last year," he murmured at last. "On assignment. She was sick but didn't tell anyone. I've been seeing the Mind Healers, and they say I'm ready to be claimed by a new master to continue my training, but.…"

"You haven't been able to find someone?"

He pressed his pale lips into a thin line and sighed. "There just aren't enough knights to go around. Some of them really aren't suited to training a padawan anyway, but it's a requirement for anyone who wants to attain mastery."

She frowned. "I didn't know that. Shouldn't there be an alternative for those who aren't suited?"

His grin was closer to a grimace. "You'd think so, right? Fortunately the padawan has the right to refuse, but a lot of the time that means being sent to the Corps instead." At Asajj's curious glance, he explained, "The Corps are the Order's support network, Jedi who aren't suited to being knights. Knights are meant to take on field assignments for diplomacy and negotiations, while the Corps produces food, clothes, technology, transportation…. Basically, the Order would fall apart without them. But we're all taught to aspire to knighthood, as if anything else is some sort of shameful failure."

He'd dug up a clump of moss in his agitation, and looked at the fuzzy green lump in his hand with distress. Asajj reached over, took the moss, and tucked it back into the hole Ferus had created. "Are you considering a change?"

Ferus huffed a sigh through his nose. "I don't know. Maybe. Losing Master Ch'lui hurt. A lot. The Council wants me to continue training to be a knight, and I get it. The numbers are really low now, and it seems like there's an increase in galactic conflict, from what I've heard. What do you think?"

Taken aback at the unexpected question, Asajj frowned. "I don't know if I can say, I've barely seen anything of the Order. I was nine when Master Ky arrived and started training me. The Council didn't seem to like hearing that."

"That is a bit old by their standards. Not that I'm judging, you clearly didn't have any other options," he added quickly. "You think they might send you away?"

"No." Her smile was sharp-edged. "Ky told them that if they didn't want me here, that was fine, but where I go, he goes. And I know they want him to stay."

Ferus was picking at the moss again. "You're lucky to have that support."

She smacked his hand lightly to get him to stop. "I have an idea. You need to find the right Jedi and get their attention, right? Where's a good place to access the Temple databanks?"

He stared at her in alarm. "The Archives, probably? What are you planning?"

"Nothing that will get you in trouble! We'll find a list of all the knights without padawans and then you can try approaching the ones that seem best suited," Asajj said. She stood and brushed flecks of green moss and gold needle-leaves from her legs, then held out her hand to him. "Come on, I don't know where the Archive is, you'll have to show me."

Reformation Year 980.02.17
Corellia

Warm afternoon light brightened the Chamber of the Green Council, only slightly muted by the tall windows' filters and turning the emerald ashlar tiles bronze. The Nautolan Jedi Master stepped forward onto the crest of the Order inlaid in the floor and bowed. "Thank you for agreeing to see me, Councilors."

The Head of the Green Council, a dark-skinned human woman named Dej Enkari, nodded back to him serenely. "You said you had a concern to voice, Master Kerr. By all means, tell us."

"Thank you, Master Enkari." Renni allowed himself to pace, collecting his thoughts. "Councilors, some months ago I had an experience which has caused me some consternation. At the time, I was advised to let the matter rest, but it has troubled me-"

"Your pardon, Master Kerr," Councilor Hiri-Na said. The Mon Cal Jedi looked intently curious. "Do you refer to the incident on Dxun?"

Renni shook his head. It may have been related, but saying so would destroy any anonymity for the subject. "No, Masters. This concerns a young sentient I encountered. I noticed immediately that they possessed a remarkable affinity for the Force, and thought to encourage them to accept training, despite their mature age. I was then informed that this sentient had in fact been an initiate at the Coruscant temple in their youth, but had aged out and been sent away to the Corps. Their ship was waylaid by pirates en route, but no Jedi was sent to recover the lost initiate."

The seated Councilors exchanged unreadable glances. Master Enkari gestured for him to continue.

Renni cleared his throat. "Masters, this negligence on behalf - yes! negligence!" he insisted when someone made a sound of protest, "-on behalf of the Coruscant temple is deeply concerning. Despite their tribulations, this young sentient displayed patience, compassion, nobility, and the diplomatic skills of an experienced negotiator. That our sister temple would so readily discard and then neglect an individual of aptitude - simply for lack of an acceptable mentor! - brings their policies into question."

"Where did you encounter this individual, Master Kerr?" someone to his right just out of his field of view asked.

Renni hesitated, knowing any answer could lead to Captain Bastra's identity being revealed. He had made Nejaa a promise, after all. "They were working as a freighter captain, making one of our supply deliveries. After much meditation on the matter, I have come to accept that this should be investigated appropriately rather than set aside."

He could feel the flurry of mental discussion like a rustling of shimmering insect wings flitting around and past him as he waited, schooling his mind to patience. At last, Master Enkari gave a decisive nod. "You are correct that this information is gravely concerning, Master Kerr. You spoke to this individual about such things?"

"They were understandably reticent on the matter," Renni hedged. It wasn't entirely a falsehood, after all. "But I came to understand that they view the Order with some amount of resentment for their treatment as a youngling. If what I was told is true, and the Coruscant temple has been sending away aged-out initiates simply because of the risk of the Dark side to an untrained Jedi, how is being cut off from the support they have had all their lives meant to improve their chances?"

"That is what you were told?"

Renni remembered how grim Nejaa's face had been; his friend had clearly been wondering if a similar fate might have befallen his son Valin had they not been on Corellia. "It is, Councilor."

Master Enkari was frowning unhappily now. "I see."

"If I may ask," Master Hiri-Na said, "is there a reason you protect this individual's identity?"

"Without being able to ask permission to identify them, I didn't feel it proper to drag someone back into Order matters when they so clearly wished to continue with the life they had built," he explained. Nejaa had made that much clear, and Renni had reluctantly agreed: this wasn't about changing one human's mind so much as it was about preserving the future of the Order. "Their case filled me with concern; their lifestyle did not. Whatever decision this Council makes on this matter, it will be the future which is affected, not the past."

"Agreed," Master Darmalla declared. His lekku were twitching in agitation. "I move that we assemble a committee to investigate the stories and well-being of those initiates sent to the Corps. Aging out is no excuse! Both the Corellian and Chandrilan temples stand ready to accept those who do not meet the Coruscant temple's standards. Jedi who serve in the Corps are meant to be doing so gladly of their own initiative. It is not a dumping ground for rejects."

Renni pinched back a smile of relief at the murmur of agreement; another Councilor was already seconding the motion. It might take some time, but perhaps this situation could be amended.

Reformation Year 980.02.29
Coruscant

Maintaining a straight face was a skill Mace had painstakingly developed over many years, but sometimes even that habit could be tested to its limits. He regarded the pair of padawans standing opposite his desk over the tips of his steepled fingers, considering his options.

He'd been alerted shortly after the Jedi who maintained the Temple's databanks noticed an adorably clumsy intrusion into the Temple records; they'd known who was behind it within half an hour. Mace had decided to watch and see what Asajj's intent was.

When he'd figured out what she was doing, he'd shown the details to Depa, who had thought it was rather sweet.

"What are you going to do about them?"

The problem was, he didn't know. By rights, Padawan Asajj should be punished for breaking into the Temple's records. But. But. She had been doing so to help another padawan, had sought without malice information that could have simply been given to her had she but asked, and had not touched the databanks again.

He'd gone to Ky, who had laughed until tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Asajj was raised in a different environment, Mace. She learned long ago that if she needs something, she has to get it herself, because nobody else will help her. I could talk to her about this, however she also needs to understand that the hierarchy here is much different. It would be more effective if you addressed her directly."

And now he found himself facing a teenage girl who bore no indication of guilt or remorse, and a teenage boy who would barely look up from his hands.

What to do with them?

"Padawan Asajj. Last month, you sliced into the Temple databanks via an Archives terminal in search of the records for our active-duty knights. Since then, you've been encouraging Padawan Olin to approach several of those knights, seeking one who might take him on as their padawan."

"That's right." Her narrow chin raised just a bit more, and hiding a smile became even more difficult. Mace covered it with a frown.

"You need to understand that this is not how this situation is handled here, Padawan. Firstly, the choice to accept a padawan lies with the knight, not the prospective padawan-"

"If they don't know he's here, how will they be able to make that choice?"

His eyes narrowed. She had a point, but still- "Please do not interrupt, Padawan. We are meant to listen to the Force's guidance in such matters. If a knight is meant to take a padawan, they will actively seek one out."

The girl frowned, emphasising the pale eyebrows she had allowed to grow back despite still shaving her head. She didn't speak, though.

"Furthermore, breaking into the Temple's databanks is not an approved activity. Particularly since, had you simply asked one of the Archivists, the information would have been provided to you." Mace let the corner of his mouth twitch at the padawan's bemusement. "The list of active-duty knights isn't a secret among the Jedi, Asajj. I know you're accustomed to others hoarding knowledge, but here it is shared freely.

"As for you, Padawan Olin. I'm surprised you went along with Padawan Asajj's plan, knowing both how unnecessary it was and how slicing the systems is treated generally. It was your duty, as the more experienced padawan, to advise her of such."

Padawan Olin mumbled something that sounded like an apology. Mace could empathise: Ch'lui's loss had been hard on the boy, particularly as it had been simple disease which had claimed her. Healer G'ohn had noted in Olin's file that the boy felt he should have been able to do something to prevent it, even though it had been a rare genetic condition that still had no known cure.

He sighed. There wasn't a malicious bone in either teen's body, just determination to do the right thing and drive to do better.

"Padawan Asajj. I'm assigning you some additional training courses in computing. If you're going to engage in slicing systems, you should at least learn to do so without setting off an alert within thirty seconds."

She blushed vivid red and looked away.

"And please try to remember that you can ask for information around here. Some things may be restricted due to sensitivity or security - but there will always be a reason for it, and the reason should be respected. If you have questions or doubts about anything, you may ask me or your master directly."

Asajj blinked. "You, sir? You're Head of the Order. Surely you'd be too busy to bother with one padawan's questions."

Mace let the full smile show. "In other circumstances I might say you're correct, however your master reminded me that you grew up in a very different society. Unless I'm offworld, asleep, or in a meeting, I am actually accessible. But there's another reason, as well.

"Padawan Olin."

The boy finally looked up to meet his eyes, and Mace nodded as his previous feelings were confirmed. It surprised him that his earlier sense of dread had vanished, replaced with a resignation that was almost fond. "I would like to ask if you would do me the honour of being my padawan."

Ferus' eyes widened and Asajj squeaked in delight, clapping her hands over her mouth.

"Sir, it… it would be an honour!"

Reformation Year 980.03.21
Rena City, Kodai

The tiny apartment was an utter shambles. Bits of broken furniture littered the floor. Piles of datadiscs and flimsi had spilled from shelves and tables like a library's worth of snow. Jocasta would have been horrified at the boot-prints marking some of the pages.

Yan Dooku ran his gloved fingers over a charred gouge marring the wall: the duracrete hadn't been carved out so much as vaporised instantly by a wildly-swung plasma blade. Local authorities had been baffled by what had appeared to be a gruesome murder, and had been grateful for Jedi assistance.

He resisted the urge to smile at how Qui-Gon had avoided mentioning that Dooku was no longer a member of the Order.

"Found it."

He turned to look at Qui-Gon's young padawan as the boy emerged from under the desk. Anakin had a rough metal tube in hand, carefully wrapped in a scrap of cloth, as he brushed dust from his knees. "It's definitely a lightsaber, but I'm surprised it didn't explode in his hand," the boy added, shaking his head. "He had no idea what he was doing when he built this."

Dooku held his hand out for the weapon, examining it carefully. It was unnecessarily heavy and he could tell that, when activated, it would be off balance.

No, he amended. Balanced differently, for a style of combat that now only existed in archaic training manuals.

Turning from the place where the corpse had been found on the floor, Qui-Gon accepted the tube. "It looks like he was working from studies of ancient lightsabers. They're not designed to handle the output of modern power cells."

"The man was a student of antiquities," Dooku said mildly. "It's inelegant, but functional enough. Unfortunately, it appears that his prize was stolen by whomever killed him."

"I can't get a read on that," Qui-Gon said with a sigh. He set the lightsaber down beside the body. "The only impressions are of dark armour and a blank face, possibly a full helmet or breath mask. Norval's last moments were not fear but rage and jealousy. He wanted to prevent them from taking it, and we might consider ourselves fortunate that we weren't the first ones to do the asking."

Dooku sighed. When his former padawan had contacted him requesting his expertise, he had been wary but resigned. The holocron of the Sith King Adas - the holocron, the very first to ever be created - had a long and ill-fated history. There was a reason a previous generation of Jedi had sunk the thing deep into a thermal vent in Kodai's vast oceans. But when word had reached the Jedi Council that a university researcher had finally located and uninterred the holocron, Qui-Gon had been correct in suggesting that Dooku was one of the few sentients alive who would know how to contain such a thing.

It helped that a spirit linked to several of the items in Dooku's vault had additional suggestions. Lord Pyrra was hardly the most cooperative of individuals, but seemed to have some interest in seeing Dooku succeed against Sidious. The Twi'lek spirit had unsubtly suggested that Dooku might attempt to make off with the holocron, or convince Qui-Gon to let him take it. The most he had hoped for was being able to interact with such a priceless relic.

And now it was gone, in all likelihood in the hands of one of Sidious's agents.

Dooku turned from his disgruntled study of the lightsaber gouges - at least one had been caused by a better-tuned modern blade, to judge by the lack of carbon-scoring - to find young Skywalker looking at him again. He straightened but resisted a glower. "It is impolite to stare at another sentient, Grand-Padawan. Is there something I can do for you?"

The boy flushed. Nearly thirteen and still so open; Yan was almost envious of that innocence. "Sorry, sir. It's just… I heard you were the best duellist in the Temple."

Ah. Admiration. He could work with that. Dooku allowed himself a small smile. "I did have something of a reputation, yes."

"Master Dooku is the foremost practitioner of Makashi in the galaxy," Qui-Gon put in. His glance to Dooku was part fond exasperation and part mischief: to Yan's dismay, his former padawan had never shown enough interest or aptitude for the style, preferring the flashier flailing of Ataru. "But that conversation could be held in a more comfortable location. Shall we?"

The security officer outside looked baffled when Qui-Gon handed her the lightsaber for the evidence team, with a warning to not activate it. The official investigation into the murder two days previous would gladly accept their reports, and Dooku resisted a grimace at the thought of doing the paperwork himself again.

They returned to his ship - Qui-Gon and his padawan had arrived in one of the Temple's undersized shuttles which didn't even possess a seating area outside the cockpit, and Yan refused to socialise over a steering yoke. He had no intention of wasting the opportunity to see why Sidious was so interested in the boy.

Reformation Year 980.05.07
Alderaan

"When you said you had information for me, I wasn't expecting evidence of a large-scale scandal." Bail Organa stared in horrified fascination at the datapad in his hands. The contents of these files could unseat a significant portion of the Senate in the wrong hands.

The mercenary seated opposite his desk gave a humourless chuckle and sipped his brandy. He was dressed nicely rather than his customary body armour - rather akin to a midlevel functionary, which wouldn't tip any eyebrows - but there was something in his posture that spoke of a genuine ease in higher-class settings. "The word you're looking for is corruption. The Republic has a problem, but collusive interests aren't why I came to you." He paused and caught Bail's eye pointedly. "Unless you want to do something about that, as well?"

Bail frowned at him. "Of course I want to do something about that, Bastra! Allowing this level of corruption to remain in the government is unconscionable."

The ginger-haired human sighed and set his glass down on the edge of the desk. Bail was still uncertain what to think of the man. He'd been serving on the Senate Repatriation and Naturalization Committee when the Lok Revenants had presented them with an agreement to improve the efficiency of offloading slaves the group had liberated. Bail had about as much appreciation for mercenary outfits as the next senator - which was to say, a great deal of wariness and concern regarding the legality of their activities. Their bureaucratic approach had caught him off guard, as had the soft-spoken, masked man the Revenants had sent to do their negotiating.

The pirates had been cagey about the source of the slaves, but medical interviews had resolved that question. The evidence against the Trade Federation was damning, but their representatives had successfully argued that emotional testimonies from people who had been enslaved was likely to be inaccurate, possibly coerced from manipulations by biased medical staff. Former slaves were simply too unreliable, even though they all told the same story.

It made Bail's blood boil.

"The internecine collaborations you're seeing there are only a part of the story," Bastra said quietly. "Remove one part and someone will step in to fill the gap. If you want to deal with the corruption, you have to find the source-"

"Which is patently obvious. The majority of the senators gained their power through money, illegal business dealings and outright disenfranchisement of the voting population. Several worlds have come under investigation for their policies determining voter eligibility, several more have appointed their representatives via royal decree rather than constituency consensus." He knew his own rank as Senator was equally as questionable - as a member of a ruling family, Bail had significant political and financial pull that a delegate from the non-ruling population could never hope to achieve. Bail had hoped it gave him enough immunity to be able to present such matters and be taken seriously.

The mercenary captain nodded. "That is part of the problem, but what is making it possible are decades-deep - possibly centuries-deep - dark financial dealings. All of those threads trace back to a single source located somewhere in the Republic government." He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, blue eyes hard. "When I first met you, you struck me as someone trustworthy, someone who genuinely wants nothing but the best for the citizens of the Republic. What's your assessment of things?"

Since getting to know each other, Bail had found Bastra to be a passionately caring person, bitter at the many injustices he witnessed, and yet still idealistic enough to have some faith in the Republic which had rejected him. Bail hoped to someday open the man up enough to learn the full story.

He sighed. "The Republic has been failing to meet its ideals for too long. Possibly since its inception. We like to speak of how we've achieved a pinnacle of civilization - we have certainly reached a peak in numbers, system membership has never been higher - but the cost seems to be gross inequality and Senate representatives who have more interest in maintaining their seats and the size of their personal fortunes than in helping their homeworlds."

"What if I told you that, for the past thousand years, the Republic has been subject to subtle manipulation by a society so secretive that only a handful of people outside it know it exists at all?"

A smirk tugged at Bail's cheek. "I'd say you're paranoid, possibly delusional, and should probably ease off on the holodrama habit."

Bastra laughed and leaned back in his seat. "Exactly. But if you had evidence of such…." He gestured to the datapad. "What you have in your hands is the product of several years of investigation into a particular thread of financial support underlying the activities of the Trade Federation, the IBC, the Commerce Guild, their numerous allies, and quite a number of politicians who may not even be aware that they're tied into it. The main thread tails off into a series of false IDs and accounts belonging to people who are reportedly deceased or missing, but must be in the hands of someone politically powerful. I'm asking you to do your own investigation - carefully, mind! - of those politicians on the list whom you have access to." He bared his teeth in a fierce grin. "Help me find the source, Senator."

Bail considered the list. "Say you're right, that it is a conspiracy centuries in the making. Every one of those threads would be under surveillance. As soon as I create a ripple in the network, either the source goes into hiding or I disappear most unwillingly."

The other man gestured with his chin to the datapad. "Some of those senators are on committees you've joined. You're still relatively new in the Senate-"

How much investigation had the mercenary done on him?

"-and nobody would think it unusual if you were to seek a closer working relationship with them. Meet with others who aren't on the list, make it look like a habit you're trying to cultivate. And," he added with a smile, "do realise that you can comm me if you think you've got the wrong sort of attention. I do try to take care of my friends."

Bail snorted. "Oh, so we're friends, are we?"

Bastra's eyebrows arched. "I think we could be. I could also classify you as 'someone I'm putting in danger through one of my requests and whom I would very much hate to see get hurt'." The bastard tilted his head. "Which would you prefer?"

After a few moments spent blinking in surprise, Bail asked, "Is this something you do often? Invade someone's life asking them to engage in risky activities which you're unable to do yourself?"

The mercenary was making a careful study of the office ceiling. "Let's just say it's not the first time."

Laughing, Bail leaned forward and extended a hand for the other man to shake. "I knew I liked you. Would you care to join us for tea?"

The other man's grip was firm and reassuring. He smiled regretfully. "Unfortunately, I have an important engagement to attend. I appreciate the invitation though, I may take you up on it some other time."

"Please do. Breha does appreciate the perspectives of people beyond our immediate experience."

Bastra's laugh was warm. "You might enjoy meeting the rest of my crew, then."

Bail showed the mercenary out and settled in to make note of which politicians to ply with luncheon requests.

Obi-Wan crossed the plaza in front of the Organas' estate to the aircar that had been summoned for him, glad his instincts had proven correct. Bail Organa was an idealist - an angry and disappointed idealist - and was willing to help try to preserve what was left of the Republic. The man had a good heart and a strong enough will to hopefully succeed at what Obi-Wan himself couldn't do: long-term observation within the senatorial sphere.

He had the aircar drop him off at a shop near the spaceport market district to pick up a purchase he'd ordered that morning, and opted to walk the rest of the way back through the market. It was a pleasant early-spring afternoon; the air still had a bit of a crisp chill in the shadows but the sun was warm. The lack of panhandlers might have struck him as sinister had he not investigated Breha Organa's social policies towards addressing the issue of homelessness and mental illness. Coruscant could stand to learn a lot from the young queen.

Less than a block from the spaceport, raised voices poured from one of the shops, and a spike of rage shot down his spine as he recognised one of them. Obi-Wan shifted the box to prop carefully against his hip and pushed through the curtain.

Two spacers had cornered Zohli against the shop counter while the droid manager protested the treatment of a patron. It was difficult to clear the scowl from his face, but he managed.

"Now, what's all this?" he said mildly. The flash of relief in Zoh's green eyes as she clutched her paper-wrapped purchases tighter told him all he needed to know.

One of the spacers, a big human man in a grease-stained coverall, glanced at him. "Nothing to worry you, fancy-pants. We just have some business with the slaver cat, here."

Someone recognizing Zohli as Zygerrian had been inevitable; it was shocking that it happened on a world as aggressively egalitarian as Alderaan. "Really," he drawled. "Well! As the captain of our ship, any business you have with my daughter must be discussed with me, first. I trust you gentlebeings have no objections?"

The second spacer, a skinny Twi'lek with a number of scars warping part of her face, stared at him in disbelief. "Are you screwin' with us?"

"Adoption is a thing, my dear," Obi-Wan said with a slight bow. "Zoh, did you get the power units or were you waiting?"

The shopkeeper droid piped up, "The young mistress' purchases are all paid for, sir!" Its voice was a bit shrill from stress, and Obi-Wan spared a moment of sympathy.

"Then it's time we were going." He held his hand out and Zohli slid around the baffled spacers to grab it tightly. "I bid you good day." He wrapped his arm around the girl's shoulders as they left and tugged on the Force just enough to make them seem unremarkable to any observers. "Stay close, darling. Is that everything we needed?"

She was shaking under his arm but got hers around his waist and hung on tightly. Over the past year she'd had a growth spurt, and the top of her head now just cleared his shoulder, but at the moment she was hunched down as if to avoid further attention. "Uh huh. Everything else is all set."

"I'm so glad they have a no-weapons ordinance outside the port. Let's get home."

Pulkka took the box from him as they climbed the Sunflare's ramp, scowling ferociously when she saw Zoh's pale features. "What happened?"

"A pair of bigots decided to pick on the first Zygerrian they could find." He handed Zoh's parcels off to Feid. "Anyone else for tea?"

"Yes, please."

"Sure."

Obi-Wan got Zoh seated at the kitchen island as the shakes set in. A lumpy, misshapen blue blanket that had been Feid's third attempt at knitting lay on the couch; he tucked it around Zohli's shoulders before getting the water started. He was sitting beside her, rubbing gentle circles into her back, when she whispered, "Did you mean what you said earlier?"

"What, about them being-?"

She shook her head. "About me being your daughter?"

He froze for a moment. It had been a spur of the moment choice, an unlikely facet he'd used to throw the other spacers off guard. "I… did say that, didn't I? I'm-"

"It's okay."

Obi-Wan glanced down to see Zoh gnawing on the side of her thumbnail the way she usually did when nervous.

"I mean, if you don't really want-"

"Oh, sweetheart." He wrapped his arms around her, tightly, pressing his face into her hair. "No, it's…. That's exactly what I want. I just didn't want you to feel pressured to make a choice just because of me."

Zoh wriggled til she could hug him back without losing the blanket. "I've been calling you 'dad' for a year," she mumbled into his shoulder.

His breath caught hard and he pressed a kiss to her temple; her right ear flicked against his cheek. I guess that answers that question. "Well, now I feel foolish."

She giggled and burrowed into his arms. "So like… does that mean you guys will stop wondering if I'm staying?"

"Staying?" He leaned back and looked at her. Hiding a grin was difficult, but he managed it somehow.

Zohli squinted at him. "You guys keep wondering if I'm going to leave after I turn thirteen. Ulic told me," she said when he raised his eyebrows at her. "Today's my birthday."

"No!" Obi-Wan clapped a hand to his head. "It surely isn't! Already?"

Zoh had a pinched look of uncertainty on her face. He turned and called down the corridor, "Feid! Have the final guests arrived yet?"

"Yep!"

Letting out a shriek of joy, Zoh dropped the blanket and dove into Phel's arms as xe walked in, wearing a new jacket and a face-splitting grin. Since Hondo's takeover on Florrum, Phel and Kate had been taking more and more independent work, occasionally with Hondo or Nym but more often on their own. It had been nearly a month since the last time they'd been on the same planet together.

"I think all of us heard that. So are we allowed to say we told you so?" Xe punched Obi-Wan's shoulder affectionately.

Obi-Wan chuckled and picked the blanket off the floor, folding it and setting it back on the couch. "Oh, alright. Just this once."

The lounge was crowded with all seven of them crammed in, but they managed. The box Obi-Wan had brought home contained a meiloorun and koja-nut Alderaanian cream cake, which he was relieved to see hadn't suffered for their earlier misadventure. Phel and Kate had arrived bearing the gift everyone had chipped in for: a full set of proper armour, brand new, tailored to fit, and ready to be painted. Zoh had to drop everything and try it on immediately; Obi-Wan managed to get a couple holopics while she was jumping around testing her range of movement.

Feid had a wicked grin as she presented Zohli with a makeup set. She coached Zohli through a few techniques, but the teen was getting frustrated. Obi-Wan finished his tea and sat down next to them with a grin.

"I think it's because you're not used to working with your own reflection. Make me look pretty."

His co-pilot's eyes lit with an infernal glee, but he'd been right: having another person to practice on made things easier for Zoh.

When he finally returned to his quarters, Ulic was waiting with a sly grin. "Didn't want my presence to drag the mood down. You look smashing."

Obi-Wan turned to check his reflection in the mirror. Despite Feid's ominous giggling, her instructions to Zohli had been sound. He shrugged. "I think I like it. Not enough to want to spend that much time painting my face every day, but it's not a bad look."

"Dark eyeliner was popular among the Sith in my day. You could bring it back and call it retro."

"Very retro." Obi-Wan tugged his boots off and sat down on the bed. Encased in an armoured box on his worktable, a sinister object hummed. The shielding he'd built around it had to be renewed daily, and he settled into the Force to focus on shoring up the defenses. He felt a twinge of regret that he'd had to kill the poor researcher - the man hadn't even waited for him to speak before lunging with that rudimentary lightsaber. Adas' holocron was immensely powerful, and he couldn't wait to get the thing off his ship.

"I don't see why we can't just space it." The holocron, as if sensing his efforts to contain it, seemed to cling where it could, seeking its own way through Obi-Wan's mental shields. It wanted to be used, remnants of an ancient Sith lord over twenty-seven thousand years dead seeking a route back to existence. Scowling, he pulled on his disgust at its touch, making his shields slick as ice; if anything, the holocron redoubled its efforts.

Ulic snorted. "These things call to the weak-minded. Someone would manage to find it."

Obi-Wan used the weight of his own presence to stuff the holocron's toxic miasma back into its shell and smooth over the cracks. The process gave him a headache every time, but the alternative - leaving it to infect everyone he cared about - was so much worse. "Dropping it into the Maw might slow them down a bit," he grumbled while the Sith laughed. "Well, the sooner we get it to Takodana, the better. Maz will be thrilled with me."

The spirit perched over his work chair and shrugged. "You said yourself that if anyone might know the best way to contain it, it would be her."

"Or the Guardians, but they'd thank me even less for bringing something this vile to Jedha." He finished patching the gaps and flopped back on his bunk with his hands behind his head.

"You're going to wrinkle your nice things."

"They're already wrinkled. The autovalet will take care of that."

Ulic snorted. "When I was your age, we didn't have such newfangled conveniences on our starships-

"Let me guess: if you wanted a different pair of pants, you had to swap with your brother?" Obi-Wan grinned unrepentantly as the spirit swore at him in good humour.

"Anyway, it's imperative that we keep that holocron out of Sidious' hands, if nothing else. Nadd used that thing's guidance in his bid to conquer the galaxy, and Sidious doesn't need the additional help."

"Agreed." He dragged himself upright and went into the 'fresher to wash the makeup off.

"Congratulations, by the way," Ulic said from the other room. "You officially have a family."

Obi-Wan couldn't help the massive grin that creased his face.

Reformation Year 980.06.12
Kamino

Kamino was easy to dislike. The design sense, intended for beings who saw primarily in the ultraviolet range, could generate a perpetual low-level headache for anyone who existed on a different frequency. Nearly every member of the Cuy'val Dar was on a painkiller prescription.

Then there was the intense speciesism - and more disturbing, the fact that their scientists genuinely meant well when eagerly offering to 'improve' what they considered to be extreme physical defects in anyone who was not Kaminoan. The lighting gives you headaches? We can fix that. You can't breathe underwater? We can fix that too. How about your cellular degeneration rate? Would you like a full consultation…?

Cort Davin had long since passed from 'dislike' to outright antipathy. The Kaminiise, so knowledgeable about genetics and biology, completely failed to comprehend the most basic and inexplicable aspects of species development. Human infants could be given all the care in the world, but if they didn't get physical contact, they risked weakness and even death. Ko Sai had stared at him blankly when he had insisted on access to the infant creche for all trainers, and when given an explanation, had offered to research a 'cure' for future generations (Jango had stepped firmly on that one). Half the trainers had given Cort equally baffled stares - the majority of them had expressed indifference toward children, which worried him. Only those who had grown up Mando'ade had followed his instructions without question.

"Look, I might not have kids of my own, but back on the vhett I was one of fifteen. So shut up, get your shirt off, and cuddle the babies."

One smartass had asked how Jango would feel about infant versions of himself being cradled by the hardest mercenaries in the galaxy. Sikkaah had dragged the wag off for a careful one on one explanation, and nobody had complained since.

The oldest of the clones, the kid Jango had claimed for himself, was three. He was growing up well, but reaching the age where he might begin to notice that his 'little brothers' were nearly six Standard in terms of human development. Cort rocked one of the infant clones against his chest, humming softly, and watched the boy pass in the corridor outside. Boba was starting to struggle to keep up with the Null-series clones, and Cort worried about what might happen once they noticed.

He was just about done with his rounds when the man himself showed up, hands in his pockets and looking about as relaxed as Jango ever did.

"Davin."

"Boss."

The other man smirked. "None of that osik, it's just us here."

"And if one of the kids happens by?" He grinned at Jango's eyeroll. The younger man was good at projecting confidence, but quietly suffered his own doubts; Cort considered himself fortunate to be one of the trusted few Jango would relax his guard around.

He set the infant back in its bed and scooped up one who was starting to fuss in its sleep. "You're looking restless, Jag'ika. Think it's time to remind the galaxy again that the name Fett is still terrifying?"

Jango had another little ad in his arms, one scarred finger trapped in a tiny grip. "Just about, yeah. Got something on your mind?"

"Mmhm. Boba." At Jango's raised eyebrow he clarified, "You should start taking him with you."

"Three Standard is still a bit young to be on a hunt, Cor'ika."

He chuckled. "Not too young to learn how it works. Leave him with that fixer friend of yours."

"She'll spoil him rotten." But Jango was also chuckling, probably at the mental image.

"Exactly. Look, Boba's going to start noticing his vod'e are growing beyond him. That's going to be a problem. So give him something new to experience. Distract him. Everyone will come out better for it."

His friend was nodding with a thoughtful frown. "Yeah, that might not be bad. Roz will be over the moons, probably have him cheating at sabacc within a month."

Laughing, Cort handed his fusser off to one of the caretaker droids for a nappy change. "We'll be doomed, but it'll be worth it."

Boba loved the Slave I. So much so, he tried to meld with it. The trip wasn't even that long, but Jango had already needed to fish the boy out of tight spots in the ship's inner workings three times.

"How'd you even get in there?"

"The door." Boba pointed to a louvered ventilation duct as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Jango shook his head and hiked his son up on his back for the climb out of the maintenance well.

"Just because it looks like a door doesn't mean that's what it is. Remember, these ships are designed for people my size. So if there's something that looks like a place to crawl into, think about whether I could get through it first."

He could hear Boba pouting over his shoulder. "Of course you could get through, you can do anything."

Oh, childhood hero worship. "I wish I could, ad'ika, but it's not true. There's lots of stuff I can't do." He let Boba slide off onto the seat he'd rigged with shorter crash webbing. "We're going to drop out of hyperspace in a few minutes, so if you hang around here, you'll get to see the station."

"Hang from what, buir?" Boba was eyeing the curved dome of the cockpit ceiling. Jango laughed.

"It's something people say. If you 'hang around', you're staying in one place waiting for something," he explained as he strapped Boba in. His ad had a million questions all piled one atop another, and sometimes it was difficult to keep on-topic.

The hyperspace warning came on, and Boba yelped. Jango dropped into his own seat. "It's just the computer letting us know we need to return to realspace. Watch what I do." He hit the button to confirm with the computer - the alarm and blinking lights on the console stopped - then reached for the drive control and pushed the handle forward. The blotchy tunnel of hyperspace turned into streaks which resolved into stars, and the bulbous shape of the modified Lucrehulk freighter loomed into view.

He spared a glance to his right: Boba was leaning forward against his restraint straps, mouth open in awe. "What's that, buir?"

"That's a station. Your Aunt Roz owns it."

The Outland's penthouse suites had been rigged with private docking bays and separate transit cars: Roz knew her clientele and their security needs well. Boba pressed close against the transparisteel to watch the sleepless business of the mercenary port.

"Who are they?"

Jango smiled. "Thousands of people, just like you and me." He hoisted his son up onto his hip and pointed out important locations, like the vividly lit bazaar levels and the more refined business district. "This is an important place. And every time I leave Kamino, this is the first place I go. Ba'vodu Roz finds work for me to do."

The doors opened on Jango's suite and revealed a short, fuchsia Toydarian hovering at eye-level with her arms crossed. Her grumpy expression evaporated at the sight of Boba. "Oh my. Jango, honey, who's this?"

He grinned and turned so that Boba could see her without twisting precariously. "Boba, this is your Aunt Roz. Roz, I'd like you to meet my son."

A delighted grin spreading across her face, Roz reached out to shake Boba's hand. "Well, isn't this a right pleasure!"

The boy's face lit up and he started barraging both of them with questions. Jango let Boba down and he ran around investigating the apartment.

Roz watched in amusement. "He's high-energy, isn't he?"

Jango dumped their bags by the door and kicked off his boots. "You have no idea. I was wondering if you would mind looking after him while I'm working. Didn't feel right just leaving him behind."

She cackled. "Oh, honey, you don't even have to ask. It'd be my pleasure."

From the kitchen, Boba yelped, "Buir! There's a huge bottle in the preserver!"

Roz snapped her fingers, grumbling, "So much for my surprise gift. It's high proof; there's some chocolate bantha milk in the conservator for him so he's not disappointed." She poked Jango's shoulder. "You should have let me know!"

"Woulda ruined the surprise, wouldn't it."

"Ha! Knew you had company the moment you docked."

He chuckled and settled in on the couch where he could see most of the suite. "So what was with the sour face when we walked in?"

"I was gonna tell you off for not calling ahead, but stars, Jango, he looks just like you!"

He rolled his eyes as she cackled. "Funny, Roz."

She perched on the back of the sofa by his shoulder. "So I gotta ask: does Zam know?"

"About Boba?" Jango shook his head. "Haven't seen her since Kohlma."

The Toydarian hummed, rubbing her chin. "Shame. You two seemed well suited-"

He scoffed and twisted to glare at her. "Oh, not this again, Roz!" The entire time he'd spent working with the Clawdite bounty hunter to locate Komari Vosa for Tyranus, Roz had been trying to set them up, even though Zam had cost him his mentor's ship. The loss of Jaster's Legacy still stung.

"I'm just sayin', settling down would be good for you!" she argued, propping her fists on her hips. "Especially now with a little one-"

"Did you have a job for me or not?" he growled.

Roz huffed and handed him a datapad. "Fine, ya old grump. The latest bounty list. Some of 'em're no longer valid: Porla the Hutt got whacked and nobody's bothered to take down the jobs he had posted. Probably because there's nobody left who knows the passwords," she muttered. "His whole organisation disappeared overnight."

"He got whacked?" Jango frowned at the list. The Davine bounty had been tempting him last time, but even Roz hadn't been able to pin the man down. "By whom?"

"Same people who took out Krayn. Davine looks to be one of their agents."

"You think the hit was retaliation?"

"Maybe." She shrugged. "I got nothing on Red Sun beyond what we already knew. But considering they released every slave both Krayn and Porla owned, I'm guessing they have very particular targets."

He nodded. "Might be worth keeping tabs on them, anyway. Let's see what else you got."