A/N: Thank you dbreezy93 for the very nice review! Always happy to hear from everyone reading along.

Politics is an art of the highest order. The nature of possibility, of reality, of directing people and resources and wills to a common labor en route to forging something greater than any of us, than all of us can possibly create in our disparate and divided masses. It is unity. It is civilization. It is thus a shame, Count Dooku thinks, that so few politicians can actually see that. Especially in the very body he presides over—the Separatist Senate on Raxus.

Especially when he has to listen to the tripe that spews out of the mouth of one Okuni Kasi, the diminutive, inoffensive Bimm senator from Bimmisaari.

It is fortunate that he is attending this debate via hologram from the base on Ziost, because if Dooku was present on Raxus, he would personally electrify the life out of Senator Kasi. Always the same spiel from this creature—pirate attacks from nearby Hutt space are threatening worlds like Bimmisaari; the Republic is on the retreat and we should re-engage with peace negotiations; how much is this war costing not just our coffers but our people? In other worlds: The mewling of a weakling. When he has built his new empire, Dooku will be sure to silence such tiny, insidious voices. Frankly, he should've just taken the initiative and silenced Kasi when he killed the furred senator's equally aggravating friend Mina Bonteri. But Kasi, unlike Bonteri, knows how to keep his head down and never quite cross the lines that the Onderonian senator did. A shame.

"It is clear, with the advances made by our brave armies and the Republic's defensive posture, that now is not the time to stretch our resources thin," Kasi announces to the Separatist Senate with such posturing grandeur that Dooku almost forgets this isn't the Republic Senate. "We are in a position of strength, my fellow senators. We have taken in more member worlds than at any time previously in this war. But it has never been our aim to destroy the Republic, no. Let them live as they may, so long as they would let us live as we desire. We call them an enemy merely because they oppose our goal of peaceful secession. Let us remind the Chancellor on Coruscant of that with a treaty in hand, not a rifle!"

Dooku feigns applause. He looks away from the holoprojector to his office's sentry camera feed from the base's dungeon, where Taron Malicos and Sae Tristess are clearly making their enmity for each other known with their fists—far more interesting than another vapid debate, that—then shakes his head and returns to the proceedings at hand. "A truly august speech, Senator Kasi," Dooku says in a halfhearted tone of respect. "It is true that the Republic, in its weakness from our recent offensives, may be forced to negotiate, lest they falter further. We shall move for a vote on this matter in our next open session."

"Our next session? By that time it may be too late; we must—" interjects the senator from Dubrillion, Stethon Rayther.

Another interruption, this time in Dooku's favor: "This session is not for such grand votes, senator," the representative for the Trade Federation, the Nemoidian Hap Brehg, spits. "We need time to prepare motions. To determine nuance. To decide upon our objectives and hear from our constituents. The Republic's position only weakens with each world we liberate from their oppressive clutches. Time is on our side."

Inwardly, Dooku groans. As thankful as he is that Brehg moves for the session's adjournment, the Nemoidian's rapid interjection can only mean one thing: Viceroy Gunray told him to do it. Which means the Federation wants something from Dooku, and that in less than ten minutes he's getting a secure call from Gunray himself.

Sure enough, it is not sixty seconds after Dooku ends the Senate meeting and deactivates his holoemitter that his secure commlink line to the Trade Federation beeps. He should ignore it. A Sith Lord bows to no one and moves at no pace but his own. But prudence tells him to listen, if only so that he can keep the Nemoidians from panicking and doing something foolish. So it is that he lets the call through and the holographic form of Nute Gunray, as lupine and suspicious in digital form as he is in the flesh, blurs to life in Dooku's office. "My Lord," Gunray says, offering a repulsive, fragile bow in deference. "I was informed of the debate on Raxus."

"I am sure you were, Viceroy," murmurs Dooku, eyes wandering. "The debate was of no great consequence."

Gunray grins. "I am pleased to hear it, Count. Like you, I know that our best defense in these times is a fierce offense. Our factories are working at one hundred-ten percent to keep our fleets and armies at peak condition."

Slimier than a Hutt. "What do you require, Gunray?"

"I wish to speak to you about our more secure systems, particularly on our territorial flanks," Gunray says. "I have had several convoys intercepted by the Republic holdouts at Dantooine; one was desperately needed to continue the siege at Yaga Minor, and only the timely arrival of Admiral Kalani's fleet prevented a disaster. Furthermore, Trade Federation logistical lines near Charros are under threat every day from both Republic scout forces and privateers striking out from Hutt Space. I am concerned that as we mount our offensive, we leave our worlds too vulnerable for an inevitable counterattack."

Not him too. Not after Dooku had to listen to the Bimm spew all about this sort of trivial concern. "Hutt Space is nothing but a thorn in our side, Viceroy. And the Dantooine threat is little more than a Republic insult that I have no time to answer. If you want it crushed, then send in a battlecruiser or two. I doubt seizing the world will require much more than that. It isn't even worth that."

"But, My Lord—"

"I will hear no more of these baseless anxieties. The Hutts. The Hutts are the same nuisance they have been for thousands of years. Our space is not threatened beyond the meager raiders and corvettes that always come out of that waste, the same raiders you should have no problem repelling if you actually paid for convoy escorts instead of pocketing your trade profits. I will not waste time on that. I guarantee you when we have levelled the Republic, the Hutts will cower before us. Have patience, Gunray. Your credits will flow as they always have. Worry more about the fears of our limp-wristed senators on Raxus. And in the future, if matters do not require my attention and are not urgent, then either save them for formal meetings of the Separatist Council or else bring them to someone else."

Gunray clasps his hands. "Ah, yes…about that."

"Yes?"

"I spoke to a…the apprentice of yours. Taron Malicos."

Oh, wonderful. "And?"

"He did not speak with any such civilized language as I am accustomed to hearing from you, My Lord. In fact, after he finished telling me to, and I quote, 'deal with it myself' in reference to the issues I brought up, he then told me to—"

"Uncivilized or not, perhaps you should try listening to him. You are not an infant. You command the Trade Federation. Remember that," says Dooku. Then, without waiting for Gunray to bother him with anything else, he shuts off the holo and closes the comm.

Sweet peace and quiet. It is so fleeting. No sooner has Dooku shut off Gunray than his secure feed beeps again. Grievous this time.

Dooku sighs. Sidious always had his business arranged as Chancellor on Coruscant. Mas Amedda, the naval admiralty, the myriad bureaus and departments of the Republic—Dooku needs to organize the Separatists. He needs to wash away the foot-stomping children like Gunray and the senators and turn the Confederacy into a sleek, efficient machine. He needs to sweep away the "Confederacy" entirely and formalize his empire. He has no intention of entertaining the notions of people like Senator Kasi and sufficing with mere secession, after all. He will have the galaxy. All of it. Not just some.

Sometimes, however, he has to admit: It was easier when Sidious was around. The man had been playing politics his whole life, not wasting away in the Jedi Order for decades as Dooku had. He had trustworthy puppets and tools like Amedda, some even capable enough to be called advisors; Dooku has Nute Gunray and the parasites of the Intergalactic Banking Clan and Commerce Guild. He needs better executors to carry out his plan. He needs to build his Sith Order.

But he does, at least, have one advantage over his old master in terms of empire-building. The Celestial—Dooku will seek its counsel again. It knows the future, after all; surely it will point him in the right direction. His empire requires nothing less than perfect foresight.

Sundown on Coruscant. The last traces of orange dusk streak across the horizon as a naval-blue night dawns over the Industrial District, the city-planet's smog-billowing, noise-polluting monument to manufacturing and refining. It doesn't even look like Coruscant here, Anakin thinks as he dips the airspeeder low over the city-top to stay out of the throat-stinging fumes that in the night appear like smoking seamounts on the bottom of some craggy ocean abyss, the million industrial night lights squinting like bioluminescent benthos eking out a living in the darkness. Heck, he doesn't even know half of what happens here. What do all these factories make? Who knows?

"Anakin, this time, please stay away from power couplings," says Obi-Wan in the speeder's co-pilot seat. "I'd rather like not to end up in the Healing Ward."

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to come when I told you about this mission. Speaking of the Healing Ward, though," says Anakin, turning his head around to Rex and Fives in the rear seating. "Fives? Pop the drone."

The ARC trooper nods. "Already got it primed, General," says Fives, shoving a whirring, boxy grey camera drone off of the rear of the airspeeder. It falls, kicks in its repulsorlift, then takes off and shoots up and away into the darkness.

Obi-Wan chuckles. "The Healers back at the Temple are going to cry out in despair when they hear about this."

"If," says Anakin. He triggers the speeder's commlink. "Ahsoka? You there?"

"Yup," the comm frazzles with Ahsoka's voice. Weak, sleepy-sounding, but there. She isn't in condition yet to come along on this sort of mission—especially if something goes wrong, and things always do—but Anakin wasn't about to shut her out entirely. Giving her remote control of a spy drone to keep watch over the operation from the safe confines of her healing bed in the Jedi Temple both added another layer of security to the mission and ensured she'd stay sharp while on the mend. Despite the Jedi Healers' insistence on working her along slowly in her rehabilitation from Grievous's maiming and her extensive cybernetic implants, Anakin knows the best way to rebound is to stay active. And he hasn't been shy in telling all those Healers that. "The Healers already came by and saw me with the drone's controls, Master Kenobi."

"Oh my. What did they say?" asks Obi-Wan.

"Nothing good for Master Skywalker. They went on and on about physical therapy this, getting more rest that."

Anakin laughs. "Ah, great. That'll be fun to deal with when we're done here."

"Just keep our eye in the sky intact and let Anakin worry about handling them, Ahsoka," says Obi-Wan. He looks up. His eyes widen. "And you keep a watch on where you're flying! That's—"

"Sir!" Rex shouts.

Anakin pulls up hard on the airspeeder as a bulk hauler lifts off from a refinery right in front of them. "Just some minor turbulence, don't worry about it," he says as Fives recovers from almost falling out.

"Minor, he says. This is going to be wonderful," groans Obi-Wan.

The abandoned forge Falco mentioned is a lightless monolith in the dusk. Not a single glow to push back the rising night from its emissions towers; not a single bulb to light up its creaking catwalks and rusting gas lines. Rex points out the forge's decrepit landing pad as they approach: "Visitors already here."

"Just in time. Let's hope it's the Dantooine party," says Anakin, eying the transport settled on the pad. Nothing fancy; just a standard vehicle that anyone might pick up off of a used speeder lot. If this is the Dantooine senator's ship, he clearly wanted this meeting to be incognito. "Ahsoka? You got eyes?"

"Yup," she says through the comm. "The commando, Falco—he's set up on a nearby catwalk with a sniper rifle. I got him on visual."

"Try and locate our guests of honor from Dantooine. Or anything that looks like a kyber crystal. I dunno. Something like that."

"Got it. Leave it to me."

"Good, 'cuz we're counting on you," says Anakin. "Try not to get us killed."

Obi-Wan chuckles. "Three years has certainly made a difference, hasn't it?"

"What?" says Anakin.

"The last thing I would've imagined when we first met Ahsoka back on Christophsis is that you would be counting on her. Funny hearing you say it now. Mentorship has changed you."

Anakin snorts. "Yeah, well. Christophsis was a while ago. That's ancient history."

"Ancient? Three years is ancient? Now wait a minute, how old do you think I am?"

The comm buzzes again before he can reply. "Skywalker? Falco."

"Go ahead."

"Got the target on scope. Senator Sandral. Along with a load of private security."

"So he is here," Anakin says. He noses the speeder down. "I'm landing. Rex, you and Fives get to a vantage point and ensure you can fire on their speeder if things go wrong and they make a break for it. Falco—"

A silencer-hushed shot zips over the comm. "Tracking. Don't worry about me, Jedi. One less guard now."

"I guess that means you and I are getting all the fun," says Obi-Wan.

"With a corrupt senator, too. Good ol' aggressive negotiations," says Anakin as he sets the speeder down. "My favorite kind of diplomacy."

The dilapidated forge is a crumbling ruin. Time-worn steel beams and suspension cables supporting long-dead machinery look ready to come apart at the slightest provocation. Anakin is careful to keep his footsteps quiet, but even against the churning and thrumming ambience of the Industrial Sector his boots rattle the loose metal floors. As he and Obi-Wan enter the forge, he whispers to his wrist comm, "Ahsoka? Status."

"The guys from outside entered into the factory," she says. Anakin immediately jams the volume lower as Ahsoka's voice rings out in the desolate hollow of the forge. "Falco's killed two stragglers so far, but his shots knocked them into places where nobody's going to look. Dunno if that's good or not."

"Hey, if that's how they do things in intel, whatever. Just keep your eyes open."

"Our trail of bodies just grows and grows," sighs Obi-Wan as they slip past a pair of dormant melting vats, sending a nesting hawk-bat flapping away into the dark rafters.

Anakin shrugs. "We're not here to have tea with these people."

"We're also not here to kill off the whole Dantooine senatorial delegation, no matter how corrupt they are. Let's keep that in mind."

They cross a smelting floor, move up two lines of materials handling, pass by raw resource storage pits and snake through halls that last played host to workers decades ago. The very air smells old and stale and corroded. The quiet is unnerving. "Rex?" Anakin whispers into his comm.

"Nothing, General."

Obi-Wan pulls him down as they enter an open pouring chamber home to massive, pyramidal vats that once churned and burned with oceans of molten transparisteel. "Shh," Obi-Wan says. "Look." He points over the guardrail of their catwalk to the forge floor. "Our guests have arrived."

Anakin hunches down and listens. A dozen men have congregated on the shadowy floor between two of the vats, at least eight of them armed with rifles. A lot of security, this. A short, squat man that Anakin can just make out as bald speaks first in a self-important tone: "This was not part of the deal. I've offered up exclusive rights to what you want on Dantooine. Exclusive. Whatever your boss is working on, clearly it's high-budget, high-priority, and information-secure, yes? Then you owe me. You owe me a lot. You owe Dantooine in general, because where else do you get Jedi crystals like the ones you need? Ilum? What do you even want them for, anyway? You never said."

"None of your damn business, senator," a husky voice retorts. "You're getting paid, and yes, that was our deal. You want Dantooine secured with the Separatists at your doorstep in the Outer Rim, and you're getting the reinforcements you wanted. Dooku's fleets won't even bother with you. And now you want more?"

"I didn't say more, I said—"

"You know, we have a dozen other fronts we could move those ships and resources to. We're straining already with this war. The Separatists are gaining ground by the day. Dantooine is of trivial importance except for what you can supply us. If that dries up, then what is your world good for? Farming? The Republic has enough farms."

"It's not like that."

"Then please, senator, tell me what it is like."

Anakin frowns. This doesn't sound like simple corruption. Well, to a point: Whoever Senator Sandral is dealing with clearly mentioned pay for kyber crystals. But what is that about fleets? About ships—and not Separatist ones, but forces to contest the Confederacy. Who is the other party?

Obi-Wan grabs his arm. "Go around," he whispers. "Get a point above that vat to their left. I'm going to head down those stairs behind us and cut off the near exit. We can trap them in here."

"Got it," says Anakin.

He doesn't make it halfway around towards the vats, however, before he kicks up another nest of hawk-bats. The guards below look up as Anakin dives for cover. "Company," the husky voice snaps. "Senator, get out of here."

On the ground floor, Obi-Wan stands and ignites his lightsaber. "I don't think so," he says, approaching the group as the guards level their rifles at him. "We have so much to talk about."

"Guards! Open fire!" Senator Sandral shouts as he turns and runs.

As shots ring out and Obi-Wan engages, Anakin leaps to the floor and chases after Sandral and his sentries. "Rex!" he shouts into his comm as he ignites his blade. "Rex, it's going hot! They're bailing out!"

"Master, everyone outside is pouring inside! What's going on?" Ahsoka says.

"Just keep your eye on the exits, Ahsoka. I'm on it."

One of Sandral's bodyguards stops to delay Anakin. He takes a position at the bottom of a set of stairs, steadies his automatic rifle on a brace, and unloads a river of blaster fire. Anakin dips behind a steel barrier and taps into the Force. Speed. Give me speed.

When he ducks out from cover he is a blur. He rushes the attacker faster than the man can move his gun. As the guard rises to evade Anakin swipes with his blade; in a moment it is over, the guard's head freed from his neck, his body crumbling, and Anakin jumping and flipping into the air to mount the stairwell and dash after the senator.

Up. Up. Up. He bursts through the forge's visitor lobby, home to dust-robed seating and shrieking rats who run for shelter. Anakin barges through the door a dozen steps behind Sandral and his last guard. The bodyguard turns and fires, once twice thrice, Anakin batting the shots away into the night, meteors of crimson energy streaking into the gathering black. Then a pair of blue blaster bolts from on high catch the guard in the chest and he collapses. Anakin looks up. From a catwalk above Rex nods and aims his pistols at Senator Sandral as the man stumbles, trips, and falls.

Anakin is on him in a flash, his lightsaber aimed squarely at the man's face. "So good to meet you, Senator," he snarls as Sandral quivers. "Fascinating conversation I overheard in there."

"Ah, Master Jedi," the senator stammers. "It's, ah, not how it looks."

"Why don't you tell me how it is, then? We've got time. Just you, me, and a whole lot of time."

The senator swallows. "It really isn't what you think. I'm doing it all for Dantooine. We're behind enemy lines out in the Outer Rim. My world is under threat by the Separatists constantly. I need Republic ships to defend my people. Can you blame me?"

"Blame you for what?" Anakin snaps. "Stop talking in riddles. Tell me: What business are you up to? Who's your business partner?"

"I'm just using my own world's resources to our benefit! Is that so bad, Jedi?" Sandral shouts. "It's—it's for—"

Before he can say anything more, Anakin's comm bleats with Ahsoka's voice: "Master! Look out!"

He feels it in the Force. He hears the metallic bounce. Sees the steel globe sliding along the duracrete towards Sandral. Thermal detonator. "Oh damn," Anakin yells, leaping for cover.

Anakin makes it behind a duracrete barricade just in time. He ducks and covers as flame washes over the barrier with the detonator's blast, the heat singing his skin and hair. When he looks up, Senator Sandral's body is little more than a blasted, charred field of flaming bits blown out across several dozen square meters. Behind the fire runs a shadow, dashing towards the Dantooine speeder. "You!" shouts Anakin.

Out of the darkness rushes Fives, his rifle lowered. He lances a shot, just missing the fugitive as the man leaps into the speeder, throws the throttle, and blasts off. But Fives is not alone in his pursuit: A rifle grenade flies in from Anakin's right, striking the speeder's engine and blowing it apart. The speeder struggles for a moment, fishtails, then crashes back to the ground, exploding as the engine fire ignites the fuel cell. As the blast wave clears and the flames crackle, Anakin hurries forward.

Obi-Wan emerges from the forge with his robes singed but otherwise untouched. "Either you missed all the fun or I did," he says, walking up to the speeder. "Don't tell me that's our man."

"No," says Anakin sadly. He looks back to the blasted body parts. "Those are our men."

"Ah. Worse than I thought, then."

Falco steps out of the evening dark, his sniper rifle now sporting a grenade launcher attachment. "He survive?"

"No," Anakin says, stepping over a burnt, broken body of an otherwise-unrecognizable human thrown from the speeder. Just a killer. Someone who went to the ultimate length to keep Sandral's silence. "Great."

"It's still an intact body," Obi-Wan says. "Fives—can you get a blood sample from that body? Something I can analyze?"

The ARC trooper nods. "Should be able to. Give me a second, General Kenobi."

"We can take it back to the Temple, at least. Cross-reference it for any known matches. Maybe we get lucky," Obi-Wan tells Anakin. To Falco he adds, "I would appreciate your discretion if you're reporting back to Director Isard."

"I am reporting back to him," Falco says, "but I don't need to tell him of your blood sample. You want to inform him of that, that's your call."

"Thank you," says Obi-Wan. "A dead senator and our leads narrowed. It's Jedi business now."

So it is, Anakin thinks as he looks at the flame and the carnage. This isn't over with Sandral's death. He knows the Taths are one corner of this messy shape, but whoever Sandral spoke with inside the factory did not sound like the Arkanians. He spoke of ships, of defenses, and what sounded like Republic support for beleaguered Dantooine. No simple corruption this. No, this quandary is just beginning to unfold.

Tamri has killed before—she is a Jedi after all, and Sae drew her all too easily to violence in their romps through the galactic underworld. But those deaths before came at the end of her lightsaber, and the people she killed were scum—slavers and murderers and cartel enforcers. Those slayings felt honorable. Necessary. Clean. Never like this. Never so messy. So bloody. So vicious.

And she never felt as enraged when taking a life as she does right now.

These bastards think they can toy with her like some sort of science experiment? Yurica Tath and her Echani soldiers think she is nothing? She will show them. She is showing them, just as she shows the lone Echani sentinel blocking the entrance to the speeder hanger Kesh is leading them to. He shoots, misses. Tamri taps into some feeling she has never embraced, never accepted, and for once—really, for once—she feels powerful. She thumbs the vibration generator of her vibroblade and whips the thrumming sword across the Echani's arm. Like cutting paper: Bone and flesh and sinew part before her. Blood spatters. The Echani screams. Tamri ignores him.

Behind her, Kesh looks horrified. Tamri can see it in her eyes: The Selkath has never seen this sort of thing before. She wasn't prepared for this. Perhaps she has seen blood and bodies in the lab, that clinical parade of grotesqueries, but naked violence is an assault to her senses. The brutality, the savagery—it hits hard. "Are—are you okay?" Kesh stammers as she hurries up to Tamri.

Is she okay? She is just fine. She is better than she has been since…well, at least since Mirial, since Lendon Rust got the better of her. But think of all those times before: When did Sae ever let her explode like this? When did she ever even want to? The truth is that no one, not even Sae, pushed her like this. No one in her seventeen years ever truly forced her to her breaking point. For too long she trailed along in her master's wake, weak in the Force, mousey and quiet. But there's no Sae here now. No one to tell her to be mindful of her feelings. Be mindful? She doesn't mind this at all. Has this been inside her all along? This…what does she call it? What does it feel like? Darkness. Yes. Like the sweet, seductive, warm night of midsummer. "I'm fine. I'm good," she says, panting, wiping the bloody blade on her ragged medical gown. "Where's the speeder garage we're going to?"

"Right in front of you," Kesh says, hurrying to a control panel. She taps a button. Waits. Taps it again. Taps it twice. "Shoot. Locked it down."

"Is that a control console?" Tamri pants, pointing to a computer screen above the activator button as she catches her breath.

"Yeah."

"Keep me cover."

"Wait, wait," Kesh says as Tamri steps up to the console. "I told you there's an AI in the facility's systems. It'll keep you out."

Tamri shakes her head. All this confidence. Blazes, it's refreshing. Did Sae keep her from this? Did the Jedi? Shoot, maybe Hosha Tath was right about the Jedi holding her back. "I learned to slice as a youngling. I can open it."

"It's not easy."

"Just shoot whoever comes, Kesh. I'll get it."

Kesh looks anything but convinced, but she nods and holds out her blaster pistol at enemies who do not arrive. Tamri sifts through the console's systems, generating junk data and throwing it at the system to try and open a path through the software security. Come on, come on. The system does not relent: If anything, it hurls back her every attempt with greater and greater speed until she can barely keep it from locking her out. Then, suddenly, the defenses die. Not as if she's made a breach, but as if a digital spigot has suddenly shut off and she tumbles into the newly-created opening. As if she did not breach the security but it opened its gates for her. Bizarre—but she cannot think about it now. "There," she says as the doors unlock. "Open it."

"Wait," says Kesh. She pulls the jacket off of one of the dead guards and tosses it to Tamri. "Here."

"Huh? What for?"

"It's a blizzard outside. I'm not getting out just to have you freeze to death."

Oh, swell. She could've told her that a little earlier. But Tamri doesn't complain: She dons the jacket—thicker and longer than it looks on the outside, nice and warm—and throws open the garage doors.

A squad of guards are waiting inside in front of a motley collection of airspeeders and speeder bikes. Blaster fire meets Tamri's entrance as she ducks back behind the walls. "Kesh? You have the blaster."

"I'm trying," says Kesh through gritted teeth. She squeezes off a shot, two—but clearly the Selkath researcher is a stranger to blasters. Her shots are wild; frenzied. Scared.

"Give it here," says Tamri. She catches as Kesh tosses her the gun, but as she rounds the corner out of cover to shoot, an auto-blaster turret drops from the ceiling and charges to fire. "Oh, shit."

But the blaster turret does not fire at her. Instead it levels at the nearest Echani guard and blows him away with a concentrated volley. The other Echani shout and scatter as the turret lays waste, throwing up fire across the floor as it tracks the guards from cover to cover. One of the Echani leans out and catches it with a well-placed shot, blowing it from its mantle. Help, however, is coming in spades: A heavy maintenance droid plugged into a recharging station animates and pulls itself free from its electrical cables, stomping towards the Echani guards as they regroup. The first one the droid comes across it smashes, plastering the guard into the floor with a downward swing from its arm. Return blaster fire bounces off of its armored cowling as it stomps towards its next target. All Tamri can do is watch, mystified, baffled—but alive.

What is happening here?

Kesh, for her part, stirs from her fear. "I'll get the garage door," she shouts as she makes a beeline for a control station at the back of the bay. "Get something ready to fly!"

Tamri sees another option, however. Several of the vehicles in here are 74-Z speeder bikes, the same make and model as the Jedi Order's own scout craft. She knows these. And one of them is well-placed to do some damage to the guards still engaged with the repair mech. She jumps to the nearest bike, throwing its engine igniter, then its throttle. She jams on the accelerator and throws herself off as the bike blasts off, racing into the grouped-up Echani and blowing apart in a burst of fire and shrapnel against the wall.

So far so good. The doors rumble to life, and snow whips in on cruel winds. Outside is a near-whiteout, total winter: Conditions are so bad that Tamri doubts anyone will be tracking them if they can get away, not even by heat signature.

She hops onto another speeder bike as Kesh rushes up, leaping onto the cowling behind her. Another squad of Echani hurry forward from the halls, but the repair mech has survived Tamri's improvised attack and now launches another assault of its own. "What is going on?" Tamri says as she watches the droid wade through blaster fire. "Who's controlling that?"

"Does it matter? Go before we got shot and die!" Kesh howls.

Right. That. The thrill Tamri feels—the strength, the focus—draws her from the moment, but with Kesh's prodding she throws the speeder bike's accelerator, tightens her grip on the control vanes, and hangs on as she and Kesh hurtle out into the snow.

It stings, the blizzard: The billowing snow bites at her face and her hands as she guns the bike. She hazards a look behind her: No pursuers. But the sight is an imposing one: This was not some simple research lab. What she flees from is a towering mesa, the speeder garage built into the stark rock edges that fall away at a nearly ninety-degree angle. Whatever was going on here, her little prison and the lab were only a tiny portion of it.

She wants to know more. She wants to uncover it all. Most of all, she wants to know who her unseen ally was that got them through the garage alive. But Kesh's hands gripping her torso urge her on, and she jets away through the pelting winter, the cold washing away the installation, the fight, her anger, all of it.

And as the heat of the escape fades and the relief of freedom washes over her, Tamri's heart drops. A wave of realization crashes in, high tide threatening to drag her out to a sea of woes. She knows—knows. She didn't just kill those Echani in the way. Like she thought in there, she had killed before. But this was more. She butchered them. Tapped into—say it. Say it. Sae would never forgive you.

That was the Dark Side flowing through her. Rage. Hatred. She knows she felt it. It's what gave her a strength she has never known. She can't look away now. And it comes crashing down, slamming upon her like the blizzard she rushes through, and the heat of the fight can no longer protect her feelings. Power, yes. But you've been told about this all your life, Tamri Dallin: Power at what cost? What did you let yourself do? And if you ignore it, where will the Dark Side lead you next time?

What would Sae say if she knew?

Blood on her lips. Salty. Sour. Like acid.

She swallows hard. As if sensing her guilt, Kesh shouts through the storm, "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Tamri lies, blinking rapidly. Full speed ahead. She has to keep moving forward.

"You know, don't you? There is a reason I told Taron Malicos to stay behind. You know what power lies here. You and I. Only we."

Sae's heart races as she stares into the black. The pyramid. Ziost. The walls closing in: Was it always this claustrophobic in the Celestial's temple? Were those strange, glossy black channels always running along the walls? Or is she just imagining them there, and her captivity is affecting her mind? Either way, she did not fight Dooku when he came to her cell and told her where they were going. Back here. Back to where she could have changed everything and did not. Back to where she saw the future and failed to act on it.

But she is not here for power, as Dooku says as he urges her along the path. She is not here to see the future. The Celestial sees across time, and it is not forward she wants to look. It is backward. Show me the past, thing. Show me what was. I want to see her. I want to see Tamri. And not the Tamri that speaks in your voice, with your words, your taunts. The Tamri I knew. The Tamri I loved. Sweet, shy Tamri. Let me see her again.

Please.

"You hear the voices, do you not?" says Dooku as they advance down the corridor, the phantoms waking in the walls. The black shifts; Sae's eyes twitch. "The voices of those we know best. It reads our mind, the Celestial. A power pure of the Force. A power that is ours. It is the Dark Side in its most pristine form, Sae. You have touched it. Embrace it. I feel the fear in you. The anger for what has happened, for everything your life has been. Even the anger you feel when Malicos torments you. Give in. Know the Dark Side and embrace it. Know that your future can become so much more than your past, if only you seize that power."

"Who do you hear?" Sae murmurs.

Dooku looks around at the chthonic corridor. "My former master, Darth Sidious," he says. "My Padawan apprentice, Qui-Gon Jinn. Those I have lost whom I could have saved. Others. But I was not strong enough as a Jedi. Nor were you."

He does not need to tell her. She can already hear the whispers. Not Tamri, though: Master Gallia. "Her face is fading, isn't it, apprentice?" Master Gallia taunts from beyond the veil. "Your own Padawan. Can you remember how her eyes widened in surprise? How she styled her bright hair, with her Padawan braid just sticking out? Can you even remember her voice when I am not the one to speak it? Do you remember her little laugh?"

Show me, thinks Sae. Show me her. Show me. Show me show me show me.

Master Gallia only laughs and fades away.

Beneath Dooku's eye she walks to the familiar black-stone chamber. Sickly yellow light twirls and spins in a carousel of anarchy as the Celestial writhes in its crater. Dooku waits. Sae stumbles forward onto the viewing platform.

The mad god turns its mind's eye upon her. Come and see. Look. Look.

Stars burst into life above her. The galaxy unfolds. Sae looks.

Coruscant. She sees from her own perspective. A red lightsaber in her hand. Before her stands a shadow with a yellow lightsaber held aloft. Between them a girl scampers towards Sae—but it is not Tamri. Haze—Sae cannot recognize either.

Look.

No. Show me her. Show me. I don't want the future. I want the past.

The Celestial relents. Sae can feel it probing her, ripping down her defenses, picking its way through her mind. Then before her eyes play the sights she wants—yet when she looks, she only feels anger. Anger and pain.

Tamri at thirteen on the day of the Initiate tournament, crying right before Sae picked her as her Padawan.

Tamri on Ossus in the cave of flowers.

Tamri on Kuat—dancing, singing. Sae does not know where this was, but she can feel that it is real.

Show me. Show me more. Please.

But the Celestial does not. It pulls back as the hole in Sae opens up, the longing building, compounding. Pain, pain. Show me. Please. Please. I just want something to make me happy.

This the Celestial will not give. Sae clenches her jaw and slams her fist on the viewing platform, anger surging, seething. Give it to me!

It does not.

She looks back behind her. Dooku is smiling. Above the stars twinkle and swirl, and the hole in Sae's heart gapes.