Shadow of the Phoenix

by SLotH4

Centuries have passed since the Empire fell, and decades of war and strife have forged a ruthless galaxy. An expansionist Galactic Alliance looms over an upstart Mandalorian Union. A hardened Jedi Order teeters on the brink of light and dark. The Fellan Imperium awaits their chance to ascend once more. As rising tensions threaten war, it only takes a spark to set the galaxy aflame.

12. Oft Go Awry

SLotH4's Note: I'm not sure how long it's been since I first discovered rangermike's work. I know it says it was published in 2005 on FFnet and I know I found it in high school, so probably around that time. His work inspired everything you see here and everything connected to it. The main story, the side-stories, the Addenda… none of it would have been possible. And I'm grateful to him for that, and for giving me his (extremely tepid) approval.

I sometimes wonder what he would think of this universe Xabiar and I have created from his own works. Supportive? Averse? I don't know. And I will never know.

Michael Joseph Cropo passed away on November 8th (or 9th), 12,017 H.E. from cancer. He left behind a wife and children, family and friends, and many fans of his fanfiction and his original novel "Arcturian Star."

Bit of a belated eulogy, but I only just found out myself.

Xabiar's Note: This is something of an odd situation for myself to be in, as while I was not someone who read the stories rangermike wrote, they've had a very distinct impact on the work myself and SLotH4 have done on this project. That is something that I will be grateful for, and I'm glad that he was able to reach so many people, myself among them.

May he rest in peace.

---

Shadow of the Phoenix

---

Oft Go Awry

---

Farmer Dorn awoke in a daze, the sound of chaos all around. Blaster shots and screams. The nearest scream drew his eye to his wife, surrounded as she was by the Mandalorians, each taking his turn. Her eyes met his and they pleaded for him to save her, for love to conquer all. He stumbled toward them, a defiant yell on his lips.

One of the Mandos waiting his turn struck him with a cudgel and broke his skull open. The last thing he saw as his life faded away was his wife's pleading eyes as one man finished and was replaced.

Screaming and moaning, begging and pleading. The noise clashed together into a castrophony heard for kilometers in all directions, just as branches of smoke combined into a thick black column.

This village, once saved by a Mandalorian, was razed to ash by those of the same armor.

---

"…be sure to like and subscribe. This has been your host Xabiar, reporting live from the sunny corporate boardroom of RePlanetHab Inc., signing off. OSLAM 459! MtAGA!"

Penaria Oslam stared at the screen with a frown. Of all the lunatics to support her Administration, Xabiar was the most confounding – if one could really call it 'support.' She shook her head and sighed. 'MtAGA' was a HoloNet meme he had coined that stood for: 'Make the Alliance Go AHHHHHHH!'

Xabiar was not exactly subtle.

Penaria pinched the bridge of her nose and leant back in her leather chair. "How tiresome. So, what do we know about SMARL?"

"Not much more than he revealed. AIS black op involving the placement of Mando corpses to imply Mandalorian impropriety." Senator Jamus Tobin of Onderon crossed his arms. "Proper carbonite freezing leaves almost no traces in the body once thawed. Preventing access to the bodies is a political statement."

"Calsyne is a bother, but…" She drifted off, glancing into the distance and remembering the binder the woman 'gifted' her. "I cannot act against her… not yet."

Or maybe ever.

"Then we must prepare for the consequences of their scheming," Jamus said, rubbing his chin, "We do have sources in the AIS who can provide deeper context, right?"

She grimaced. "Technically, but I wonder if they can really be trusted. Calsyne controls everything in that agency."

Jamus shrugged. "We don't need to trust them wholly, but Calsyne is keeping secrets and that is bad for your Administration. Even beyond that, the Senate will continue to saber-rattle against the Mandalorian Union – to say nothing of how Mandalore might react."

"Panlie understands my situation and I can assure you he will not fire the first shot should it come to open conflict."

"That doesn't matter when conflict is inevitable," Jamus tutted.

"Is it though? There are other avenues," she offered, "Panlie is willing to expand trade with the Alliance. Even if the Union isn't laissez-faire, the megacorps will trip over themselves trying to make a profit."

"Undoubtedly. The Union is larger than we thought, true, but the market is still rather pedestrian. The real issue is their protectionist policies. They're extremely insular, and they've made clear that there will be no exchange of military hardware or technology. This will be exclusively an exchange of consumer goods and raw materials."

She swirled her glass. "So not dissimilar to our trade policy with the Hapes Consortium."

Jamus frowned. "The difference being the Hapans do not discriminate against megacorps. That won't be the case with the Mandos. Tariffs and quotas galore from the preliminary negotiations. They're far too concerned with protecting domestic industries to tolerate any interstellar conglomerate outside of MandalMotors. And with the restrictions on military hardware… there's nothing to gain for the defense contractors. That's why Kuat and SoroSuub are still pouring money into the Senate to feed the war machine."

Penaria sighed. "Just more of the same with these people. How many senators would support war if it came to a vote tomorrow?"

"Currently? Maybe twenty percent support. The vast majority are against or ambivalent. The Mandos just aren't seen as a threat or an opportunity."

"But with SMARL and the HoloNet newsfeeds…" She drifted off. "I will not be defined by an ill-conceived war."

"You know a veto will be overturned."

Penaria was quiet. She swirled her wine pensively. "I will not veto such a declaration, Jamus."

His brows rose, but he said nothing.

"The people cannot see my weakness. Not in this." She finished her glass and set it down with a clank. "Both the Senate and… others have had years now to build expectations on who I am, and what my intentions are. They will expect a veto. Not doing so will force a recalibration, and while that happens, I will nudge the war effort in a specific direction – one of future reconciliation. Kenirr and Calsyne will not work with me unless I play the game… but I will do so on my terms. The future of the people is more important than the games they play in foreign policy."

"It's risky, but you have little to lose at this point." Jamus scrolled through his datapad. "One last thing, Madame President. Battlemaster Shartan has requested another meeting."

"Has he now? I felt our last meeting was quite fruitful, I'm glad he feels the same." Penaria nodded, reclining in her chair. "Having him as an ally will make dealing with Kenirr and Calsyne that much easier."

Jamus frowned. "Shartan is not a neutral party when it comes to this. You do realize he's in favor of war with the Mandalorians as well, right?"

"I am, which is one reason why I will not oppose war once it comes. But I think Shartan and I agree on far more than that one point, Jamus. Politics is about compromise, and at least his support of the war has more substance than those feeding off the teat of the war machine. More important is that he has the will and conviction that so many in this accursed realm of politics lack. Zygerria convinced me he will do what is necessary when the time comes – and he and I can remake this whole rotten thing if we work together."

Jamus was clearly uncomfortable with invoking Zygerria, but suppressed that and smiled at her. "It's good to see that old flame of yours again. I was worried it was lost forever."

"Jamus, if I were to let my beliefs die in ignominy out of simple fear, my very presidency would be a crime. The people need the woman they elected, not the woman they've seen flounder for all this time. Change is coming, Jamus. Hell, with Daniel stepping down, it's already upon us."

"Are you not concerned about who might replace him?" he asked.

Penaria glanced out the window, her eyes unfocused. "No," she finally said, "Daniel was an ally, but even if Undien himself becomes Grand Master, I have no fear. They will struggle against me, as they have for three long years, but I am rejuvenated – and they are complacent."

She smiled. "The people want hope. And I will give it to them."

Jamus nodded slowly. "If I could impart some subjective advice, Madam President?"

"Of course, my friend."

"I am happy your flame has returned," he said, his eyes conflicted as he finished gently, "Just take care that it does not consume you."

---

The Jedi High Council was arrayed in their seats in a semicircle. The transparisteel windows lit the room in dull grays – a storm was approaching. Councilor Undien wondered to himself if it was a poor omen. He was not a superstitious man, but his nerves were still rattled from yesterday's events.

Daniel Skywalker and Pon Tiian had resigned – the latter joining them today to take part in confirming the Council replacements.

There was a tension in the quiet of the room that none dared break until Councilor Lara'ritten cleared her throat. "Before we begin deliberations, I wanted to address Taral's accusations against Karorm."

Undien steepled his fingers. "You spoke to him yourself?"

"Yes, Karorm was his usual bombastic self and seemed genuinely appalled and confused by the accusations. He readily agreed to submit himself to a mind-rip."

High Arbiter Mateil picked up the narrative, "There was nothing. No knowledge of Sith or Dark Jedi or anything really. No evidence at all that his persona was a façade. By all accounts, he's just as vapid and narcissistic as his public image suggests. The only thing even remotely untoward were his crass fantasies involving Councilor Ritten."

"Yes, he's a hopeless 'romantic.' " Lara smiled good-humoredly. "This, combined with the original background check, seems to prove his innocence beyond any doubt."

"Which raises the question of why Taral mentioned the man at all," said Master Pon Tiian.

"He cannot be trusted," Councilor Dal grumbled.

"Perhaps, but he's clearly smart enough to lie convincingly. He knows our resources. He knows we'd find out the truth. So why send us after Karorm? It makes little sense for him to state something disprovable. What would he gain beyond our suspicion?"

The back-and-forth continued, but none had a satisfactory answer for such a question. So instead, they focused on something more important.

Soon-to-be-former-Councilor Tiian motioned to take the floor. "I suggest we begin the process of replenishing the High Council. To that end, the Council of Establishment and Expansion of the Sphere of Exploration and Discovery has – despite my objections – nominated Ut Sifiss to the Jedi High Council."

Undien cocked a brow. "You object to Sifiss as your successor?"

"She has led the charge with others in the Sphere to stymie any attempt at reform – no matter how minor or necessary. Her willingness to sabotage her own Sphere bodes ill for her future as a Councilor if confirmed."

"I see." Undien smiled slightly. "We'll take that into consideration."

"I'm sure you will, given how her actions benefited you and your allies, I can only assume you approve," Tiian said, the edge to his voice biting, "I, however, do not."

A moment later, Master Ut Sifiss was ushered into the Council Chambers by one of the attendant Knights before he excused himself. Sifiss stood proud before them, the sleek symmetry of her face and the way the lights reflected off her green scales gave her a regal aesthetic. At only forty-eight years old, she would be – hands down – the youngest member of the Council, perhaps the youngest ever. It spoke to her abilities that they would even consider someone of her age.

"Greetings, Masters," she said with a bow.

Sifiss was peppered with questions throughout the interview, though none were particularly biting – she was nominated to the Sphere of Exploration and Discovery after all, it was important to the Order but not exceptionally influential. Then came the questions from Councilor Tiian, and the interview became an interrogation.

"As Chief Archeologist," he began, "you were responsible for locating and retrieving artifacts of interest to the Jedi Order. Sometimes these relics were located in dangerous areas. Thirty Jedi have died in service to your explorations. Thirty Jedi who were not warriors, or soldiers. They were scholars and explorers and you took them into avoidable danger to retrieve objects both miraculous and mundane. Is any relic truly worth someone's life?"

Sifiss pursed her lips. "That depends on the relic in question, Councilor."

Tiian steepled his stubby fingers. "And the fact that all the Jedi killed were opposed to Orthodox theory? That they stood in opposition to Master Undien's vision?"

"What are you implying, Tiian?" asked Undien.

The death-glare Undien received was made more effective by the black metal goggles the kel dor wore. "I'm not implying anything, Undien. I'm merely asking questions."

Undien looked back at Sifiss and she at him. This was a troubling thing for Tiian to expose. How best to obfuscate?

"The Orthodox view is a minority one in our Sphere, Councilor," she said to Tiian, "If you say each of the heroes I served with in our task was opposed to it, I will not second-guess you. But I will not allow such an accusation to go unanswered." She drew herself up and looked at him without flinching. "What we do can indeed be dangerous, and many in our Sphere lack the martial might of other Spheres, but that does not mean what was done was intentional, nor that steps were not taken to reduce the risks – we've increased security details with both Alliance personnel and Sentinels from the Militant Order. I mourn every life that is lost, especially those who I am ultimately responsible for. But I will not allow you to twist their deaths into an attack on me."

Tiian inclined his head and said no more. Had he changed anyone's mind on her nomination? Doubtful. Aside from her actions as Chief Archeologist – which she was well within her right to do – there was nothing to disqualify her.

The interview came to an end and the floor was opened to a vote.

"I vote in opposition to her," declared Master Tiian before anyone else could voice an opinion.

There were murmurs amongst some of the Council at this. Undien furrowed his brow, his tone confused and placating, "Master Tiian, it is not the place of the outgoing Councilor to cast a vote for their successor."

The sneer was obvious in the kel dor's voice, "That is convention, Undien, not law. Given how many such conventions you and yours violate on a regular basis, it is hardly your place to object."

Master Ritten tapped her fingers on the armrests, her lekku twitching slightly. "I'm not sure what to think about Sifiss. I've seen the dossier, but I've never interacted with her outside of this meeting. There is nothing about her that suggests I should vote in opposition, but… given Master Tiian's misgivings, I will abstain. He would not break tradition in this way over something trivial."

Undien said nothing, it wouldn't help for him to speak. He glanced to Master Odan, his eyes pleading – Sifiss required near-unanimous assent from the remaining Councilors to be confirmed.

"Trivial or not, their disagreement appears to be internal to the working of their Sphere. It has little to do with the Order as a whole," Terena offered, "Her actions as they relate to the Order have been exemplary."

"I do not argue that, Odan, I read the same dossier as you," Ritten said neutrally, "but I cannot in good conscience offer my approval in this case. I can only hope that she will continue to serve the Order with distinction should she join us in these Chambers."

Ritten's objection was lukewarm, and Undien was pleased to see that none were swayed. It was surprising that her confirmation had any kind of opposition – an omen as bad as the storm, perhaps? He hoped not. "With a vote of nine-to-two, Master Ut Sifiss is confirmed."

Master Sifiss bowed. "Thank you, Masters."

Tiian nodded solemnly. "So be it."

Sifiss left the Chambers to gather her things and make arrangements for her new station. Though she was confirmed, she wasn't yet on the Council – that would come after the other seat was filled.

Professor Inheem Najor cleared her throat and smiled proudly. "The Council of Academia of the Sphere of Science and Research nominates Doctor Buchic to the Jedi High Council. Out of respect for tradition," she emphasized with a sidelong glance at Tiian, "I will recuse myself from this vote."

There were nods here and there, as each took their turn to speak and voice their support or dissent.

Councilor Paala Tocrum rubbed the pad of his thumb. "I have dealt with Buchic extensively as he and his teams have scoured Tython for relics and ruins. He is capable and intelligent and I believe he would be an asset to this Council."

Undien detected something in Tocrum's tone. It was subtle, but there was a fakeness to the man's praise. If he had to guess, the High Conciliator was being polite and didn't actually care for the talz Master one way or the other – he probably considered it tedious to deal with a scientist when he was busy scheming.

This continued until every Councilor said their piece.

After, the talz Jedi Master was summoned and questioned – mostly about his intentions regarding the Sphere and his opinions on the direction of the Order itself. He spoke his piece in his buzzing language, his answer coming down to continuity of the status quo and greater emphasis on archeology and research.

The vote to confirm Doctor Buchic was unanimous. Unsurprising. The talz was a popular figure with little to disqualify him. He would bring his genius to the Council… and he would be a formidable ally to Undien's cause.

Councilor Si-Wara-Yaden now spoke as Buchic was ushered out, "Then it is done. The High Council is once more complete. We will need to elect a new Grand Master once Sifiss and Buchic are seated."

"Then it seems my time here is at an end," Master Tiian said, stroking his rebreather, "It has been an honor to serve this body. I can only hope the future is a prosperous one for the Order."

"Well said," Professor Najor agreed, "It is time for us to depart and leave the task of choosing the next Grand Master to our successors." She stood, as did Tiian. "May the Force be with you all."

"And with you as well, Masters," Undien said with a nod as the pair entered the turbolift and disappeared from sight. He looked around at his colleagues. "Let us take a recess before the ceremony. Then we can move on to the task of choosing a new Grand Master."

There were nods of assent as several stood and left for the turbolift as well. Hours in a chair was tedious, and even Undien got up to stretch his legs. He glanced at the still-unfinished wall and smiled to himself. The balance of the Council was shifted ever so slightly. With Buchic and Sifiss, he now had one more reliable ally on the Council, and if he should succeed Skywalker as Grand Master…

He tamped down his anticipation, lest he be blindsided. Instead, he focused on the Temple grounds arrayed before the windows, marveling at the fusion of the artificial and the natural. Ossus was so different from Coruscant, and he wasn't sure which he preferred at the end of the day. Coruscant was his domain, but Ossus felt like home. He turned away as the raindrops began to hit the glass.

---

A small ceremony was held in the Council Chambers to welcome Doctor Buchic and Master Sifiss. It was not filled with pomp and circumstance but meaning and reverence. Out of tens of millions of Jedi, only these two had been chosen. They welcomed their elevations with humility and gratitude and the customary promises of working for the betterment of the Jedi Order.

Undien was happy to see things go so smoothly. Now to decide the next Grand Master. Would he be unopposed in this? He wasn't sure. Perhaps Battlemaster Shartan would have a go at the position, though he was certain to lose – his only real ally was High Arbiter Mateil, and perhaps Lara if she wished to make her own statement – though the woman had her own enmity with Shartan.

However, politics sometimes made for strange bedfellows.

Clearing his throat, Undien began, "With the Council once more at full strength, it falls to us to choose a new Grand Master. To that end, I nominate myself as a candidate."

The others remained silent, some of the stares cold, others warm – none moved to voice objection.

"Is there anyone else who wishes to contest the position?" His eyes fell upon the Battlemaster, who remained silent – his eyes the coldest of all.

Councilor Dal spoke after a moment, "It seems you will be uncontested at this time, Undien. Regardless, I vote in favor of you as Grand Master."

"As do I," Terena chimed.

Both Buchic and Sifiss voted 'yes,' as did Tocrum and Mateil – the latter grudgingly so, and Undien had to suppress a smile at that. At six votes in favor, he was already confirmed. The rest was mere formality.

Councilor Ritten spoke, her tone neutral yet biting, "I abstain."

Undien was hardly surprised, and he had to suppress another smile. Completely ineffectual and pointless – apparently she wanted to continue Skywalker's legacy in his absence. No matter, he was already confir—

"I abstain," Councilor Palavola said, her haunting voice sending a shiver down his back.

Saresh Palavola almost never made political declarations, but this was loud and clear. She had no confidence in him as Grand Master—

"I abstain," Eternal Watcher Yaden declared.

Undien tensed. For the leader of the Sphere of Vigilance and Farsight to abstain… what did that mean? Was his coming reign doomed? No. Surely everyth—

The Battlemaster looked him right in the eyes. "I abstain."

The final abstention hit like a hammer. Three of the most important Spheres in the Jedi Order had declared him unfit to be Grand Master, to be their leader. Undien schooled his features as best he could despite the trickle of sweat he felt on his pate. Shartan was unpredictable, and had become even more erratic since Zygerria. More relevantly, he hated Undien and the politics he swam in. If the Battlemaster were to ever turn against him… the power of words was negligible when faced with the sword.

Or more accurately, when the sword was deaf to words of reason and temperament.

The Chambers were silent, and it was clear to them all that their new leader was rattled. Thankfully for him, Terena stepped in and broke the silence, "Then – with a majority-yes vote – it is decided. Master Undien of the Sphere of Diplomacy and Mediation shall become the Grand Master of the Jedi Order. Councilor of the Sphere of the Jedi Order."

"Yes…" Undien began, pausing slightly to regroup and show resolve, "This is a most solemn and momentous occasion, one that has played out for millennia. The orderly transfer of authority. The change in leadership and direction. Let us usher in a new day. As the mantle of responsibility falls to me, I shall do my utmost to maintain the security and continued stability of the galactic order, and I will look to all of you to help build this future. We have inherited a tumultuous time in the galaxy's history, let us offer hope to the people we serve."

His allies nodded along and smiled.

Those who abstained, as well as Mateil, remained silent.

Their blank expressions were unnerving, but Undien tamped down his unease. The easy part – if you could call four abstentions 'easy' – was over. Now, he had to offer a replacement candidate for his former Sphere. It wasn't going to be popular, especially since the opposition was broader than he had anticipated.

Undien cleared his throat and steepled his fingers. "Our first order of business will be to elevate a new Councilor to lead the Sphere of Diplomacy and Mediation. To that end, the Council of the Alliance nominates High Diplomat Maratashi Vin to be the Sphere Councilor."

Again, there were nods from his allies, though there were fewer now. Did Vin have enough support to be confirmed?

"I propose a recess for the rest of today. You all have access to Master Vin's dossier, I suggest you all review it before we resume," Undien said as he eyed his colleagues, wondering how many political favors Vin's appointment would cost him.

---

The Councilors were once more arrayed in their seats as they had been the previous day – though Grand Master Undien now sat at the head of the semicircle. He was stoic as he sat upon his new throne – which was just his old chair moved to a new spot. Semantics. It felt good nonetheless.

What felt less pleasant were Vin's prospects. Ritten was sure to oppose her. Mateil rebuffed any attempt to sway his decision one way or the other. Shartan… he was likely to oppose her out of spite if Undien even approached him.

He knew Dal and Terena were already in favor. Buchic and Sifiss were likely to support Vin as well. Reliable allies were precious.

Unreliable allies however…

He glanced at Tocrum and suppressed a frown. Wrangling that one was expensive, but worth it to have a near-majority of the Council on his side in the future. Tocrum was ultimately unreliable. Vin would compensate.

He looked to the other side of the semicircle at the final two who could make or break Vin's candidacy. Palavola, whom he avoided because she clearly had no interest in his brinkmanship, and Yaden, who was more open to talk. He was another expensive vote in all this. Potentially worth it, but there was no guarantee Yaden would actually vote 'yay' in the end. If there was anyone here who knew exactly what he was trying to accomplish with Vin, it was Yaden.

Undien cleared his throat. "You've all had time to review Master Vin's dossier. I move to open the floor to debate."

"You seek to add a yes-woman to the Council," Master Ritten opined, "What is there to debate?"

"It's true that Master Vin and I see eye to eye on many things, but that is the case for most in the Sphere of Diplomacy and Mediation. I would have a difficult time finding anyone qualified for the position who didn't agree with me on most things."

"It's one thing to agree with you, Undien, it's another to have been groomed."

"Master Vin is her own person with her own opinions. Despite appearances, they are not identical to Undien's," Dal objected.

Mateil spoke, "But it is a concern. She may be qualified, but this reeks of politics. We should be concerned with the future of the Order, not personal political power grabs."

Shartan nodded, his voice like cold steel, "Your intent in offering your protégé as a replacement is transparent."

Undien schooled his features. "Master Vin was chosen by the Council of the Alliance, not by my own fiat. She was chosen because she was the most qualified for the position."

"Debatable. I could name half-a-dozen in that Sphere who were just as qualified if not more so," said Yaden in a dismissive tone, "It is all the more telling given the optics of choosing her."

Terena countered, "Every Sphere has multiple qualified Masters who could sit on this Council, but there can only be one. As for optics, are you really so concerned about her serving alongside her former Master? Former Masters and Padawans have sat on this Council in the past." She glanced at Master Ritten. "Even those who share an intimate relationship. Do you object to them as well, or just Vin?"

Undien saw Master Ritten narrow her eyes and he had to suppress a smirk at her twitching lekku.

Yaden shook his head. "You misunderstand. I'm not talking about her relationship to Undien, I'm talking about the leader of our diplomatic Sphere being an iktotchi. Her natural telepathic abilities raise an issue with optics, as I said. She cannot, due to her biology, negotiate in good faith with others. She will be the face of our diplomatic efforts should she be confirmed. Who can trust a diplomat who can read your most intimate thoughts?"

There were murmurs amongst the Councilors.

"I am not opposed to having an iktotchi on the Council," he continued, "but we should bear all this in mind as we consider her candidacy."

There were several nods. Even Undien nodded along – he could at least appreciate the objection.

＜＜Is it even an issue?＞＞ Doctor Buchic asked, ＜＜Most don't even understand iktotchi telepathy. They believe it is of the Force and 'protect' themselves accordingly.＞＞

"So we should allow this because the people she'll interact with are ignorant?" Mateil asked.

"Their ignorance is useful," Yaden chimed.

Ritten frowned. "That's very 'un-Jedi.' "

"So is spying. Or waging war," Yaden countered dismissively, "And yet, we do these things now. And have done them in the past. We lack the luxury of pretending otherwise. Jedi in the past attempted to do so, and ultimately failed because of it."

"Indeed, and we should concern ourselves with the Jedi Order as a whole," Dal said, waving one of his webbed hands in front of him, "We should choose those who are the best for the Order. Vin has all the qualifications of the man she would replace. Her natural gifts only bolster her abilities and what she can offer the Order."

The bickering continued for a time. The Council was divided along the exact lines Undien had feared. He was thankful Yaden seemed supportive, though even he had to admit the cerean's 'support' was little more than pragmatic observations. Ritten was a definite 'no' vote, no way around that. Mateil and Shartan… perhaps Vin could sway them in-person.

During a lull in the conversation, he suggested bringing her in for the formal interview. The others agreed and a message was sent. It wasn't long until his protégé stepped off the turbolift and stood before the semicircle.

Maratashi Vin bowed deeply to the gathered Councilors, her downturned horns grazing the collar of her cloak. "Greetings, Masters."

Vin enjoyed a friendly audience in Undien's allies, each peppering her with easy or leading questions – some subtle, some not. He was pleased to see the grace with which she navigated the interview. She sounded authoritative and decisive, even when being evasive. As questions were fielded by those less enamored of her, the evasiveness became more pronounced.

It was then that the Battlemaster spoke, "There are concerns regarding your candidacy. Questions about impropriety and political collusion. So how will you perform your duties in this capacity? How will you deal with the Senate?"

Vin smiled; it was an easy answer. "The Galactic Senate is our ally. They are an imperfect ally at times, but they are reliable. I would advocate on their behalf. I would leverage our diplomatic corps to promote unity in the governing body and oppose the disruptive policies of our President. I think you would agree, Battlemaster, that President Oslam's Administration has had a deleterious effect on our institutions. It is important to combat those who would weaken the Alliance's ability to protect its citizens."

Shartan nodded in acceptance and leaned back in his chair.

Undien smirked. She handled that question beautifully. He purposefully thought as much and watched a small smile form on Vin's lips as she read his mind. Shartan was placated, and Vin's ascension guaranteed.

The voting began – with Undien recusing himself per custom. Dal, Tocrum, and Odan all voted in favor, as did the two newest Councilors. Ritten and Mateil voted in opposition, neither trusting a political appointment. It was an expected outcome. Thankfully, though he remained stoic, it was clear the Battlemaster would vote in favor after that eloquent denunciation of the Presiden—

"I vote in opposition," Shartan said, his expression unchanging.

Undien felt his guts pull down at the declaration. A quick glance to Vin, and he could tell she felt the same – despite her immaculate poise, her eyes were still honest. Where had she erred? Surely Shartan had agreed with her assessment of President Oslam. Was it the politics of her nomination? He was so sure the Battlemaster had been swayed.

His mouth became dry and his pulse had increased. There were still three votes to be cast and every single one needed to be a 'yes.'

Tocrum voted 'yes.'

Then it was Yaden's turn. He stared through Vin, cocking his elongated head slightly. As if her greatest secrets were laid bare. After a pregnant moment – accentuated by a trickle of sweat running down Undien's neck – Yaden gave his answer, he voted 'yes.'

Undien's eyes fell upon the final elector. Councilor Palavola's vote would make or break Maratashi's candidacy. He consciously let go of the armrests to hide his tension and rubbed his hands together.

Palavola stared at Vin, her eyes boring into the woman's soul. A tiny smile graced her lips as Vin fidgeted.

"I wonder," Palavola began, her long sharp nails scratching the armrest, "With the authority this position offers… might you overreach? Might you do something you'll regret?"

"There is always a risk that one in a position of power may exceed their station. I prefer to take the long view in such things. To consider all likely consequences and act accordingly." Maratashi swallowed a lump in her throat. "No, Councilor, I do not believe that I will do anything that I would regret. At the end of the day, my duty is to the Order and the Alliance, and I will not shirk such responsibility."

Palavola continued staring. Drawing out Vin's anxiety with each passing second. Finally, she said in her powerful and ethereal voice, "I vote 'yes.' "

Both Undien and Vin let out held breaths. Relief visible in their features.

As he recovered, Undien cleared his throat and centered his mind, "With a vote of eight-to-three, Maratashi Vin is hereby elevated to the Jedi High Council."

---

Mischa pulled tightly on her scarf – the biting winds of Sadow pelted her with snow. She huddled near Master Chikchik when she noticed her teacher pushing back the winds with the Force.

I wish I could do that, she thought glumly, sensing the oscillations of the Force and trying to tease out the underlying process.

Did she push the Force out on instinct or did she imagine a barrier and the Force willed it into existence?

The door ahead of them opened and a man walked outside to greet them. He wore light armor of black and silver, with no markings or helmet. His silver hair blew in the wind though he made no move to shield himself. Mischa noticed blue markings on his pale skin – tattoos perhaps? She eyed him warily, looking for weakness and only finding one: he wasn't Force-sensitive.

Whether or not that was a true weakness… she wasn't inclined to find out.

"Master Chikchik, welcome back," greeted the man.

＜＜Thank you, Lehon. I won't say it's a pleasure to be walking this frozen wasteland, but I always enjoy our conversations.＞＞

"As do I," he said, turning his dark blue eyes to the little girl beside her, "You must be Mischa. Welcome."

Her voice was little more than a nervous whisper, "Thank you."

The man nodded and beckoned them inside – Mischa wondered how he had heard her over the wind. It didn't matter, all that she cared about was the warmth of the building, muted as it was. Any other day she'd be shivering, but on Sadow it was positively balmy. She loosened her scarf and looked around with curious eyes, taking in the cold gray stone as she followed the adults.

The man led them to a room with no furniture beyond a long black table with chairs. Atop the table was a glowing red pyramid whose light reflected off the table slightly. Mischa was enraptured by the device and the ominous aura it exuded. She'd never seen a Sith holocron in-person before. She inspected the outside, noting the glyphs and sigils, and quietly wondered who had created it.

She started reaching for it, only to pull her hand back when Master Chikchik released a dissuading chirp. So, instead, Mischa sat in a chair that was too tall, in a room that was too quiet. Her legs dangled off the edge and she swung them without thinking, anything to avoid reflecting on the situation. Master Chikchik sat next to her in a similar chair, though her legs were still. However, she noticed the twitch in her teacher's wide leathery ears.

She wasn't sure whether that filled her with relief or anxiety. She started chewing her bottom lip and stroking one of her unplaited pigtails.

Master Chikchik hissed out a sigh. ＜＜I understand you're nervous, Mischa, but please try to suppress your movements. Lady Timoris does not tolerate weakness, but she will respect your effort in putting on a brave face.＞＞

"I'm trying," the girl groaned, "You know what they say at school. They say you'll die if you make eye-contact with her!"

＜＜That's ridiculous rumor-mongering, Mischa. Darth Timoris is simply a powerful Sith Lord,＞＞ Chikchik dismissed.

Whatever response Mischa had to that died on her lips. She felt the woman even before the door opened. A wave of nausea poured over her and she clenched her stomach and gnashed her teeth. She shivered as if consumed by a fever – goosebumps forming on flesh buried under her thick coat. Her teeth chattered like a pneumo-hammer. She glanced with bleary eyes at her teacher and saw another series of ear twitches before the muscles went taut and the appendages stopped moving.

Finally, the door opened, and Mischa lost control completely. She vomited in her own lap until there was nothing left – then she dry-heaved until her muscles were torn to shreds. She tried to look up through the tears and the snot, but all she felt was pain and discomfort and wrongness.

Everything was a dull ache and her bowels felt like they were made of jelly. By the time she had gained some control of herself, she saw that Darth Timoris was sitting across the table from them. She swallowed a bitter lump in her throat as she beheld the woman. Flowing ornate robes with embroidered glyphs. A double-bladed lightsaber that glinted in the light from her hip. A polished metal mask with—

No eyes! She wears it so I won't die by looking at her!

Her tics became more pronounced. An errant twitch. A shaky foot. Compulsive lip licking despite them not being dry. And of course, sitting on the edge of hyperventilation, her vomitus breath hissing in and out between clenched teeth.

Timoris silently watched the girl as she attempted – in vain – to compose herself. Mischa tensed further, ready for her mind to be assaulted but she felt nothing beyond her nervousness and nausea.

"Hello, Mischa," the woman finally said, her voice cold though not hateful, "My name is Timoris."

Mischa froze at the sound, unsure of what to do, she asked a question to keep the silence away, to ground herself against future convulsions, "Timoris what?"

She saw Master Chikchik tense slightly. Mischa looked down at the table and worried her lip with her gritty teeth. This felt like being near her mother when the Dark Lady was disappointed in her… all while suffering from the Ardroxian Flu. She hated it.

Lady Timoris stared at the girl – though she couldn't tell from the near-featureless mask. "What a strange question."

Mischa's breathing was labored. "…I'm sorry."

"There's no need to fret. If anything, you should take pride in yourself. You're handling this meeting with more poise than some of the adults I've dealt with."

Mischa felt a small swell of pride – despite her vomit-soaked robes. "Thank you."

"I'm not one to waste time – mine or others'. So, let's be direct: you are here because you cannot control your power. You are here because you are a disappointment to those who invest their time in you."

She felt a flush of anger, enough to blink away the tears and narrow her eyes but nothing more. She remained silent, not daring to look up.

"To that end, we must determine your natural aptitudes. Not every Sith can be a swordsman or sorcerer, any more than every soldier can be a general or a pilot. Each according to their ability."

Mischa nodded from reflex. She was listening as best she could, but she felt so exhausted.

"I have been watching you for some time, Mischa, at Lady Vathila's insistence. And you know what I found? Based on your actions, your likes and dislikes, even you sitting here before me…? I found that the answer eludes me." Lady Timoris gestured toward the holocron. "Sometimes, an alternative method is needed. Please, child, place your hand on the pyramid. Let us see your true potential."

Mischa looked up at the holocron then back to Timoris then back to the holocron – her movements sluggish and uneasy. It beckoned to her as it had since she walked in. Swallowing another lump in her throat, she stole a glance to Master Chikchik and – following a nod from her teacher – reached out with a shaking hand and caressed the cool crystal.

She felt a thrum on her skin.

And everything went dark.

---

The trip back to Cholganna was uneventful, something Master Chikchik was grateful for. She was happy to be gone from Sadow and away from Timoris. Something about the woman always seemed off – not least of which were the violent reactions people had in her presence. So what was it that bothered Chikchik so? Was it Timoris's aura of deadly cold indifference? Perhaps. But if she were honest, it was the woman's intelligence. She was brilliant beyond compare and it made Chikchik feel slow in her presence – the slowest of the pack was always eaten, that was the primal truth that pulsed in her veins whenever the Lord of the Mind was near.

She shook the memories away, glad to be free of a predator's grasp. Now she was able to focus on Mischa – something she had done on the trip to Sadow, but now armed with understanding. She found the girl in the ship's small cafeteria eating a bowl of ringed noodles in a red-orange sauce.

Master Chikchik approached the girl with a datapad in hand. ＜＜Mischa, I have something for you. This datapad contains a primer on Sith sorcery. Just an overview, mind you, but enough to get you started.＞＞

The girl's amber eyes lit up and Chikchik could sense her anticipation. Her hunger. Her surface thoughts showed a single imagined image: Lady Vathila patting her head with proud eyes. She had to suppress a frown – the Mistress was no doting mother.

Mischa reached for the datapad and Master Chikchik grabbed her wrist in an iron grip. ＜＜I will say this once and only once: you cannot ever use these spells on anyone. If you do, they'll be well within their rights to kill you. Do you understand?＞＞

The girl nodded emphatically. "Yes, teacher."

＜＜Good. It will be years of study before you're ready to kill with such power, bide your time.＞＞ Chikchik released her grip and handed the datapad over, watching with satisfaction as Mischa immediately opened it and scrolled through the files, her food long-forgotten.

---

Numa fell to her knees, gasping for air. "Oh gods… it's like I'm back in the Militant Order!"

Taral laughed. "Too much for you, little Jedi?"

"Fuck… off," she cursed between huffs.

"What are you, a space pirate?" He smiled and offered her his hand.

She grabbed it and clambered to her feet. "Too much time with you, clearly."

They had left Nar Shaddaa three days ago and had spent nearly every afternoon in the dojo the Hanaku Brothers added during the retrofit. Three rooms had been merged into one. Weights and machines and practice weapons were strewn along the walls. The floor was a honeycombed grid of artificial gravity plates connected to a gravostat near the door – it could max out at 10 g, but most humans could only tolerate three to five depending on their fitness. Numa had never used it before and only allowed him to turn it on today. The added weight was a miserable thing, made worse by the Force suppression collars they both wore – to prevent them from using the Force to lessen the burden.

"Ready for round two?" he asked as he readied his weapon – a carbon fiber training sword.

Training weapons left stinging welts and bruises, but otherwise were weighted like lightsabers. He leapt at her, using his increased weight to slam into her from above, nearly knocking her to the ground. She struggled against him and he could see the taut quiver of her straining muscles.

He preferred an opponent he could dominate. His sparring match with Txon had left the arrogant Sith on his ass, covered in bruises. Txon smugly chiding him with that archaic dialect he slipped into when he was acting weird.

Taral shoved her back and gave her a moment to catch her breath and wipe the sweat from her brow. "You're doing great, Numa," he said, "You're still holding your own in double gravity!"

Her eyes went wide and her skin flushed purple. "You asshole! You swore you wouldn't go past one point two five!"

"A proper teacher knows when to push their student," he countered.

Numa immediately swatted at him. Any time he claimed to be her teacher or Master pissed her off – which only encouraged him. He giggled to himself as she battered away at his defenses before she found herself on the defensive as he returned in kind. He was happy to see her adapting so well to the ebb and flow of battle.

Numa was gearing up for another attack when the door to the room slid open and the ship's Captain, a farghul woman named Olin'ya, walked in. Taral eyed the curvy feline with obvious desire – allowing Numa to jab him in the gut with her training sword. She ignored his vitriolic hissing and turned to their guest.

"Hello, Olin'ya," she greeted as she removed her suppression collar.

The woman bowed. "Master Numa, Lord Taral."

Numa's face scrunched up in disgust. "Ugh, please don't call this idiot 'lord.' He's insufferable enough as it is."

Taral was still rubbing his sore tummy when he said, "I notice you don't correct her when she calls you 'master.' "

"Shut it," Numa snapped as she turned off the increased gravity.

Olin'ya glanced at Taral and then back at Numa. "I… try to treat everyone with respect, Master Jedi. I find that it makes things go more smoothly, especially if someone is" – she looked at Taral – "unpredictable."

Taral smirked and gave the woman a wink as he removed his own collar. Olin'ya didn't seem to react, though there was a noticeable increase in the wagging of her tail.

Numa rolled her eyes. "Fair enough. What did you want to talk about?"

Olin'ya straightened her posture and was all business. "We've intercepted an emergency transmission from Sorgan. It appears they were attacked."

Taral looked at Numa and shrugged, saying, "Cholganna isn't going anywhere. We can take a look if you want to." He turned back to Olin'ya. "Assuming it isn't too far out of the way?"

She shook her furry head. "No, milord. A detour will only add three hours to the overall trip."

"Then there shouldn't be any issue in checking," he said, "Any word on who's responsible?"

Another shake of her head. "I'm afraid not. It is a generic emergency beacon. We won't know anything until we get there."

Numa nodded. "Then take us to Sorgan, Captain. Let's see if there's anyone we can help."

Olin'ya bowed and departed, leaving the pair in the silent room. Numa smiled, but Taral remained aloof. Privately, he hoped everyone on Sorgan was dead, that way they could leave as soon as possible. He had more important things to worry about elsewhere.

---

Traveling incognito as a Jedi was easier said than done on Coruscant – especially if said Jedi was High Conciliator Paala Tocrum. Though in this case, such was a useful illusion; a fine mask he wore, like he wore many others. Everyone had their preconceived notions of who the handsome and refined Jedi really was, and in most cases, they were very wrong.

Tocrum stepped out of the aircar – a horrid thing that was scratched and dusty and he was fairly certain the driver was on drugs. How people tolerated those services he could not say, but unfortunately, taking an actual luxury taxi was out of the question if one wished to keep a low profile.

He wore no expensive robes or clothing today, though he had standards all the same. He couldn't exactly pass as a regular citizen – he had a certain demeanor about him, he could no more pretend to be a peasant than a grunt could pretend to be a general. Some men were just above the rest.

Still, he could make some effort to blend in.

Synthweave, leather imported straight from Naboo, underplating forged in Umbaran factories, and browns, whites, and silver interlaced with each other under the trained eye of a stylist – even incognito, he enjoyed standing apart from the rest. His face was covered though, which was the important part, and his lightsaber concealed in an interwoven pouch.

Even so, there was little enjoyment he could take from it today. Not with the whirlwind of the past few days. Too much had happened, and things were rapidly accelerating in a direction he did not like. Some anticipated, some not.

His fingers reached for the electronic cigarette on his waist, and he instinctively activated it, breathing in the flavored steam and relaxing somewhat. The fad had died a few months back, but he still kept doing it. More and more when he was stressed, as it turned out. He could see why people used them in that way now.

Not him though. He had never sullied his body with drugs before, he certainly wasn't going to start.

But right now…

All he could think about was the vision. Coruscant and Corellia on fire. Walking the Temples and seeing the piled corpses of Jedi. Seeing himself in a mirror: bloodied, torn, and missing body parts. He did not consider himself overly emotional, but it was difficult to see what he had and not be affected.

And he was certain that the chain of events that would lead to that point had been kickstarted. The long peace was going to end, and while there were very few things that genuinely worried him… fate was one of them.

This galaxy seemed destined for eternal conflict, and he was but one man. An influential man for sure, but he knew more than anyone that influence, cajoling, blackmail, and threats only went so far. When men of swords and guns decided it was time to change, words were less powerful than anyone wanted to admit.

He took another drag on the e-cig. Trying out the real thing was tempting at times like this.

Tocrum shook his head once, and refocused his mind as he entered the building.

It was a relatively small one by Coruscant standards – only one hundred floors, and primarily used for a myriad of businesses. Mostly accounting going by the signs. Middle management, useful for fronts to conceal more important business. He paid attention to the people working, looking for the likely observers and moles that were stationed.

He knew a fair deal about how their operation worked – their presence on Coruscant necessitated a thorough understanding of such, though he wasn't certain if this was a pure front or if they merely conducted business here. Still, as he glanced to the security cameras, he was certain he was being watched.

He'd been given a cover story to present at the receptionist desk, but he simply bypassed it. There wasn't time for that, and he really didn't wish to deal with customer service. From experience, rarely did people stop him anyway – if one looked like they belonged there, most believed they did. In this case, he did have business here.

He walked to the nearest turbolift, and with a few whispered words and waved hands, all of the other people waiting suddenly had the urge to go do something else, or wait for the next one. Alone, he stepped inside and entered his destination – Floor 69 – along with a special combination. He resisted a sigh as the turbolift began its ascent. He didn't quite know what to expect from the man he was to meet, and had been surprised to learn he was on Coruscant at all. Probably business that happened to overlap with events of recent days.

Fortunate, he supposed.

The door opened, and he stepped into an abandoned room. He'd probably bought out the entire floor just so he could conduct business unmolested. Still, Tocrum made sure his hand was near his lightsaber just in case.

Trust was in short supply right now, and he knew the exact limits of where he could trust this man.

He deactivated the e-cigarette and tucked it into his pocket as he stood outside the door he'd been directed to go to. He couldn't sense anyone, but he knew they were there. Hiding inside the bubble of an ysalamir – just one, judging by the size of the dead spot in the Force. He waited, not really believing he needed to knock, and he now sensed a presence on the other side of the door. Given what he knew of the man, he'd been alerted to his presence the moment he'd entered the building. Sure enough, a moment later, the door opened.

On the other side was one of the largest humans he'd ever seen.

The person in red armor easily dwarfed him, and he was fairly certain even Shartan would only just come to eye-level. It seemed they had the muscle mass to boot, difficult as it was to determine solely through armor. Nonetheless, the armor was distinctive. The crimson interlinked armor, and the helmet that so many in the underworld – and those in the highest levels of society – feared.

A Defiler.

He cleared his throat. "I presume you know who I am?"

"Councilor Paala Tocrum, Jedi Order," the Defiler said – a woman's voice emerging from the harsh synthesizer, to his surprise. Almost certainly a custom template then. He knew Defilers were engineered and grown, but had never heard of any of them quite this… unique? Intimidating? Interesting?

He briefly probed the mind, and was not surprised to find it well-guarded, or as well-guarded as it could be for a non-Force-sensitive. The woman appeared to have noticed as well, and her hand rested on her weapon. "If you do that again, I will kill you."

"Duly noted." How theatrical, if an empty threat. So long as he had the Force, he certainly wouldn't be killed by a mere soldier. This was likely the infamous bodyguard. He vaguely remembered the name, if only from the intel reports. He cocked his head. "Samantha, is it?"

A short nod. "You look surprised."

Did he? He was certain his expression was fully controlled. One needed a good sabacc face when dealing with the influential and powerful. A bluff most likely, psychological to throw him off-guard. "Hardly. But you aren't quite how the reports paint you."

"Good." She stepped aside, nodding further in. "Come in. You are not carrying any other weapons?"

"Only my lightsaber," he said as he entered the room, which was mostly bare, with a fine view of the Coruscant skyline, "I assure you, I have nothing else, nor was I followed, nor am I bugged. This isn't the first time I've had to conduct business incognito."

He got the distinct impression that the woman was very much not impressed with him right now, and resisted bristling. She didn't say anything though. "There is an ysalamir nearby, correct?" he inquired as they moved toward an adjacent room.

"Yes, a young one, to limit the radius," Samantha said without looking at him, "You will be warned prior to entering its field."

Inside the room was the man he had come to meet, standing in front of another floor-to-ceiling window, arms clasped behind his back and a small cage near him.

"Councilor Tocrum, good to see you again," Tyrell Zann said, turning around with a smile, inclining his head, "I trust you were able to find your way here without issue?"

The Iron Lord looked quite similar to their first meeting. The trademark shoulder-length silver hair. Leather boots, the iconic Zann trench coat with the furred collar, and that ridiculous oversized pistol on his waist. Tyrell cut an imposing figure, and was certainly a man who put effort into his appearance. Not quite as flamboyant as some of Tocrum's outfits, but it was a look befitting the most infamous crime lord in the Core.

Even before their meeting several weeks back, Tyrell Zann was a man that he had a fair amount of respect for, despite his unsavory line of work. He was a man who would clearly not be satisfied with anything less than the best in life, an intelligent manager of influence, blackmail, and clients, and who traveled in the same social circles as he did. A high-class criminal, who those in polite society did not openly fraternize with, of course.

But behind closed doors…

It was hard not to admire the way the Zann Consortium had solidified its influence. Quite impressive, and having managed similar operations, he could attest to the degree of sophistication involved. Tyrell was a man that he could work with, crime lord or no – though admittedly, the exact nature of what they would get out of this partnership remained to be seen.

And, admittedly, had he not seen the end of the Order on the horizon, he would have likely kept his distance. Even a mild association with the Consortium – let alone Tyrell himself – was a significant risk. All it would take was Mateil or – the Force help him – Shartan and he would be standing before the Arbiters prior to his imminent decapitation from the Battlemaster's crimson blade.

Still, uncertain times called for unorthodox measures, making them unlikely partners in a rapidly deteriorating galaxy.

"Without issue," Tocrum answered the question, noting that Samantha had moved behind Tyrell, and was fully within the ysalamir's bubble. Clever girl, and her weapon was in her hand as she appraised him emotionlessly. Paranoid, but bodyguards were supposed to be. "I was surprised to hear you were on Coruscant. Business?"

Tyrell chuckled at that as he walked to a nearby table where some glasses were set with a bottle of wine. "Yes, but not the usual business. A nice change of pace."

"Oh?" Tocrum asked, also cautiously moving to the table.

"It's a bit of a secret yet, but I trust your discretion." Tyrell poured some of the amethyst liquid into the glasses. "Also, another meter and you'll be in the field. Fair warning." He coughed. "Anyway, I was asked to reprise my role in the upcoming sequel to 'The 500.' Quite exciting, personally. They haven't announced it yet, but they wanted to ask me to reprise my brief cameo role. How could I refuse?"

Tocrum resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Even in the short time he'd met Tyrell, he could not understand why one of the most infamous crime lords ever was so proud of his short cameo in a critically-acclaimed holovid. Not to say 'The 500' was bad – but it wasn't exactly a masterpiece. Far too mainstream for his tastes. Almost a shame Tyrell had such poor taste.

"Congratulations," was what he said out loud, "When will you be filming?"

"Oh, not for a year or two at least," Tyrell said, handing him one of the glasses, "Of course, this assumes there is anything even remotely resembling stability in the galaxy at the time. Drink?"

"Certainly," he said, taking the glass, and since he didn't feel any different, Tyrell must be standing on the very edge of the bubble. Not that he felt he had reason to fear. Tyrell wasn't stupid enough to pull anything. He took a sip of the wine – shockingly good. Amazingly so. If his taste in film was bad, his taste in wine was superb. Exactly what he needed right now. "What year?"

"As it happens, the year where time began anew." Tyrell smiled. "When the first Death Star was destroyed, heralding the end of an era – and the beginning of a new one. Fitting, I thought. Don't ask what it took to track one of these down. Only authentic Toniray is rarer."

He resisted a grimace, and the wine soured in his mouth. "I expect you've heard the news then?"

"Skywalker's resignation?" Tyrell swirled the wine in his glass. "Obviously. I suppose there is more to it though, but do tell: what finally caused it? What finally forced him to step down?"

Tocrum cocked his head, taking another drink. "Nothing. He did it himself, of his own volition."

For the first time, Tyrell seemed actually surprised. "He stepped down voluntarily? I'd thought all that talk of 'resignation' was to save face, not what actually happened." He rubbed his chin, brow furrowed. "Interesting. I assume this was not anticipated?"

"No." Tocrum shook his head. "It's not just Skywalker who resigned either. Pon Tiian also joined him."

"I wonder what his plan is," Tyrell muttered, "I doubt he did this on a whim. No one voluntarily removes themselves from power unless they have an equally viable alternative."

"Correct." Tocrum took another drink of the wine. "That is what concerns me, and likely, what also concerns Undien. Skywalker has been acting odd for too long, and no one outside of him appears to know what he's doing."

"Interesting that Undien is so worried," Tyrell murmured, thinking, "I would have expected he'd be pleased. This was what he wanted, if I recall."

"In a sense." Tocrum's lips twitched. "Tiian's resignation, and Councilor Najor's term ending left two open seats on the Council. And with Undien's ascension to Grand Master, a third."

"Which allows opportunities for three more allies," Tyrell followed, "An effective stranglehold on the Council, and by extension, the Order itself. An impressive result, if he succeeded. Did he?"

"He got who he wanted on the Council," Tocrum said, "Master Ut Sifiss and Doctor Buchic, along with his protégé Maratashi Vin taking his old seat."

A nod. "So, Undien is Grand Master now."

"To be announced in a ceremony later, but officially?" Tocrum sipped his wine. "Yes."

Tyrell nodded once as he appraised the Jedi. "Given your tone, I assume it didn't go as expected."

Tocrum was silent for a few moments. "It didn't. There were four abstentions."

Tyrell didn't react. "I'm not a Jedi, let alone a Councilor, Master Tocrum. I don't know what that is supposed to mean."

Tocrum scowled as he took another sip of wine, and started to pace. Tyrell might be lying, but he might also not be. It wasn't as though he had reason to know the norms of the Council. "No one is – traditionally – nominated to the position of Grand Master unless there is universal consensus. Abstaining is the strongest form of protest that can be taken short of a 'no' vote. It's almost never invoked, and when it is, it is almost always singular."

A nod. "So, four abstentions is…"

"Bad," Tocrum finished, "Worse was who they came from. Lara was not surprising. Yaden, Palavola, and Shartan?" He resisted a shudder, and instead shook his head as images from the vision appeared in his mind again. "Collapse, Zann. That is what this promises. Shartan is bad enough, but Yaden is…"

"Yaden is the Eternal Watcher, yes?" Tyrell was clearly thinking. "A Skywalker ally?"

"Yaden ostensibly remains apolitical." Tocrum shrugged. "Outside of coming from the same Sphere, I doubt he's a strong Skywalker ally. He probably respects him, but Daniel's grown too soft for his liking. I doubt this has anything to do with Skywalker, and everything to do with Undien. Undien was rattled by that. Worse than when Palavola abstained."

"Palavola…" Tyrell muttered, "I know less about her. What does that mean?"

"I have no blasted idea," Tocrum grunted, "She's an enigma, and always has been. Not really political, and as far as I know she wasn't close with Skywalker, nor is antagonistic towards Undien. Her abstention was more bizarre than anything else. Significant, given her nominal influence but…" He shook his head. "Bizarre."

Tyrell poured some more wine. "Was it coordinated?"

"Doubtful." Tocrum scowled. "Which is what makes this very troubling – none of them have overlapping agendas, if they have agendas at all. I can only imagine what Palavola's game is, but Shartan is the biggest threat to stability. If Undien starts doing things he doesn't like, it will be him that starts this domino chain."

"And even if he doesn't, Undien is hardly interested in stability," Tyrell added, frowning as he drank from his own glass, "He's been pushing to 'deal' with the Mandalorians for a long time. Now he can, especially since the Skywalker bloc is broken. Something he might feel pressured to do to bring Shartan to his side."

"Yes, and the last thing we need is war." Tocrum sighed. "Outside of being an olive branch to Shartan, Undien doubtless believes a war of all things will be what the Alliance needs to bring everyone together in a common cause." He snorted derisively. "He's spent too much time talking to Kenirr. No one cares about the Mandalorians, savages that they are. All a war will do is kill millions, and worsen discontent to the point where the masses may do something drastic."

"Such as?"

Tocrum tsked. "I'm not blind to the state of the galaxy. Right now the masses are either too poor, too divided, or too demoralized to pose any tangible threat. Oslam was a concern, but she's since been mitigated. She's no fool though, and a war will stretch the Senate's influence to its limit, much less our economy. Eventually… what happens when people have nothing more to lose?"

Unexpectedly, Tyrell seemed amused. "Revolution."

"Precisely," Tocrum said with a nod, "Everything is being carried forward by inertia. The status quo is the only stabilizing force left – disrupting this equilibrium, stopping the inertia… I know not what it will bring, but it will be devastating. I am certain of that. I'm certain Skywalker is too. He knows something is going to happen, perhaps he is intentionally causing it."

"The issue I take with your theory is that this is against the Mandalorians," Tyrell said slowly. "Hardly a threat to the Alliance."

"Of course not," Tocrum scoffed, "but if you think every Alliance imperialist is not going to take this opportunity to press into the Outer Rim, my friend, you need some better contacts in the Alliance military. And I promise that Shartan will be leading the charge – remember what he did to Zygerria. Do you really think he will stop when the Mandalorians are gone? When what he has always wanted is in front of him?"

He ticked them off his fingers. "The Cartels. Black Sun. The Hapes Consortium. To say nothing of the countless unaligned worlds, all with the light of the Alliance brought to them." He snorted. "The masses aren't the only concern. These people are more than willing to remove the Senate if they pose problems. Either way, should the war machine stop – and I fear it will not – it will result in fractures. The Alliance will end if we go to war, Zann. I know this for certain."

"Which is undesirable for both of us." Tyrell nodded slowly. "I don't suppose you could nudge Undien in the right direction? His… associations could be quite damning. Such contingencies exist for a reason, after all."

"In most circumstances, I would agree. The problem is that any insinuations or threats I make to Undien will be turned back on me. I am the one who – indirectly, of course – facilitates his dirty work. I might take him down, but that would also bring Shartan and Mateil down on me. And if the Sphere of Conciliation and Reflection is implicated, neither of them is going to stop at just Undien."

His hand instinctively rubbed his throat, where the hissing crimson blade of Shartan's had once been pointed. "I cannot emphasize enough that Shartan is just looking for an excuse to kill me. Undien will call my bluff, and he'd be right to. I know his limits, and though there are some things he can be dissuaded from, this is not one of them."

"So you need something else then," Tyrell said thoughtfully, "Something not connected to you, or your activities."

"Yes, but I make a point to stay out of such affairs that aren't my own," Tocrum answered, "Knowledge is power, but it can be damning. Ignorance is the best policy in many cases."

"A fair view." Tyrell picked up a datapad and made some notes. "I'll see what I can find. No one in Undien's circle is clean, and if they weren't involved with you, perhaps they did business with one of our affiliates. I'll reach out if I find something."

"That would be best." Tocrum set the empty glass down. "In the meantime, I'll see what I can do to temper Undien away from anything… destabilizing, futile as it may be. While also determining the angles of the dissenting Councilors. If they are not united, I suspect they may be willing to make… arrangements. Shartan excluded."

"You know the Jedi better than me," Tyrell said, "I'll defer to you on that matter. I believe there is time though, unless Undien plans to act far sooner than expected."

"No, he won't," Tocrum confirmed, "Undien does things through the standard channels. If war is coming, we will know it. Or anything else. I cannot say the same for the actions of the others – Shartan especially, so we will need to be prepared to act quickly."

"Indeed. Is the contingency still in place?"

Tocrum sighed. "Yes. Even if I am not sure it would still work."

"Have some faith, Councilor." Tyrell had a faint smile on his face. "Bleak as it looks now, this is hardly the first time I've been in an unenviable position. We have time, and time is what we need at the moment."

"Let us hope," Tocrum said, glancing at the chrono, "I have a ship to Tython to catch. Let me know if you find something."

Tyrell inclined his head. "Of course, and do the same for any developments I should be aware of."

"I will."

With that, Tocrum turned and made for the exit, while noting that the emotionless visor of Samantha followed him all the way to the door. It had been a useful meeting, though ultimately, it simply reinforced how few options they had.

War was on the horizon, and he had a bad feeling that the devastation he had seen in the vision would soon become reality.

---

Alana Skywalker went through her rhythm of breathing exercises and calming meditation. It was the same routine she used to use as a Jedi Mediator. It was especially useful when negotiating with someone she found unpleasant, and given who she was about to speak with…

She ran through her memories about what brought them all to this place. Two months ago, the Temple of the Ancients on Rakata Prime was attacked. The complex housed an ancient rakatan computer and endless rooms of ancient Jedi and Sith artifacts, as well as dozens of Mandalorian families sworn to protect everything within. A powerful shield protected the building. Until an errant Jedi arrived and found the island amongst tens of thousands. Then she used a frequency modulator to determine the shield's resonance frequency.

The plan was to take the resonance frequency back to the Jedi – back to Master Undien who sent her there – and give them the means to attack the Temple themselves. Alana grimaced at the thought that the modern Jedi would be willing to massacre dozens of innocents to steal something that their predecessors had given away. The ancient Jedi recognized how dangerous these objects were, that's why they relinquished them to Clan Ordo. So that the Holder of the Heart of the Guardian could keep them safely hidden.

But Knight Korr never made it back to the Jedi. She died on the sandy beach of the island. Alone. Afraid. The Sith stole the modulator and shut down the shield. Trandoshans hopped up on nova dust butchered the inhabitants in their rage – silver lightsabers flailing about with wild abandon.

And now, in the aftermath, their investigation led them to Nar Shaddaa. The very place Knight Korr acquired the frequency modulator – one of the few places in the galaxy to get one that was untraceable. That was what Javen and Alana wanted, the sellers. Perhaps they were Sith agents. Perhaps they were unaware. Perhaps there was no connection at all.

This was all they had to go on.

Alana let out a held breath and triggered the holocommunicator. A rodian answered, but he was a mere lackey. He transferred the call and she watched as the room was filled with the glowing hologram of her diplomatic adversary.

Tuchanka the Hutt was reclined on a hovering platform – the glow of the holo accentuating the hutt's natural dark blue flesh. His immense girth displacing the luxurious pillows that surrounded him. His bulbous eyes focused on her as she tried to ignore the chained slave reclining against his belly – to her dismay, they were too young for her to identify the gender.

The hutt laughed as it looked upon her. ＜＜The Mandalorians return to this place and force a Jeedai to speak for them. How delightful.＞＞

"My name is Alana Skywalker and I speak with the authority of Mand'alor Javen'Panlie."

The hutt smiled. ＜＜Good. I dislike wasting time with little people. A king's emissary though, that I will indulge.＞＞ Tuchanka puffed on his hookah, expelling a cloud of smoke that the holo only barely caught. ＜＜Please extend my appreciation to the Mandalore. I never got the chance to personally thank him for decimating my rivals.＞＞

"You mean when he attacked the Tai'Danni?"

＜＜Amongst others. Though the Tai'Danni were responsible for his lifemate's confinement, he took out his fury on the Cartels as well.＞＞ The hutt laughed in its guttural way. ＜＜I always appreciate a golden opportunity.＞＞

"I'll pass it along," she said neutrally.

＜＜My thanks. So tell me, little Jeedai, what can I do for you?＞＞

Alana squared her shoulders. "A Jedi Knight named Zundara Korr came to Nar Shaddaa three months ago and acquired a phased polarion frequency modulator. We want information on where she obtained it and who she purchased it from."

＜＜Is that really all you want?＞＞

Alana bowed her head. "We believe they may be connected to a string of brutal murders of Jedi. We also believe they are responsible for the attack that modulator enabled. An attack that left dozens of Mandalorians dead, including six younglings." Then Alana added an extra twist of the vibroblade. "You've seen the Mand'alor's vengeful nature… to see Mandalorian children slain is sacrilegious."

＜＜Such a tragedy, to kill younglings before they have an opportunity to blossom.＞＞ The hutt's eyes became unfocused. ＜＜Forgive me. I have great fondness for younglings. Their innocence is charming.＞＞

Alana suppressed her revulsion as the hutt smiled and caressed the slave child's head with his stubby fingers. The child didn't react – either numb to the world or simply inebriated. She couldn't tell which.

＜＜The underlying threat is clear and acknowledged. I have little interest in seeing my kingdom burned down, so I will help you in this, Alana Skywalker. I will have my people contact your people once they have the information you seek.＞＞

She bowed slightly. "That would be appreciated."

＜＜Excellent. I always enjoy fruitful dealings. Farewell.＞＞

The call ceased and the hutt disappeared from the holo. Alana drooped her shoulders and resisted the urge to gag at the thought of dealing with such a creature. She could only imagine how Javen would have handled that discussion – probably with orbital turbolasers.

All they could do now was wait.

---

Deep beneath the surface of Prakith, in the cold, dark depths of the Great Library, Loremaster Taitho Dal made his way through a deserted hallway, his boots clicking on the stone floor. And he was not alone, Councilors Sifiss and Buchic had joined him and followed just behind. At the end of the hall was a door with two Jedi on either side – members of the Black Guard. The Jedi bowed to their Councilor and his colleagues as they walked past and entered the restricted room.

Were it not for the rest of the building, one might mistake this place for a tomb to a long-forgotten Sith Lord. There was no gawdy architecture, but there were reams of scrolls and tomes. Along the wall, behind three centimeters of transparisteel, were dozens of glowing red and orange crystal pyramids. The Sith holocrons seeming to pulse to life as they sensed the approach of a potential user. Dal ignored them – he'd already learned just about everything he could from them and had little interest in revisiting the task. Buchic eyed them curiously, ever the scientist. Sifiss seemed more interested in the manuscripts on display – both original and replications.

Dal idly reminded himself to have the backlogged holocrons transcribed. There were at least a dozen that still contained secrets – secrets the Jedi would learn and transcribe. Lady Vathila was always happy to receive a copy of such transcripts once they were produced for the Great Library. He smiled; it was good to see the knowledge of these relics returned to their rightful owners.

The trio arrived at a wall in the back with a display containing a handful of Sith trinkets – weapons, robes, jewelry – interesting and potentially dangerous, but utterly useless to those with real power. A wave of the hand and the display slid to the side, revealing a hidden door. Upon entering, they found a relatively empty room, save the quantum entanglement communicator and holoprojector built into the floor.

Buchic stood stoically. Sifiss attempted the same, but Dal could see a slight tremble in her stance. He grinned and punched in the keys to activate the device, listening as it hummed to life. The holoprojector spun up and the form of the Sith Mistress came into view, her crimson skin vibrant and only slightly discolored in the projected light. She stood proud in her dark dress, a glass of green liquor in a wine glass in her hand. Immediately, all three 'Jedi' kneeled in deference.

"Hello, Dal," Lady Vathila said, her voice haunting and powerful – the QEC lacking the telltale static of a holocall, "You don't often contact me directly."

"These past weeks have been bountiful, Mistress. It seemed only proper to tell you in-person, so to speak."

"I imagine so, especially if you call with others present," she said, noting Buchic and Sifiss, "And I'd like to thank you, Dal, for bringing Lucius to my attention the other day. It is unfortunate that he's disappeared once more, but I'm glad to have a way to keep tabs on him." She pursed her lips before smothering her expression with one of aloof pleasantness. "Please, rise, my friends, and tell me the good word."

The three 'Jedi' rose to their feet as Dal continued, "I trust you heard of Skywalker's resignation?"

"Of course. Unexpected, but a welcome development."

"Undien has succeeded him. And with my guidance, he will be an excellent pawn for the Sith Collective. Additionally" – Dal grinned in the mon cal way – "both Buchic and Sifiss have been elevated to the Jedi High Council."

Lady Vathila smiled. It was honest and vindictive. Likely, she already knew, but confirmation was satisfying. "You have done well, Dal. All three of you would make your Orders proud. We're one step closer to collapsing the Jedi Order in on itself." She paused. "Who replaced Undien?"

"Maratashi Vin, Mistress."

"By the skin of her teeth," Sifiss added.

"The more who support Undien, the more who support us. His obsession with control and expanding the reach of Orthodox thought plays right into our hands. Another decade of this and the Order will be withered to nothing. Its entire foundation rotted. And when that day comes, the Collective will fulfill its purpose and the Sith will dictate the course of this galaxy once more."

Doctor Buchic nodded his furry head and buzzed, ＜＜As it should be.＞＞

"Keep updating Karorm as needed." Vathila swirled her drink slowly. "We're so close to the end."

Dal nodded. "As you wish, Mistress. His own interrogation went well, or so I'm told. Not a single hint of his affiliations with us."

"Why do you think I keep him around, Dal? He's very, very good at what he does." Vathila's smile was sultry. "Goodbye, and good luck."

The Dark Lady of the Sith disappeared in a shower of sparks as the QEC deactivated. Their eyes readjusted to the dimness of the room.

Doctor Buchic scratched his chin with a claw. ＜＜I think that might have been innuendo.＞＞

Sifiss rolled her eyes with a snort. "You think? You spend too much time at dig sites, fuzzball. Not enough time enjoying the pleasures of life."

＜＜I take pleasure in uncovering the past.＞＞

"So do I, but I also let loose at the end of the day," she chuckled before turning to Dal, "So, where do we go from here, Taitho? I'm not sure it's wise to move against the Jedi just yet, even in subtle ways."

The mon calamari nodded. "I agree. You're both new to the Council, and it will take time to acclimate. Let us reevaluate things in a month. We can discuss our long-term plans then."

Thus agreed, the trio made their way to the surface, where Buchic and Sifiss could leave aboard their respective ships. Dal, meanwhile, would return to his quarters to contemplate his next moves. Perhaps it was time to revisit the issue of the Mandalorian Union with others on the Council.

---

How long had it been? Hours? Days? They no longer knew. The skies were choked with black smoke and the roads between the krill ponds stunk of burnt plastics and meat. Amongst the survivors there was a sense of… something. Numbness, perhaps? One minute, life was normal. And the next…

It was so abrupt and so shocking that most survivors simply stayed where they were – sat on rubble or shuffled about in a daze. It didn't seem real. Had they had the wherewithal, they would've helped each other… or killed themselves.

The wind kicked up and they heard something loud and unnatural, but few bothered to turn to it. Then the voices reached them – some were frightened by them, others rejoiced in their thoughts. A child cried and a new woman – clean and unmarred – embraced the child and called out to her fellows, "Otol, I need your help!"

A man approached and went about waving his hands over the child, his fingers glowing gold as the lacerations knit together, leaving an angry red scar across the child's belly. "This isn't good, Numa. We don't have enough healers for something like this."

"I know," she said, pulling out a holocommunicator, "Olin'ya? Contact Master Ritten, give her the planet's coordinates and tell her we have a twelve-oh-six."

"Yes, Master Jedi," came a woman's response.

The Jedi woman smiled slightly at that before turning determined eyes to the rest of the devastation. She set about retrieving survivors as others set up a small area to treat the wounded. Those nearby who heard the conversation felt a swell of hope knowing a Jedi was there to help.

Another pair – one in ornate robes and the other in dark robes and armor – made their way through the devastation, ignoring the survivors out in the open. They went about lifting away debris to find survivors who'd been buried in rubble. They were each cold in their movements and actions, neither offering a gentle smile or encouraging aura – just grim determination at their task.

---

A/N: Shout-out to Xabiar for helping with the Tocrum/Tyrell scene. And by 'help,' I mean 'wrote the whole thing.' Tyrell is fully his character, so I wasn't sure how to write him.

We commissioned a picture of Darth Timoris (sans helmet) from Isbjorg of DeviantArt. It came out fantastically.