Then.
The arrest of Letta Turmond is many things - harrowing, tense, and with high-stakes - but Ahsoka did not expect it to be heartbreaking.
Letta had set up her own husband to die. Who could possibly do such a thing?
And now she's asking for Ahsoka. Asking for privacy, because she's afraid of something.
Everything in her senses tells her that this is a trap. That something is waiting to go wrong. But in the corner of her eyes, she sees a flash of white-gold, and she thinks she hears a comforting hoot from a convor that no-one else can see.
Go on, she says. Ahsoka isn't sure how she knows that the convor is a she - but it feels right. You will sense the danger.
And as Letta speaks, the Force is quiet. There is nothing but the soft murmur of the many prisoners in the detention center - nothing but Letta's quiet anxiousness for the consequences of her actions. "The idea of feeding Jakar the nanodroids was not mine," she confesses.
Ahsoka releases her irritation into the Force. Shifting the blame does little to alleviate Letta's guilt - she was still responsible for murder. But Ahsoka needs to know. "Why are you saying this now? Why didn't you reveal this before?"
"Because my life was in danger!" Letta exclaims, and the Force rings with truth. "The person behind this will be able to get to me unless you know the truth!"
"Yeah? What's the truth?" A bounty hunter, perhaps? Ahsoka thinks of Cad Bane, perhaps - he is certainly dangerous enough to be feared and clever enough to engineer the bombing, but that doesn't seem right. It's not his style - he would have been the one to carry it out himself in a different manner.
Then Letta speaks, and Ahsoka recoils at her words. "A Jedi. A Jedi showed me how to create the bomb. And how to put the nanodroids in."
A Jedi?
How? How could a Jedi possibly even consider destroying a place as sacred as the Temple? How could a Jedi even consider the death of so many innocents? How could they disregard their core values-
The convor hoots. Focus. Ahsoka shakes her head, and turns her thoughts back to the investigation. "Why would a Jedi do this?" she asks.
"There are some citizens of the Republic like myself who believe the Jedi Order is not what it used to be. The Jedi have become warmongers. They've become military weapons, and they're killing when they should be keeping the peace." Letta paces restlessly, the Force around her turbulent with agitation, and part of Ahsoka stings. Letta's statements aren't entirely out of place. She whips around, her worry washing over Ahsoka's senses. "One of these Jedi agreed with us. One of you wanted to make a statement. Who was willing to attack your own order to do it."
Ahsoka remembers the story of General Krell - of how he betrayed his men - and she feels sick to the stomach. Another traitor. "Who?"
Letta's anxiousness spikes, her eyes flicking back and forth in the room as if to try and find an intruder. Her voice trembles."If you protect me, I will tell you - because it is obvious to me that I have been set up."
Ahsoka presses down on her frustration. She can't sense any malice nearby - and she needs to know. "Letta," she snaps, "you have to tell me who is behind this!"
She needs to know. She needs to know. There is another traitor in the Temple, someone who could possibly target the place again, who could even harm the younglings. It's unacceptable.
Letta hesitates, and opens her mouth to speak. Ahsoka leans forward. "It's-"
Then she senses it.
A surge of darkness, roiling and dangerous, intent to kill.
"No!" she shouts, and she throws her hands forward, pushing back the wave of Dark. It surges forward, bearing for Letta's throat, reaching to kill, and a second surge appears, aiming to push her long enough to be distracted-
She shoves back, and just as suddenly, the presence disappears.
"What's going on?" Letta's voice is fearful. Ahsoka pays her no heed, falling deeply into the Force to try to locate the would-be assassin.
There.
The presence is cloaked and well-hidden, shrouded in such a way that would make it very, very easy to lose in the bustle that is the hundreds of thousands of people on the surface of Coruscant. But Ahsoka can sense it - already rushing away, moving towards the upper levels, where Ahsoka knows the assassin could blend in.
"That Jedi you were going to name tried to kill you," she snaps, and Letta's breath hitches. Ahsoka raises her hand towards the camera, signaling the Coruscant guard, and she raises her hand to the comm. "Master, come in."
In the Force, she can sense the urgency of the clones as they rush to the cell. As they move through the door, Anakin responds. "Ahsoka, what's the problem?"
"Someone just tried to assassinate Letta with the Force," she reports, half to the clones and half to Anakin. "I'm giving chase immediately - they're heading towards the upper levels. I think they're trying to lose themselves in the more crowded areas."
"Be careful. I'll track your comm and see if I can rendezvous with you," Anakin replies, and the comm blinks out.
She turns to Commander Fox, sensing the Force around him colouring with determination. "We'll watch her, Commander," he says, gesturing to Letta. Behind him, the woman is shivering, her terror palpable in the Force. "Good luck."
She spares him a nod, then takes off, casting out her senses far throughout the building to find the would-be assassin. There's no time for her to shake Letta out for more information - hopefully, Commander Fox will get it out of her.
They're getting further away already, the presence moving to blend with the civilians. Doubt enters her mind. There are children and families here, moving about with their speeders or on foot. If Ahsoka were to confront the suspect, if they lashed out, unleashing the Dark Side against the unsuspecting crowd…
Something knocks against her abdomen and she gasps, tripping and falling to the floor as her legs knock against something metal. She shakes her head, trying to clear the ringing in her montrals, waving her hand at the irate R2-unit that she had run into carelessly. "Sorry," she mutters, and the droid beeps something rude before wheeling away.
The suspect!
Ahsoka scrambles to her feet, already falling into the Force to try and find the presence, but it's too late.
Kriffing sith hells. She'd lost them.
Biting her tongue to avoid screaming in frustration, she comms Anakin. "Master, I've lost them."
The sting of failure bites at her. She clenches her fists, focusing on the feeling of her nails biting into her palms to ground her. They'll catch the culprit. They will. They will.
Her comm chimes. "Alright." She can hear the frustration in his voice, but just as clearly, she can sense his reassurance through their bond. It's not your fault. "I'm almost at the detention center - I'll meet you at the front."
"Understood, Master," she says, and hesitates. "I can go back to see if I can get-"
"No, Ahsoka." Even though she can only hear his voice, she can picture his face, twisted in frustration at being at the Council's beck and call. "We've been called to an immediate meeting with the Council."
"Alright," she says, and she turns off the comm as she casts out her senses again.
It's no use. With their shields up, it would be impossible to identify the suspect even if they were standing right in front of her. With another huff of frustration, she shakes her head, and heads to the entrance of the detention level.
She catches her own reflection, then, in the transparisteel of one of the offices. The troopers inside aren't looking up, and she's immensely thankful for that, because she can see that her eyes are a shining green, green like the colour of life and green like the colour of jade.
She blinks, and it fades, but she knows the truth. She needs to be more careful - she can't afford to slip up and reveal the Daughter's legacy to the rogue Jedi, or worse, to the Sith.
There's still something in the air - a foreboding feeling, a nervousness in her gut borne from the Force. She releases her anxieties into the Force. This is not the time to allow paranoia to cloud her judgement.
It's… unnerving, to say the least, to be one of the soldiers guarding the halls that house someone who is a known target of a rogue Jedi. To Stone (if you try to call him CC-5869, he'll make sure you know that his name is Stone and that he is not a number), he thinks it might be one of the most dangerous assignments he's had yet.
(And yes, that includes that mission with the pirates and with thrice-damned Representative Binks.)
He's never seen the Jedi in action. He'd only seen the tail end of a confrontation, once, when he saw Generals Skywalker and Kenobi holding the Weequay pirates' leader at saberpoint, and though he hadn't seen them in active combat, he'd seen the way they had moved after. He'd seen the same thing, too, when he passed by the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, and he saw the Jedi moving up and down the steps. There was just something about it - their movements were a little too smooth, a little too sure. Once, he'd seen a tholothian Jedi whip her head around, and a second later, a tourist had tripped on the steps of the Temple. The tholothian Jedi had caught the tourist with hands that had already reached out, as if she knew it was going to happen the second before.
But he'd heard stories from brothers who were on the front lines. Stories of Jedi being able to move fast enough to avoid and deflect blasterfire. Stories of Jedi and how their instincts were never wrong. Stories of how their mere presence could mean the difference between victory and death.
And he's heard other stories, too. Of a Seperatist assassin with the same powers as the Jedi. Of how she wielded two lightsabers the colour of blood and how she once carved her way through an entire company of a hundred soldiers. Of how she moved like the wind and how she laughed as she stood knee-deep in bodies.
It doesn't exactly put a reassuring feeling in his gut when he thinks about how there's maybe a dozen guards, tops, patrolling this sector of the detention center.
Thankfully, there isn't much happening. He patrols the hallway he's been assigned to, occasionally peering into the cell of Letta Turmond.
She'd been quiet since the supposed assasination attempt. According to Commander Fox, nothing had seemed amiss, then suddenly, Commander Tano's face had twisted and she had whirled, freezing in place before calling for help.
Stone thinks about the stories of how the Separatist assassin had been able to crush the necks of soldiers from across the battlefield with a twist of her hands, and he wonders if that's what almost happened to Turmond. No wonder she had become withdrawn. Any attempts to get information out of her had been met with a wide-eyed panic, and they had stopped trying soon enough.a
There are two troopers in her cell at all times, hidden from the cameras and from the view of the door. The only sign of their existence comes during a guard change, when the troopers previously hidden emerge from the cell to be seen in the hallway.
It's a precaution taken to prevent someone from being strangled through a holofeed. The very possibility of it happening makes Stone feel nauseous.
That's horrifying. It's unnatural. It shouldn't exist.
But it does.
He sighs, shakes his head. Whatever. No use ruminating. It does nothing to help the situation - rather, it just works him up until he's paranoid. Best to think about something else.
"Psst."
He freezes. He could have sworn-
He looks up, and nearly jumps a foot. There's a masked figure there, watching him with a tilted head through the vents. And suddenly he can't move, he can't scream, there's an invisible grip squeezing his throat and holding him still. The rogue Jedi, part of him cries, and no matter how much he strains, he can't lift his blaster or touch the comm.
The figure waves their hand, and a young female voice speaks as what feels like a gentle blanket settles over his mind.
It's calm. Peaceful. His worries about the rogue Jedi wash away, and he wonders why he was even thinking about it in the first place. There's nothing to worry about, nothing but what the figure is telling him. The grip on his body disappears. "You will kill Letta Turmond," she says, her voice soothing.
"I will kill Letta Turmond," he agrees. Of course he will. She killed Jedi, clones, and civilians in the blast. She deserves nothing less. This is justice.
His guard shift is in less than half an hour, anyway. All he needs to do is wait until it's his turn to watch the cell, then he can pull the trigger.
But there's more. The figure waves her hand again, and any doubts he has about her disappears with another soft fog that settles over his mind. "After you kill her, you will act horrified, and you will say that Tano mind-tricked you, before turning your blaster on yourself."
That sounds about right. Of course - that's how he will cover it up. He repeats the words, and the figure disappears from his view.
Only half an hour to go.
When Anakin picks up Ahsoka from the detention center, she looks downcast.
"Are you alright?" he asks.
"I couldn't catch them," she mutters, and he understands. "I couldn't even get a good enough read on them. They could be standing there and I wouldn't even know it!"
He was much the same as a padawan - anything that didn't go the way he wished when he tried was met with disappointment and anger from himself. Over time, he'd learned that some things were beyond his control. That he wasn't all-powerful.
(But I should be.)
"It's not your fault, Snips," he tells her. The speeder lifts off and she buckles in, her eyes searching the ground for anyone suspicious. "When you're dealing with someone who's Fallen-"
He cuts himself off, remembering the way she had reacted in the skies above Coruscant when she had watched the crimson lightning crackling from his hands. She'd hidden it well and she'd voiced her enthusiastic acceptance, even later going into detail about how she wished to see it used on Dooku ("see how he likes a taste of his own medicine," she had said with a tad too much viciousness, and even Obi-Wan hadn't reprimanded her), but Anakin had sensed her unease.
Beside him in the speeder, she's quiet.
"When you're dealing with a rogue Jedi," he tries again, "you can't expect it to be easy." His hands grip the wheel tightly. "I couldn't even sense General Krell's deception before he chose to reveal himself to me. You can't blame yourself for something that's beyond your control, my young padawan."
Ahsoka doesn't say anything about his hesitation, for which he's grateful. "I know. I just thought that maybe - with the Daughter's gifts-"
"I know," he says softly. His voice is lost in the wind whistling over the speeder, but she senses his thoughts, and he sees the smile through the corner of his eyes all the same.
They lapse into a comfortable silence for the rest of the ride.
(It takes twenty minutes for them to get to the Temple and go up the Council spire.)
Since the start of the war, Mace has been nursing a headache that hasn't ever truly gone away.
It comes from the shatterpoints. They shatter or smooth over as quickly as they form, a constant rumble of here-there-here-there that forces Mace to hold his shields up tighter than usual at all times. He's since gotten used to it - but it's tiring.
Skywalker is like a living example of the cause of Mace's headaches. The Force swirls around him in such a way that no other Jedi can match - not even Master Yoda - and as such, more shatterpoints form and disperse around him compared to any other Jedi. That, combined with his occasional brashness and disrespect, makes him a pain in the arse to deal with at times. Mace does what he can to avoid being curt - it (partially) isn't Skywalker's fault - but there are days where it can be a test of patience.
Thankfully, today is not one of those days… yet.
But that isn't much to be thankful for. The confirmation of a rogue Jedi - a Fallen one among them - causes far more of a headache than any of Skywalker's antics.
"Because of the confirmation of a rogue Jedi, effective immediately, you and Padawan Tano are removed from the case," he tells them. Their indignation spikes in the Force, carefully hidden but there all the same. He releases his irritation into the Force - if he were a Knight or a Padawan, he'd feel the same. "It's a matter of impartiality. All of us that were on-planet should not have been part of the investigation."
The indignation subsides, though some remains. Skywalker inclines his head. "We understand, Master."
"Master Allie will take over the investigation," Mace continues. "She has just finished a campaign in the Outer Rim. In the meantime, all Jedi on Coruscant are on lockdown - per order of the military and the senate, none of us who were on-planet for the past two weeks may leave."
It's an order that has contributed to his headache. Tracking down all the Jedi who were on Coruscant and keeping tabs on them has been more tedious than anything he's done before. What's more, this means putting on hold a number of missions, such as Master Yoda's retreat to Dagobah and the mission to thwart the plot against the chancellor, all of which were supposed to be set into motion today, leaving the Council scrambling to reassign the important missions to off-planet Jedi.
"And what about Letta?" Padawan Tano asks. "If she's the target of a rogue Jedi, it would be best for there to be another Jedi guarding her."
Master Yoda takes that question. "To another Jedi, returning from the Mid-Rim, that responsibility will fall."
"But what about the meantime?" Skywalker asks, brow furrowed. Mace had asked the same question, and the answer he had been given was dissatisfactory.
Master Tiin gives the same answer nonetheless. "Security has been doubled in the meantime. It should take no more than an hour for Master Junda to return."
It's an hour for something to go wrong. Everyone in the room knows this.
The shrill sound of a comm beeping cuts through the pensieve silence of the room. Yoda answers it with the press of a button. "Yes?"
The hologram of Commander Fox emerges. Even from through a holocall, Mace can sense his unease, and he finds himself leaning forward in apprehension. The Force moves, a sense of foreboding rising within him. Then Commander Fox speaks, and Mace's blood runs cold. "Letta Turmond has just been assassinated."
Had this room been the senate chambers, it would have descended into immediate shouts and calls for justice. Instead, the room is silent, the temperature dropping as the Jedi in the room collectively experience the fear and dismay of the other members. It is released quickly into the Force, some faster than others.
Then Commander Fox says another thing that makes the Force waver once more. "Commander Ahsoka Tano is to be arrested on suspicion of the death of Letta Turmond."
Now, there are shouts.
Padawan Tano's cry of "What!?" echoes through the room and through the Force, her shock and distress so clear and honest in the Force that Mace does not doubt for a second the truth of her sudden terror.
Someone had just tried to frame her. This does not bode well.
Similar cries echo from Skywalker and Kenobi, and (perhaps not too surprisingly) Master Koon, who clutches at his seat for a brief second before releasing his emotions into the Force. "That is impossible, Commander Fox," the Kel Dor says, voice calm and edged with steel. Fox had since turned around in surprise, unaware that there were more members in the Council room than he'd expected, and that one of them was the accused. "She has been in our company at the time Turmond was killed, presuming it has happened very recently, and prior to this, she was in the company of Knight Skywalker."
There's a nudge in Mace's mind - a small poke from Master Yoda, telling him to look.
He does. He looks at Knight Skywalker, looks at Padawan Tano, and sees-
(-eyes of jade, green as the summer grass-)
(-eyes of gold, yellow as the poisons found on Dathomir-)
-a Knight and a Padawan, openly offended and afraid of the implications of the accusation.
He grits his teeth. Now is not the time to be worrying about such things he might be seeing. He stores this knowledge for later consultation in his mind, and he returns to the situation at hand.
Commander Fox's hologram has turned to Padawan Tano, accusation and anger clear in his body language. "Shock trooper Stone was mind-tricked into killing Turmond." His voice, too, is calm, yet laced with venom. "The moment after he pulled the trigger, his words were, 'Tano mind-tricked me!'"
"That's not true!" Padawan Tano shouts. There's hysteria in her voice, high-pitched with incredulity, and Mace remembers with a start that she is only sixteen years old. She's a child who's seen more war than any adult should see in a lifetime. "If we talk to Trooper Stone-"
"We can't!" Fox's voice is scathing, and underneath the venom, Mace senses a deep well of grief. The Force sings with foreboding as multiple shatterpoints begin to form in front of his eyes - on Padawan Tano, on Knight Skywalker, on Master Yoda, on Commander Fox, on Master Kenobi. His headache begins to intensify again. "Trooper Stone is dead. He turned his blaster on himself afterwards."
Commander Tano goes pale, gaping wordlessly. Her emotions are raw in the Force, bleeding through the shields of a senior padawan and baring themselves for everyone to see. Perhaps - no, it is likely - that if Mace had not been there to see her initial reaction, he would have doubted her innocence.
He does not doubt it now - the sheer level of terror and offense he senses from her is impossible to fake honestly for a padawan. What is more, Mace remembers how she had reported on the chips in the clones and her concise procedural suggestions for the chip removal. If she had wanted to strike at the Temple, she would have left the chips unnoticed.
A second hologram appears - Captain Tarkin. Mace clenches his jaw. Tarkin has always been a vocal critic of the Jedi - and with his power in the military, he has also been the source of too many headaches when dealing with legislation.
Mace has also long suspected that Tarkin holds… prejudices against non-humans. The way he leers at Padawan Tano makes his skin crawl, and when he speaks, the Force recoils - his words are smooth and slimy, as cunning and dangerous as a serpent. "Masters Jedi," he says, and Mace grasps his own irritation with Tarkin and shoves it near-violently at the Force to prevent snapping at the Captain. "I trust there will be no issue taking Padawan Tano into custody? Surely, with the presence of so many of you, there will be no challenge."
He speaks as though Padawan Tano isn't in the room. She is frozen in fear, trembling so hard even Mace can see it from where he sits, and there is a spike of anger from Skywalker. He opens his mouth, as if to speak.
Then his jaw snaps shut, thankfully. Mace spares a moment to thank the Force that Skywalker is using his head and not escalating the situation.
(He doesn't notice Obi-Wan in his chair, hand slightly raised and clenched in a fist as if he were holding something shut with the Force, and he doesn't see how Obi-Wan's eyes are alight with a blue-green flame. He doesn't sense how Skywalker is suddenly unable to speak, his voice and tongue held still by a telekinetic grip. He doesn't hear the words that Skywalker and Tano hear through their bonds.
Control yourselves, or you will reveal us. We need to tread carefully.)
"There is no issue," Obi-Wan replies. "We can sense the truth in the Force - she is innocent of the crime. What is more, we can speak personally to her character - I do not believe she is capable of such an abhorrent act."
"What you feel or sense is irrelevant in the face of evidence, General." Tarkin waves his hand in dismissal. "I was under the impression that the Jedi prided themselves on not allowing their emotions to cloud their judgement. Unless…" The Force swirls, and a new shatterpoint forms on Captain Tarkin. "Unless the Order wishes to obstruct the investigation?"
They can't. The refusal to hand over Padawan Tano into military custody would destroy the fragile shatterpoint, and would give Tarkin and the senate the excuse to take partial control of the Council - and by extension, the Order. Mace grasps his emotions and releases it into the Force, allowing it to take his anxieties and frustrations.
He braces himself for backlash from several Jedi in the room. "No, we do not," he says curtly. "We will cooperate, Captain Tarkin."
As Tarkin cuts the comm along with Commander Fox, the Force explodes into turmoil.
"How could you do this?"
"We should stand by Ahsoka-!"
"Master Windu, I must disagree-"
"We should not-"
"This is outrageous! It's unfair-"
"ENOUGH!"
The room falls into silence as Yoda raises his voice, leaving every one of them feeling as though they are once again chastised younglings. Even so, Mace can sense Skywalker seething, his anger barely controlled. Under better control is the indignancy of Obi-Wan and Plo, yet, it is palpable enough to be felt in the room.
"Believe in you, we do, Ahsoka," Yoda continues gently. "Your honesty, we sense. Yet tied, our hands are. If refuse to obey the senate, we decide, as opposition, they will take it, and an opportunity, this may create, for officials such as Tarkin to remove our autonomy."
"This could mean the difference between being able to help our men in battle and being removed from command," Mace adds. "Captain Tarkin has long been critical of Jedi involvement in the war - opposition on our part would give him and the senate leverage to introduce legislation to push us out. What's more, it would give them an opportunity to interfere with future Jedi matters under the pretense of supervision. This incident could easily sway the public opinion of the Jedi, which is already wavering."
It irritates him - Tarkin has long since voiced his criticisms of the Jedi as Generals, often stating his view that the Jedi should not be in command positions. What irks him is that Tarkin is right - to a degree. But experience has taught Mace that many officials in the Republic military do not view the clones as human, and that is something he cannot allow his men to suffer through.
Skywalker's anger flares, then it fades, pulled behind his shields as he fights to bring it under control. His anger does not disappear - rather, it hides behind shields which seem to be made of a (blue-green) mist, present but unable to be seen.
It is a difficult choice to choose between his padawan and his men. Mace imagines himself in those shoes - being forced to choose between siding with Depa, or siding with his men - and he grinds his teeth.
"No."
Mace turns his head in surprise as Padawan Tano steps forward. She is afraid, the tremor in her voice audible, but Mace can sense her trying to release her fear into the Force. He can also sense where her thoughts are turning to - to her captain, to her soldiers, to her men. Her words speak of a maturity worthy of a Jedi Knight, and he notes to himself that once this ordeal is over and her name is cleared, the Council should strongly consider Knighting her.
"I will surrender to- to Jedi custody," she manages.
Skywalker steps forward, a hand reaching out as if to stop her. "Ahsoka, no-"
"Let me do this!" she snaps, and he recoils at the strength of her words. Her hands drop to her belt, reaching for her lightsabers, and she hands them to her master. "For our men. For all of our men."
The Force murmurs around her, shining with a Light untainted by Darkness.
(Mace blinks, and for a moment - just a short moment - he swears he can see a convor of white-gold, cooing in encouragement on Padawan Tano's shoulder. He blinks again, and it is gone.)
"Very well." Yoda stands, and with the press of a button, the doors to the Council chambers open to reveal two Temple guards. "For your courage, commend you, we do. Stand by you, to the best of our ability, the Order will."
When Anakin arrives at the 500 Republica, Padmé can see the stress in the posture.
She assumes it's from Maul's escape. The report of the renegade Sith Lord's escape from custody had put the entirety of the Naboo delegation on edge. Even the Chancellor had commed her personally. "This is worrying, milady," he had said, concern in his eyes. "Do take care. I cannot bear the thought of anything happening to you."
She had felt a spark of warmth, then, for her mentor. It was unlikely for either of them to be targeted specifically, but it was impossible to know the thoughts of a Sith Lord. "You too, Chancellor. I hope they will catch him soon."
"I agree," he had said. "But I must wonder why the Jedi wish for his true identity to be hidden."
The public advisory warning had flashed across her holopad hours earlier. Warning. Considered armed and dangerous. Do not approach. Notify Coruscant Police if there is information. In it was no mention of Maul's identity as a Sith.
"I'm sure there is good reason for their decision," she had replied. She could understand the value of not revealing Maul's identity - labelling him as armed and dangerous should be enough to heighten people's caution and to prevent too much panic. As such, she hadn't spoken out and revealed his identity.
"Of course, of course," Palpatine had agreed. "I just worry for the people."
Poor man. The war had aged him, and as it had worn on, his shoulders had seemed to slowly sag in the months it continued. She felt a pang of sympathy - his task was no easy one. "Don't pressure yourself too much, Chancellor. You mustn't stress so much."
The smile he had given her was weary, and they had chatted some more before they both went back to work.
Then news had arrived that Maul had escaped Coruscant. It was met with mixed reception - on one hand, she was very worried of the repercussions of him on the loose in the galaxy once more, yet on the other hand, part of her was secretly glad that she did not have to worry about him showing up at her doorstep.
And the events had not let up. The next day, the Temple had been bombed. Padmé assumes that's why Anakin looks so stressed. "Ani," she says, and he rushes into her arms, burying his face in her shoulder.
"I've missed you," he mumbles.
They stand like that for a moment, lost in each other's embrace - there is nothing in the moment, no war, no Sith, nothing but the warmth of the other's hug and the gentle breath of the other.
Then Ani releases his grip, and when she looks into his eyes, he looks scared. "Padmé, I need your help."
She rubs his arms, trying to soothe him. "What is it?"
"Ahsoka has been accused of being the one behind the Temple bombing," he says, and she can't help the gasp that escapes her. "She's being held in custody as we speak. I- I'm not- I don't know what to do."
He sounds so helpless. Padmé's heart aches - not just for Anakin, but also for the young Togruta that, in another life, she would have considered as her own daughter. "I'll do what I can," she promises, but she doubts herself. As a Senator, she has little jurisdiction over military and court matters.
"That's all I ask," he whispers, and they savor the short moment they can spend together.
Ahsoka is released into military custody.
It makes sense, she supposes. If she were in Jedi custody, the rogue Jedi would probably have an easier time reaching her and getting away. In military custody - in cells designed to hold Force-sensitives - she can still reach the Force, but there are no buttons that can be easily pressed, no vents to crawl through, no control panels she can crush with the Force.
Something catches her eye - a key card, resting outside her cell.
"A key card?" she mutters. Perhaps Anakin…?
She gets no further with her thoughts. A flash of white-gold, invisible to the naked eye, flies in front of her, blocking her view of the key card and hooting in protest. The convor.
She frowns. The convor has never led her wrong - and though it was a passive presence, never directly interfering, she had always believed that the convor was a possible manifestation of the Daughter in the Cosmic Force. "Is it a trick?" she asks quietly.
The convor bobs its head, and her blood runs cold. Someone - the rogue Jedi - must be going great lengths to set her up. She isn't safe here, and-
The guards! If the rogue Jedi had been able to leave a key card here, what would have happened to the guards?
She leaps from her seat, waving frantically at the camera. "Hey!" she shouts. "Guard!"
Moments later, klaxons sound throughout the detention block as bodies are found in the halls.
"All evidence points to someone trying to set Padawan Tano up," says Commander Fox.
The cameras had been sliced into - footage of the halls and of her cell had been deleted for an hour. A key card had been found outside Padawn's Tano cell, indicating possible escape, but other factors pointed to otherwise.
Two factors, specifically. One, the logs of the key card and the cell lock both indicated no use since Tano had been moved to the cell. The logs are something that is not known to the public. Everyone knows a detention block has cams and sound recordings - it's in every crime holodrama there is. That's unavoidable. But the presence of the key card logs is something else entirely.
Second, the presence of Tano's lightsabers and a comm, found two hallways away from her cell, indicate that she was not behind this attack.
Commander Fox tells all this to an unimpressed Captain Tarkin. "Is it possible that she left behind the materials and locked herself back in the cell to avoid suspicion?" the Captain asks.
Fox doesn't- doesn't hate Tarkin, not really, but something about the man's oily voice and arrogant posture makes Fox want to be serving under anyone but him. "Highly unlikely, sir," he says. It chafes - he's a Commander and Tarkin is a Captain. But Fox knows Tarkin's views on clones and his ruthless persistence in making their lives hell because he thinks they're less than human, as well as his power in the senate. So Fox grits his teeth and plows forward. "The lightsabers and comm were completely cleaned of fingerprints as if to avoid suspicion and identification. Padawan Tano would have left fingerprints. It also makes no sense for her to break out and injure our men for no reason."
Tarkin hums, then waves his hand. "Regardless, this does not exonerate her from the allegations raised by CC-5869 before his death. You may transfer her to a different cell block in the meantime."
Stone, not CC-5869. Fox's brother's name was Stone. He says none of that out loud - instead, he manages a clipped, "Yes, sir!" that thankfully has Tarkin leaving the place, clearly thinking that he's done with the situation at hand.
Bastard.
Fox saw the way Tarkin turned his nose at every non-human. The man is so xenophobic towards anything he thinks is non-human that it's a kriffing wonder how he managed to stay in office. It really, really does not bode well for Padawan Tano - even if she is innocent (which Fox is beginning to think she really is - he regrets his earlier emotional outburst) - she has to suffer through the scrutiny of a powerful man who wants to find error in anything she's ever done simply because she isn't human.
Quietly, he saves the key-card logs - along with pictures of the finger-print free evidence - on a separate data card. It wouldn't do if the evidence was erased - be it by the actual culprit or by a haughty official who just wanted to take out his xenophobia on someone else.
He wonders who he could submit the copy of the evidence to. The Council? Unclear. He'll keep it on himself for now.
Just in case.
The Chancellor is busy at his desk, pouring over legislation and documentation, when Anakin walks in. He's incredibly grateful for Palpatine - the Chancellor had sent him a short message hours earlier, asking of his well-being in regards to the Temple bombing situation, and wishing him well. Anakin had replied with a request to meet, and the Chancellor had agreed, worry clear in his messages.
"Anakin!" The Chancellor looks up from his desk, pushing aside the holograms he had been pouring over. "Come in, come in."
The Chancellor's office is quiet in the Force, filled with the lingering presences of the many delegates that have come in and out for meetings. Lately - particularly during the war - Anakin has noticed an increase in lingering stress and anger as senators and planetary leaders became more and more on edge. At Palpatine's desk, the Force feels tired, the weight of a man trying to fight a war heavy in the air.
(There's something else, too, something he can't quite recognize. But he pays no mind to it.)
"Thank you for agreeing to see me on such a short notice, Chancellor," Anakin says. And it was a short notice - he'd only asked to meet a few hours ago, and the Chancellor had set aside his time for a quick conversation.
"Of course." Palpatine stands, the Force around him murmuring with a gentle concern. "Are you alright? You sounded quite distressed in our communications."
And there - right there - is something that Anakin has always appreciated about Palpatine. The Council hadn't even asked about Anakin or Ahsoka's well-being at all. "My padawan was taken into custody for a crime she didn't commit," he says, and his fists clench. "She's accused of murder and of conspiring to bomb the Temple. But it's impossible! I know she would never do something like that."
"My goodness!" Palpatine exclaims. His presence is radiating shock, then concern, and part of Anakin feels guilty for burdening Palpatine with yet another problem. But the Chancellor presses forward. "And what of the Council? Surely, they fought for her?"
Not enough.
He admits to himself that he's not being fair, not really, with the Council. Their hands are tied. And yet, a small voice in the back of his head whispers, were they ever really fair with you?
He voices his thoughts out loud. "Not enough," he snarls. "They should have defended her more."
"I am deeply sorry, Anakin." Palpatine's voice is sympathetic. He puts a hand on Anakin's shoulder, and for a moment, Anakin wonders if this is what it must be like to have a grandfather. He'd never known his biological grandparents, of course. They were long gone, sold to someone before his birth. "I would have thought the Council would go to greater lengths to protect their own. Unfortunately, I am no Jedi, and I cannot speak to their motivations - strange as they may seem to me."
Palpatine is right - as usual. The warmth that Anakin usually feels when he speaks with his mentor, though, is gone, lost in his worry for Ahsoka. He's glad to have someone who makes him feel seen - who makes him feel valid.
He feels guilty, sometimes, when he's with the Chancellor. It's a wonder how Palpatine has managed to put up with the… whining, for lack of better term, yet he has always been receptive and nothing but helpful. "All the Council offered was advice to release our anxieties and to trust in the Will of the Force," Anakin scoffs. "As if that would give us peace of mind."
"Peace of mind? While your Padawan is wrongfully accused?" Palpatine asks, his voice incredulous. He shakes his head. "Pardon my outburst, Anakin. I simply question - what do they expect when one close to you could be facing undeserving consequences?"
Anakin bites his tongue. It wouldn't do to swear in front of the Chancellor. "I- don't know."
He feels helpless. He can't believe that he ever thought of Tarkin as an ally. He saw the way Tarkin leered at Ahsoka. In his eyes was the same glint Anakin had seen in the eyes of slave masters who wanted to relish in their slaves' pain just because they could.
"May I speak bluntly?" The Chancellor asks. At Anakin's nod, Palpatine continues, "I do not mean to offend, but it feels very unfeeling on the part of the Council to instruct you to simply…" He waves his hands, searching for words. "...be at peace with such a decision. To worry over something like this is human, Anakin. To advise you to trust in the Force, as if it were possible be at peace within your mind while your student is accused, to simply stand aside while your friend is in trouble… well, that possibility is simply a lie."
Something about Palpatine's words tickles the back of Anakin's mind. Of course - criticism of the Council will always make Anakin feel a little guilt, no matter how much he thinks he deserves it. He pushes back the feeling, marveling a little at how the Chancellor always seems to know what to say. He feels a surge of warmth again for his mentor and sighs. "Thank you, Your Excellency."
Palpatine shakes his head. "No, my boy. It is only right that you have someone who can listen to you."
They talk for most of the next fifteen minutes. It's relaxing being in the company of a mentor - though Obi-Wan and Padmé listen to him, there are sometimes words that Palpatine is able to offer that makes Anakin feel more… visible. More valuable.
It crosses his mind, once, to confide in Palpatine about the chips. Then he remembers the Chancellor's signature on the document approving the presence of the chips and his stomach twists, and he holds his tongue.
(There's something strange about the office, too. Something strange in the Force. Anakin puts it down to the lingering presence of the past delegates who have visited, but it's something more. Something darker.
Perhaps a bug? Perhaps that's why the Force is telling him there's something off.
Maybe he should come back here later - to check. After all, the decorations around the office cast long shadows.)
During the transfer to a different cell - for both Ahsoka's security and the security of the guards - Commander Fox slips something into her hands as he removes the cuffs.
"Evidence of innocence," he whispers to her. "I'm sorry for doubting you, Commander."
He's positioned in such a way that his body subtly blocks the view of the security cam. She tilts her head the slightest fraction, giving him a nod, and he moves away with the other guards to leave her alone in the cell.
She curls up on the bench that doubles as a bed, using the Force to quietly place the datachip in a hidden pocket in her belt.
It takes Anakin hours to fall asleep that night, his mind racing through the different laws Padmé had drawn up in their search to help Ahsoka. Without enough evidence, she would have to be released within three days following a questioning, and thankfully, Padmé had pulled enough strings to hire a good lawyer.
It should all work out. Hopefully.
When Anakin finally does fall into his dreams, he sleeps fitfully. Images rise up in an unrelenting wave - the Citadel, Mortis, Geonosis, Tatooine, blurring together as he tumbles through the images.
Then the ground is beneath his feet, and he opens his eyes to find himself in Mos Espa.
(He's not really here, of course.)
It's the same as he remembers. The markets, the slave quarters, the shops, all of them the same shape and form and covered with the god-forsaken sand.
(Really, why did he have to dream about sand? In the part of his mind that's aware that this is a dream, he decides that anything with sand should classify as a nightmare.)
In his dream, Mos Espa is empty, devoid of life. It isn't abandoned - rather, it feels as though every single life-form had just disappeared, leaving behind traces of their presence. There's still food on the plates in the cantina, drinks displayed behind the bar, and footprints left in the sand that are quickly being covered by the swirling stands. There's a storm approaching.
Anakin's feet carry him to his old quarters. It feels wrong - it's eerily silent like the rest of Mos Espa. It should be bustling with life, filled with the many slaves who made a home for themselves with the little they had. It should be ringing with the whispered stories of Ekkreth and the ways he became free. A part of Anakin wonders about Kitster, about Seek and Melee and Wald and Amee. He wonders if they're free.
A part of him feels guilty. He'd promised to go back and free them. He's a Jedi now, a Jedi with the legacy of the Son, and he hadn't even gone back to check on them the two times he had been back to Tatooine.
The door to his old quarters feels shorter than he remembers. Of course - he's grown much since then. He steps inside, and finds his mother sitting at the table.
Not Shmi. This isn't Shmi, though it looks like her, with the hair held in a bun and the laugh lines crinkling the edge of her eyes. This mother takes the form of Shmi Skywalker, but she's made of the swirling sands, each movement of her feet not a step but a shift in the grains swirling around the ground. When she opens her eyes, they are entirely a soft brown, the whites and irises the same colours as the dunes of the desert.
Anakin, she says, and her voice is both silent and a thunderclap, heard in his mind and in the grains of sand whirling outside the quarters. Ekkreth.
"Ar-Amu," he replies. All-Mother.
The desert blooms around him, but his limbs feel cold. He looks down to see himself standing in the shadow of the table, his feet dissolving into the shadows and merging with the ground.
"Why is this happening, Mother?" he asks. "Why am I here?"
Ar-Amu's mouth does not open when she speaks. Do you know your purpose, my Son?
He thinks he does. Chosen One. Prophesied destroyer of the Sith. Jedi General, capable of turning the tides of battle.
But that is not what Ar-Amu is looking for.
"The Slave who makes free," he tells her again.
Ar-Amu smiles and something in Anakin twists. He hadn't seen the smile of Shmi Skywalker in long, long years - to see it again, even if it is not really her, ignites a bittersweet feeling that's hard to push away. Do you understand your purpose, my child?
He remembers Obi-Wan's presence after Mortis, a towering grey that is solid and unwavering and balanced, neither Light nor Dark, but the middle.
He thinks back to the words of Kreia, shown to him in his last dream. Perhaps Revan became a Dark Lord out of necessity, to prevent a greater Evil.
On Mortis, Obi-Wan had told him of how the Son was both Sith and not Sith, just as how the Daughter wielded the Light and yet was not a Jedi.
On Mortis, the Father had called himself and his children a Family in Balance.
In the classes at the Temples, Yoda had taught the Jedi of how the Dark Side was like a chain. "Enslave you to your emotions, it will," he had said. "Over yourself, great control, you must have, if you are to resist its grip."
The Slave who makes free.
Bitterness surges up within him, holding him in a cold grip. "Is that my fate, then?" he asks. "To be the Dark that balances out the Light of the Order?"
You are to bring balance, Ar-Amu says. Passion, death, and Darkness have place in the universe. Left unchecked, they become corruption. They become unbalanced. They become Depur Depuran.
Unsaid are the words, They become Sith.
"So that is my purpose," he says. "To destroy that which corrupts the Dark, and to embody what the Dark should be."
Child of the desert, your road is long and filled with hurdles. Ar-Amu's form begins to crumble, her fingertips and hair falling to the floor in a cascade of sand. The path of the Chosen One is never a simple one. But you are not alone.
Outside, the skies of Mos Espa are darkening as the twin suns begin to set. The shadows cast in Anakin's old quarters grow longer, bathing him in darkness, coldness setting in deep in his bones. "But how am I to destroy the Sith if we don't even know who the Master is?"
Ar-Amu smiles, wordless, and the sky darkens. Her form crumbles into nothingness, leaving behind nothing but the holocron he had seen before in his dreams. He reaches out and pushes, and it opens, the blue figure of the holocron staring up into Anakin's eyes.
"Chosen One," he says.
"Revan," Anakin greets in return.
They stand in silence, the Chosen One of the Galactic Republic and the 'Chosen One' of the Old Republic, before Revan breaks it with words Anakin did not expect.
"You did not heed my words, Son of the Force."
Anakin bites his tongue, fighting back a remark that would be sure to anger the Sith. "And what advice would you have me heed?" he asks instead.
Revan tilts his head, as if searching Anakin for something indiscernible. "You asked for knowledge," he says finally, and his voice is filled with contempt. "You did not use it."
"Well, why don't you enlighten me?" Anakin quips back.
Revan laughs, harsh and condescending, and the sound echoes in the small space of the slave quarters. His answer is a question, infuriatingly cryptic and indirect. "Tell me, Chosen One, what do the Sith crave most?"
What is he playing at?
"Power," Anakin answers carefully.
"Indeed." Revan clasps his hands behind his back, staring up at Anakin. "It was power that caused my Fall. The Dark Side offers power for power's sake. Once you crave it - once you covet it - the desire to seek power never leaves your being."
"But you were redeemed." The words fall from Anakin's mouth before he's aware of them, born from his knowledge of the legends whispered by padawans in the Temple. Heresy and tall tales, the Jedi Masters had said of the stories, yet the padawans had whispered them all the same.
The holocron pulses, red flashing into a bright blue, then into a pure white.
"I was. The Jedi Council removed my memories of Darkness, and from then, I became a Jedi once more," Revan says, and Anakin feels a chill run down his back.
He'd Fallen too, on Mortis, and the Father had removed his memory of the time and brought him back to the light.
He's too much like Revan for his liking.
"Yet they did not erase the true desire for power." The words of Revan continue, washing over Anakin in an unrelenting wave. "Eventually, I was reminded of my past as a Dark Lord - and for the remainder of my days, I walked the precipice. It tore me asunder. Are you able to walk this same path, Son of the Force?"
Is he?
Am I?
He doesn't know.
He'd lost control on Umbara. He'd only come back to himself when he sensed the revulsion from Rex, and even then, he hadn't been able to truly come back until Obi-Wan had reigned him in.
Since then, he'd been around Obi-Wan more often than not, the other man's Force-presence always in the back of Anakin's mind, serving as a tether to keep him grounded lest he become unhinged again. He'd nearly snapped at the Council when they had tried to take Ahsoka into custody - Obi-Wan had held him back, his grip in the Force snapping Anakin's mouth shut and his blue-green fog settling into Anakin's mind to help keep him steady.
He fears what he will do if Obi-Wan is not there.
"If you have a tether to hold onto, you can control your hatred and your anger." Revan's tone turns wistful. "I have seen it done before."
Anakin knows that he has many tethers to hold on to.
Obi-Wan.
Ahsoka.
Rex.
Padmé.
He stares at Revan, and speaks with resolution. "Then I will walk the path as the Force wills it."
"Good." The holocron pulses, flashing back into a glowing crimson.
Anakin hesitates. There's a question at the tip of his tongue, waiting to come out, but he's unsure if he should reveal his ignorance of the current Sith Master's identity to a former Sith.
But is this a vision of a true Revan? Or is this but an echo of who he once was?
He takes a gamble, and asks. "But what about the Sith Master?"
There is silence, and for a moment, he thinks he's kriffed up. He'd just admitted a weakness to a former Dark Lord, kriff, kriff-
Then, Revan holds out his hands, palms up, as if he is proving something, and the Force surrounding the holocron pulses with urgency and sincerity. "In my time, the most vile and dangerous of Sith held great power - enough to nearly cheat death. He sought to engineer a war to increase his strength." His hands move, spreading outwards. "He was a powerful manipulator, and he saw everyone else as but a pawn to advance his power. When I discovered his identity, I was arrogant, and he saw through my plans and twisted my mind to complete my Fall. Do not make the same mistake."
Around Revan, the Force pulses with memory of a foreign power and malice bending his mind and warping it to another's will. Anakin catches but an echo of the memory, the presence of the ancient Sith Emperor making him recoil in revulsion.
Other than the cheating death part, Anakin thinks wryly, he can see the similarities between the old Sith and the current Sith Master. Puppetmaster, engineer of wars, powerful. But there is more to this than it seems - he's still finding too many similarities between himself and Revan, and it wouldn't do for him to start sympathizing with a Sith, redeemed or not. "And how does this matter to what's happening now?" he demands.
Revan drops his hands, head tilted, and he speaks with an inquisitive voice that sounds more threatening than anything he's said before. "Tell me, Chosen One," he says again, "who is the most powerful being on your side of the war?"
Anakin's immediate answer is a Jedi. Master Yoda, surely, or Master Windu. Or Obi-Wan, probably, with the gifts of the Father. Maybe even Ahsoka, with how she can raise people from near-death.
(Or himself.)
As if sensing Anakin's thoughts, Revan shakes his head, disappointment leaking into the Force. "There is more to power than prowess in battle and in the Force," he says, and his image flickers. The world begins to spin, the sands on the floor beginning to rise as Anakin feels the vision dissolving. "True power is found in those who enact and embrace change, who do not compromise for their goals."
The sands spin and spin and spin, rising to obscure Revan's image and biting at Anakin's skin. The world tilts, then turns, and Anakin falls into nothingness, flailing with no ground beneath his feet, and like before, he reaches for the memories of gargoyle wings-
The vision ends when Anakin's eyes fly open with a gasp, panting as though he has just been in battle, and when he looks at his shadow on the walls of his quarters, it is larger than it should be.
In one of the cells of the detention center, Ahsoka's eyes fly open after a sudden awakening from a restful sleep.
The shadows in her cell twitch, and in the corner of her eyes, she can hear the convor, hooting in distress.
"Anakin," she whispers, and she reaches across their bond.
There's nothing but confusion and turmoil, and she knows without a doubt that he has just had another vision.
You can't help him now, the convor hoots. Not yet.
Obi-Wan wakes to turmoil raging in the Force.
Groggily, he rises from his bed, and walks to Anakin's room.
(He's not fully corporeal, but he's too tired to care and too worried to try and put too much effort into it.
He doesn't realize that he didn't use the door to go in-between the rooms.)
"Anakin?" he asks. "Are you alright?"
Dimly, Obi-Wan notes how he's not the only one that isn't fully corporeal. Anakin's body is half-melted into shadow, flickering between reality and the red-black in the Force.
Anakin turns to face him, his face half-shadow and half-solid, and he pins Obi-Wan with a gaze. "Obi-Wan," he says slowly, and when he speaks, his mouth splits open to his ears, "who is the most powerful being on the side of the war?"
A strange question.
"What type of power do you mean?" At this, Anakin tilts his head, and Obi-Wan presses on. "Physical power in battle? Strategic power in a tactician? Political power in the Senate?"
At the last words of his questions, Anakin stiffens, and the Force around him snarls, coils of anger and fear snapping around the room.
It doesn't go much further than the door to the room before Obi-Wan gathers it in and presses it back. "Be careful," he snaps.
With visible effort, Anakin reigns in his emotions, his eyes tight. "Sorry," he says, but Obi-Wan can tell he isn't. He's using the same tone he used above Umbara - light, charming, with an undercurrent of danger waiting to be released. He waves his hand. "I need to check on something. Don't worry, I'll be back."
"Are you certain?" Obi-Wan asks. He moves forward. "Anakin, don't be reckless-"
And without warning, the Force surges and Obi-Wan finds himself thrown backwards. He lands on his feet, stunned. Did Anakin just-
When he looks up, Anakin is no longer there, having melted into the shadows.
Now.
You can't change everything.
The smoke is thick and suffocating in the 500 Republica. The floor, once covered in a shining marble, is now scorched and blackened, the consequence of blaster marks and oil fires caused by the hectic fighting. The doors, once a heavily decorated wood, are blasted to irreparable pieces, the couches in the waiting room scratched and burned, and the steps of the veranda have crumbled into the lower levels of Coruscant.
There's blessed silence - for the moment being, at least. The fighting is over for now, bodies strewn all around and over the entrance of Senator Amidala's suite. Jesse's blasters are holstered for the time being - he works in tandem with his remaining brothers, clearing away the bodies of their fallen brothers of the Coruscant Guard and of the 501st. They're laid in one of the guest rooms which has been turned into a temporary morgue.
There aren't enough sheets to cover the bodies.
It's already starting to stink, the fumes mixing with the smell of sweat and burnt flesh. Some of the bodies are still warm, smoke rising from the blaster holes in their armor. Every time Jesse lifts a body of a brother in the Coruscant Guard, he feels a part of him go numb. He'd been the one to order the 501st to set to kill. It was that, or die.
But it still hurts.
His limbs are heavy, his feet feeling every jolt of each step he takes. At his side, Senator Amidala is helping them move the bodies, her face hard and streaked with tears.
None of her security personnel had survived the last wave. She places a hand over the still body of Captain Typho, murmuring a quiet Nubian farewell.
The office of Senator Amidala's suite has been turned into a makeshift medbay, allowing for those too injured to fight to rest. There aren't many - there's only about three of them that aren't either healthy enough to keep fighting or already dead. As for the medical supplies, they're already out of bacta and bandages, with Senator Amidala only having stocked up enough for around ten people. She'd never expected there to be a full-blown battle in her apartments, after all.
As for the bodies of the Senate Guard, Jesse takes a vindictive pleasure in stacking them over the entrance to hinder future squads. He's aware that this isn't very nice, not really, but kriff them. They aren't being mind-controlled - they're following orders from Palpatine on their own volition. He'd heard their battle cries of "For the Chancellor!" enough to make him uncaring about what happens to their bodies.
Eleven minutes later, after they'd managed to clear out the bodies, Jesse checks on equipment and curses. They're also running out of ammo. Silently, he sends a prayer to whatever kriffin' gods are out there - be it the Force or whatever the kark could help - for the Handmaidens of Senator Amidala to succeed soon.
They'd left over two hours ago. There were no communications since. It's entirely possible that they were shot down in their mission to CenComms, and that they would never know the truth of what happened.
His hands are shaking. He pulls out an empty power pack from his blaster and grabs another one, clutching a little harder than he should at the hardened duraplast to try to find something to ground him other than the uneven floor against his feet. The empty power pack clatters to the floor and she shoves the full one into the blaster, preparing for the next wave.
He takes stock, and his heart aches from a stabbing pain. Of the twenty-four brothers he'd arrived with, there's only seven of them left. Senator Amidala's protocol droid is out of commission, blown to smithereens by a grenade, and Duchess Satine is barely in fighting shape. Senator Organa is less trained in combat - trained, but not for something as high-stakes as this. He looks about ready to collapse on his feet, held up only by adrenaline.
Jesse tries to ignore the churning in his stomach. He tries to ignore the truth that seems to be screaming directly into his ears - that while there still might be a miniscule chance to survive the next wave, even if they do, it will be the last one they do.
He wonders if this is how it ends. With his blasters levelled up against his brothers and his final moments staring into his brothers' barrel.
Scans show him that there aren't any squads en route - yet. It means nothing, of course. A fresh squad could be assembled and brought to this place in five minutes, tops. But for the moment, he takes his time to rest, to allow his trembling muscles to relax and to allow his jaw to unclench. He slides to the ground, his knees giving way under him, and he takes a moment to allow himself to loosen up.
"Trooper."
He turns his head to see Senator Amidala, a bottle in her hand. "Senator," he says tiredly.
She holds out the bottle. "Drink. We don't have much time."
He's too tired to protest. The water offers little comfort, but at least it's something for a parched throat. He hands her back the bottle with a nod of thanks, wondering how she's still looking like she's able to keep fighting.
Then he discards the thought. Though many senators have never seen combat in their life, Senator Amidala is not one of them. Everyone knows the story of how she fought against the Trade Federation - and won - at the age of fourteen.
Part of her hair is scorched off, the strands blackened and burnt from a blaster bolt that had come too close. Her dress, too, is partially torn and coated with dust and grime, blood spattering across one of her sleeves. Part of Jesse is surprised to see that her dress isn't completely ruined, but then again, he shouldn't be. The clothing that she's wearing now is not the fine silks of the dresses she wears on the Senate floor, but rather the thick leather armor of her handmaidens, designed to be protective and lightweight.
General Skywalker's R2-unit rolls up, beeping quietly. He's at forty-two percent power, he says. In other news, though, he detected reports of an infiltration at CenComms fifteen minutes ago when he sliced through the holonet during the downtime.
Jesse holds back a laugh. Of course the droid immediately started slicing the moment there was a break in fighting. Artoo is just as reckless and efficient as his General.
But that's good news, at least. "They got through," Senator Amidala breathes, and Jesse can't help the spark of hope that ignites - that maybe, just maybe, in the next few moments, her Handmaidens will succeed and stop the kill-orders.
His desire to put a blaster bolt through Palpatine's head comes back again. Bastard. Karking mother-kriffing piece of bantha-fodder. To violate Jesse's brother's autonomy - to turn them into pre-programmed droids- it makes Jesse really, really want to see justice for this. Screw putting a blaster bolt into Palpatine's head, he really just deserves one up his-
"Incoming, two klicks out at ten o'clock and fast approaching." One his brother's voices cuts into his thoughts, the clipped tone making him quickly put the bucket back on. A quick scan with infrared mode shows him five squads - fifty soldiers and senate guards - on the approach.
"Five-to-one odds," he mutters, and despite his desire not to show it, he can hear the defeat in his voice and feel it in the slump of his shoulders.
This is it, then.
He's been in dangerous life-or-death situations before, certainly, and he's been injured on the battlefield, but there's something about knowing that he might be killed by your own brothers that makes his limbs heavy. It isn't even their fault - they have no choice. The inhibitor chips control their actions as surely as a puppetmaster controls the strings of their puppets.
"Trooper." Then, more softly, "Or, with permission, Jesse." He turns his head to see Senator Amidala, her posture stiff and her face hardened. She'd heard what he'd said about the odds. Her head tilts, inclining towards where Senator Organa and Duchess Satine are on the ground, too tired or injured to stand, and she salutes. "I speak of the three of us when I thank you. It's been an honour."
She's saying goodbye.
Behind her, Duchess Satine passes a fist over her chest in a traditional Mandalorian salute of honour, her face impassive but her eyes brimming with sorrow. Senator Organa imitates Senator Amidala, his face a picture of resolve.
"To all of you, we thank you," Senator Amidala says, meeting the eyes of each remaining trooper. "You have all made great sacrifices today, and you have all fought valiantly. The Republic couldn't have asked for better men.." Her hand tightens on something in her grip, hidden from view. "I understand why General Skywalker has given your battalion high praise. You are the finest of soldiers. With luck, this will be over soon if my Handmaidens are successful."
He stands to attention, getting up from the floor, and he snaps a salute back. "It's been an honour fighting at your side, Senator," he says, and behind him, his brothers echo the sentiment.
The moment seems to stretch on, locked in one moment in time. Jesse is suddenly aware of his own heartbeat, of his brothers' heavy breaths, of the red flushing Senator Amidala's cheeks and of the brightness of Senator Organa's eyes, and he's equally aware that all of those things will stop soon if the Handmaidens do not succeed. He'd never really gotten to say goodbye to the rest of his brothers either, to Rex and Echo and Fives and all the others, and he feels a pang of regret that isn't dulled by experience. He'd had many brothers die at his side throughout the years, but it never got easier. It still isn't easy.
Then one of his brothers speaks, and the spell is broken. "Five minutes out."
Jesse and his brothers stand in a rush of activity, putting the finishing touches on the temporary barricade they've set up. There's a small weak link they've left in the far corner - if all goes according to plan, it should funnel the enemy squads, making them easier targets.
It makes Jesse sick to think of his brothers in the Coruscant guard as 'enemy targets', but there isn't a choice.
Behind him, he can hear a quiet murmur of voices thanks to the enhancement in his bucket. The audio filters in his helmet are designed to muffle blast noises to protect the ears and to also pick up voices for better eavesdropping when needed, and by consequence, he can hear every word the Senators and Duchess are saying. He tries not to listen out of respect, but he can't help it, and something catches in his throat at the sound of their voices, trying desperately to be brave but aware that these might be their last moments as they speak into a holorecorder.
"-get this message, I'll be-"
"-hope you receive this-"
"-the time we spent in the mountains, Breha? It was the best-"
"-truly, deeply love you. Before I die, I-"
"-loved you always-"
"-happy for the time we've-"
"-take care of Ahsoka and Obi-Wan, Ani-"
"-dear Obi-Wan, I will be thinking of you-"
"-care of yourself. I love you-"
A part of him is a little vindicated, he has to admit. The relationship between General Skywalker and Senator Amidala was considered the most poorly kept secret in the 501st - well, in the top ranks, anyway. He'd made bets with Rex and some of his other brothers, some of whom wanted to give their General the benefit of the doubt, and one of them absolutely convinced that General Skywalker was not with Senator Amidala but rather with General Kenobi. Rex had doubled his bet, citing his belief that there was additional "tension" (he'd made it sound suggestive) between General Kenobi and the Duchess Satine. So, in all fairness, it really is Rex who ends up winning the bet, but Jesse takes a small victory in knowing that he's right about General Skywalker and Senator Amidala, at least.
Well, that'll be his motivation to get through this. A chance for bragging rights, a few handfuls of credits, and several drinks. It'll be worth it.
(He pushes back the voice that tells him that he won't make it that far.)
"Two minutes," a brother says, and he gets into position. The stun detonators are set in the hallways leading to the suite- enough, hopefully, to at least weaken the enemy squads, but it's unclear whether or not the sheer amount they've put is enough to compensate for the cortosis-laced armor of the Senate Guard. It should, however, take out their brothers in the Coruscant Guard non-lethally.
The murmur of the Senators and Duchess saying goodbye have tapered off, the three of them getting into position. Hidden to the side, close enough to ignite the oil that he poured on the floor near the entrance, Artoo stands at attention.
"One minute," the brother murmurs, and they all lapse into silence.
Jesse's muscles are shaking. He's tense and exhausted, horribly of each breath of air he sucks in and of each passing second. He's not afraid to die. He's always known that the risk was present - he was raised a soldier. But he's afraid for his brothers, for the Senators, for the Duchess, because the words he had heard them murmuring were the words of a final farewell and they haven't even reached the seniority of their years and it isn't fair when they have people to return to that will miss them always-
He sighs. There's no time for what-ifs. There's only time for what's going to happen soon.
A small signal flashes in his visor. Movement detected, it says.
So far, so good. He counts to ten.
His stomach is churning.
He wants to be sick.
He doesn't want to kill any more brothers.
He wants to be back on the Resolute, drinking with his brothers and Generals and Commander.
He wants-
The countdown finishes, and he presses the ignition button.
And the screams begin.
He's heard these screams before, not just for the past few hours, but for the past few years, their sounds echoing in the nightmares that are a common occurrence amongst him and his brothers who have seen active combat. Still, it doesn't get easier, and hearing the raw agony of the howls as his brothers in the Coruscant Guard are electrocuted into unconsciousness makes him clench his jaw so hard his teeth hurt.
Then he sees the blue of the Senate Guard's armor peeking out from over the makeshift barricade, and the battle begins anew.
The sounds of blaster bolts fill the air, the high whine of weapons discharging again and again fading into a continuous background noise as Jesse picks off the Senate Guard with precise shots. He's aware of his brothers beside him, firing again and again as the makeshift barricade prevents the Senate Guard from doubling around and surrounding them. There's a rush of sound as Artoo ignites the oil, making it impossible for thermal detonators to be thrown through the barricade lest they blow up in the thrower's face.
At Jesse's side, one of his brothers collapses from a blaster bolt to the head.
He grips his blaster and pulls the trigger again and again, each shot deliberate and carefully aimed. Luckily, the stun detonators had taken out two squads and weakened the cortosis-laced armor, making it less of a slaughter than Jesse had anticipated.
Another brother falls. He grits his teeth.
From five-to-one odds to three-to-one odds is something, but it isn't enough. The blaster bolts are flying closer and closer to his head, and it's only a matter of time before something hits him. But he can't afford to think like that.
He's taken down four Senate Guards and two of the Coruscant Guard. There's too many of-
An ear-splitting noise screeches through his helmet and he jumps, cursing loudly at the sudden influx of static. He's unaware of it, but the Senate and Coruscant Guard are doing the same, as are his brothers in the 501st. Only the Senators and Duchess are spared, the static from their wrist-mounted comms providing nothing more than a sudden annoyance rather than a debilitating screech projected straight into their ears. They take the opportunity, their shots downing an additional six Senate Guards.
Then the Senate Guards are back up, firing relentlessly, and so is Jesse and his brothers, but-
The Coruscant Guard are hesitating.
"Get yourself together!" screams one of the Senate Guard, hand pointing in Jesse's direction. "Kill the Senators and the traitors, by Order of the Supreme Chancellor-"
One of the Coruscant Guard turns his blaster on the Senate Guard and pulls the trigger.
"Kriff you," he snarls, and Jesse's heart soars.
The Handmaidens had done it.
They'd really done it.
They'd deactivated the kill order.
It's no contest. With the remaining Coruscant Guard turning against the Senate guard, the odds have changed. There's a feral grin on Jesse's face - he'll soon be able to collect his winnings and meet up with his brothers in the 501st again. He'll hopefully see Palpatine being brought to justice too, though he doesn't think he'll mind too much if General Skywalker kills the traitorous bastard first.
All that Jesse needs is to make sure he doesn't get hit by a stray blaster bolt, but that's unlikely. The Senate Guard's desperation leaks through, but it's hopeless for them, their numbers dwindling quickly, their shots going wide, going around Jesse's brothers and into the walls and straight towards Jesse's head-
You can't change everything.