A/N: Thank you to princesselsaamidala22 and Guest for the reviews!

The azure-walled antechamber of Mon Mothma's senate office is cramped for a meeting of this many people, but the Chandrilan senator's room comes with too many advantages to pass up. Within the walls of the close confines stretch thousands of feet of electrified molecular monowire designed to stave off even the strongest of listening devices or signal penetrators. No one, not even the most determined of senate spies, will hear anything that goes on within these walls. All the better, thinks Padme, given that the discussion is venturing further by the day from Halle Burtoni's political gamesmanship in her aim of unseating the Vice Chair and closer towards something far more dangerous. She knows the word that the most militant of her political enemies would label it: Treason.

A fortunate thing that the Jedi are involved now.

"We ran a comprehensive bioanalytics sample on the blood Skywalker took from the man who killed Senator Sandral," says Master Mace Windu before an assembling of five senators—Orn Free Taa of Ryloth, Bail Organa, Mon Mothma, Burtoni, and Padme—and four Jedi: Anakin, Obi-Wan, Master Aayla Secura, and Windu himself. Three days since Anakin and Obi-Wan's fight at the abandoned forge; three days in which Chancellor Palpatine still has not returned. Three days closer to total political anarchy in the Senate. "The results were…concerning."

"It's concerning enough that senators are in such deep corruption that they're willing to openly attack a Jedi rather than trying to negotiate," Burtoni says with a sneer. Padme rolls her eyes. As if Burtoni doesn't have her own brand of corruption: It's merely the paint on the façade that concerns her. Maybe she's a useful ally given the Chancellor's disappearance and Mas Amedda's power moves, but she's also only a temporary one. When this is over and stability is restored to the Senate, Padme will happily go back to being her political rival.

Master Secura, to her credit, looks none too pleased with Burtoni's answer either. "The corruption runs far deeper than the late Senator Sandral of Dantooine," she says. "The killer's genetic code matches up with a disavowed agent of the Republic Special Weapons Group."

"What?" says Bail. "A disavowed agent?"

"I'm only loosely familiar with the Special Weapons Group," Mon Mothma adds. "Run by a Director Elethalia Rann, I believe? A division of the Republic Navy. They work on experimental armaments and the like."

"Correct on the latter, but not on the former," says Master Windu. "Director Rann disappeared not too long ago; an Orson Krennic runs the Group now. Moreover, the entire division's been put under the exclusive leadership of our new Grand Admiral."

"Tarkin," spits Burtoni. "Just Amedda's lapdog."

"Let's not start handing out blame just yet," says Padme before Burtoni can continue throwing accusations. "Master Jedi, how long ago was this disavowal? Long enough to find new employers, or more recent?"

Mace Windu shakes his head. "The agent's name is Tenwin Enman, and as best we can tell, he was cut loose on a mission in the Coruscant underbelly four months ago. So, yes, Senator. Long enough that the Separatists could have gotten to him and made him a good offer. Or anyone else positioned against us. The Taths. Anyone."

"He was part of the group meeting with Sandral. I saw his face right before the fight started," Anakin says.

"Right before you kicked over a nest of hawk-bats, but yes," Obi-Wan adds. "Whatever this former agent's motives were, he was not acting alone. My best guess given the circumstances and the frantic nature of the fight was that he was under strict orders not to let any information slip—even if that meant killing everyone around to hear it, himself included."

"And the senator was about to spill the details," concludes Anakin.

Bail presses his fist to his chin and looks off into dead space. "Unfortunately, this narrows our leads," he says. "Director Isard said to you that the Taths are not explicitly Separatist, correct, Master Skywalker?"

"That's right."

"And yet you've found a trail leading from Taris—where they were all too eager to let the Separatists take the planet unopposed—all the way here. I doubt the Arkanians are the real disease, but only a symptom of it. And I imagine that Senator Sandral's involvement—along with this disavowed agent—are also a symptom," Bail goes on. "Someone is behind all of them, pulling the strings, but why? Moving rare materials and artifacts to Coruscant in exchange for a nearly-limitless stream of credits that have to be laundered through a bacta account to not draw attention—that's suspicious enough. But to involve senators in the affair means that at best it's a puppeteer with significant influence. At worst—"

"It's someone in power who doesn't want their involvement in a grander, more insidious scheme known," growls Burtoni. "I can think of a few names who'd fit that criterion."

Anakin holds up his hand. "Well, hold on. When I had Senator Sandral at the end of my lightsaber, he talked a little. Before he was killed, I mean. He said—he told me he was doing it all for Dantooine, whatever that means. He also said that Dantooine needs Republic ships to ward off a Separatist attack," he says. He looks to Padme and shrugs. "Ring any bells?"

"No," says Padme, confused. "Dantooine only has a small sector defense fleet to protect it. It's too far out on the Outer Rim to allot any more resources."

"Plus, it's deep behind Separatist territory," Windu notes. "I was there when the Separatists attacked. It was a fierce battle, but not a particularly big one. And you're right, Senator Amidala—the navy has only a few corvettes in the system. Not anything strong enough to defend against a determined Separatist assault."

Mon Mothma nods. "I think it's clear that Sandral's involvement wasn't chance, then," she says. "Him being from Dantooine meant he was probably anxious about an enemy attack."

"It would've made him vulnerable to corruption. Easy blackmail," Burtoni says.

"And easy to win over for anyone with real authority to send military aid to Dantooine in the event of an actual assault, yes."

Master Secura narrows her eyes. "But who could that have been? The number of people who can order fleets and armies around is small. Jedi. Fleet admirals and generals. Chancellor Palpatine."

"Palpatine, who is missing," Burtoni interjects. "Coincidence?"

"Are you blaming the chancellor for this?" Anakin says, his voice rising. "That's ridiculous."

Burtoni scoffs. "No, Master Jedi, I am not blaming Palpatine. I doubt he cared one way or another about a dustball like Dantooine. I am saying that the right source within his trusted circle could have…abused that trust."

"Sounds like you're insinuating something."

"Anakin," says Obi-Wan, cutting him off before he can say something stupid. Sometimes—more than sometimes—Padme is grateful that Obi-Wan's around to temper Anakin's recklessness when she cannot. Anakin's never liked politics, and frankly, Padme would be happier if he left that business to her. He's the hero. The Jedi need to let him stick to heroics, not immerse him in all this cloak-and-dagger stuff.

Of course, that would mean that he—or any of them—would have any choice in that decision. More and more it seems to Padme that the daggers are coming out of every shadowy nook and crevice.

"If nothing else, we do have two clear leads, even if we don't know where they go," says Mon Mothma. "With Senator Sandral dead and his entourage scattered, it'd be best if we assess the situation on Dantooine to see just what might have tempted him to give in to corruption. The other lead—"

"—is the Special Weapons Group," finishes Bail. "I think I'll have a talk with this Director Krennic. See what he knows about his predecessor, that Director Rann. And about just what tabs they're keeping on former personnel."

"If you don't mind, Senator, I'd like to join you in that chat," says Obi-Wan.

Bail nods. "It'd be a pleasure, Master Kenobi."

"I'll go to Dantooine," says Padme. "A civilian ship should be able to get through Separatist territory without too many problems."

"With all due respect, Senator, without further insight into the situation on Dantooine, it'd be best if you don't go alone," says Windu.

Padme looks to Obi-Wan. Time to put him to use again. "If you're going to send a Jedi with me, Master Windu, it'd be helpful to have one of the two who confronted Senator Sandral. Master Kenobi, if you're going to speak to Director Krennic…"

"Yes, that may leave me rather occupied," Obi-Wan says, his eyes flicking between her and Anakin. "Well, given that our esteemed Grand Admiral wants no part of the Jedi Order in his grand invasion up the Rimma Trade Route, that leaves Anakin without any imminent battles to rush off to. I'm sure he'll be happy to accompany you."

"It'd be an honor," says Anakin. He bows his head to her. "Senator, your safety will be my highest priority."

She smiles—a polite smile, one safe enough to conceal her intent, but one he'll recognize. That awkward chivalry. It always makes her want to laugh. One more thing to love about him—and to poke fun at him about when they're behind closed doors.

"Then it's settled," Mace Windu says, missing the look passed between Padme and Anakin. "Senator Amidala and Anakin will go to Dantooine and assess the situation planetside. Senator Organa and Master Kenobi will look into the actions of the Special Weapons Group."

"I'm going to have a look through some of Senator Sandral's dealings here on Coruscant, now that we're all getting down to business," says Burtoni. "Mon, you can help me with that. Everyone knows you have an ear in everyone's office."

"Simply keeping on top of things, Halle," says Mon Mothma.

"Of course. We don't need Jedi for that. I'll keep you informed if we learn anything, however, Master Windu," says Burtoni.

Padme frowns. Off they go on their separate paths again. At least she'll be with Anakin this time, but as much as his presence is a comfort, the rising stakes unsettle her. Maybe, if they're lucky, it's one bad politician caught in his wrongdoing. But with the way this war is going—and now with the chancellor's disappearance on top of all the rest of the bad news—she has a bad feeling that luck is not on their side.

And if it's as bad as Burtoni thinks, then what? If her plan to maneuver around the Vice Chair and get someone else into the Supreme Chancellorship fails, then what happens? In short: What happens if the Republic isn't just at war with the Separatists, but with itself?

Will she and Anakin be enough then?

The blizzard wanes; the snow tumbles and twirls as it pirouettes down from a steel-grid sky. By the time Tamri reaches the destination Kesh points out, her fingers are stuck around the control vanes of the speeder bike. If not for the jacket Kesh plucked off of the dead Echani guard, she'd probably have frozen to death on that long ride from the Tath base. Cold, miserable, wet—but at least she is free. Free, really free, free to run to the nearest starport and find a way back to Coruscant. Free to end this nightmare of captivity and make it back to Sae, to the Jedi. Free to go home. To make things normal again.

"Hold on," says Kesh, stepping off of the speeder bike as Tamri brings it to a stop.

"Hold on for what? I'd rather not die of frostbite," says Tamri, her teeth chattering. Kesh's directions have led them to a humble collection of one- and two-story wooden buildings comprising a motley village: Snow-dusted roofs, paper lanterns of red and gold and violet dangling from oaken beams, narrow alleys secluded enough to slip away and get lost down, white-gold light twinkling behind frost-glazed windows, pale blue boreal lily blooms defying the winter landscape with a touch of color as they blossom beneath stately fir trees. The building she's pulled up to in particular interests her: It is less a home than an inn of some kind, windows four across on either side of a double-doored front entrance of sturdy brown wood, a rock garden complete with slate gray statuary of mythic figures in miniature gathering about either side of the front walk. From behind the inn rises a steady wafting of steam: A hot spring? Geothermal vent? "Kesh?"

"I won't be long," says the Selkath as she heads for the inn. "It's just…well…my contractor."

"Your who?"

"I said I was working for someone else. They're here," she says. "Don't worry, there's no one else; this is a private resort. She rented the whole place."

Whoa. Someone wealthy, then. "Who is she?"

"Just hold on."

Damn it. Tamri wraps her arms around her body as she dismounts from the speeder bike and waits in the rock garden. She feels as if she has never been warm; the cold claws at her exposed skin, spits in her eyes, runs sandpaper along her lips. Oh, if she could just speed up time by a little while. Just enough days to find her way out of here, off of Telos, back home. She wants to find Sae again, tell her master that she's all right, that they can go back to doing normal stuff—not running around the galaxy chasing Sith artifacts and being hunted by Count Dooku. Even slumming through Nar Shaddaa's streets looks positively welcoming now. It's familiar. Especially when it's Sae with her. They're done with all that horror from before. That feeling she felt in her master, that darkness—it will be gone now. Sae will go back to her usual self; Tamri knows it. Grumpy at times, sure. Stubborn, definitely. But still her master. A Jedi Knight. Sae.

It'll be like that again. It has to be. It's all she wants.

Rancorous shouting from within the inn draws her back to the present. Whoever Kesh's employer is, they clearly are not happy. A female voice. Measured alto. A hint of a foreign twang that Tamri can't quite place.

She should probably see to this herself, if for no other reason than because it'll be warm in there.

She yanks open the front doors and bathes in the wave of heated air that flows over her. Sweet relief. Short-lived relief, however, because no sooner does she turn to her left and lay eyes on a burning fireplace than she spots Kesh hurrying towards her with eyes wide. "Hold on, maybe you should—" the Selkath starts.

The other voice cuts in: "The hell, Kesh. Not only did you screw up everything, but you screwed it to bring some kid here? Oh, the gods are pissing on me."

Tamri immediately freezes up. The speaker is a tall Echani woman, almost as tall as Master Kenobi. That same bleached-white hair from those guards she cut down in the Tath installation, this woman's locks needle-straight and running all the way down to the small of her back. Her eyes glittering silver. Her lips pulled into a nasty grimace. "I can explain," Kesh says hurriedly, turning to the woman.

The Echani sighs and covers her face with her hands. "Just shut up. I'm done with you."

"Hey, that's not fair," says Tamri, stepping past Kesh. Where the drive to defend the Selkath comes from she does not know, but Kesh doesn't deserve the abuse after getting her out of captivity. "She helped me escape. I'm only free because of her."

"That concerns me why, exactly?" says the Echani. She shakes her head and looks Tamri up and down. "'Jedi.' Yeah, okay Kesh. I really believe that. She's maybe, what, twelve? I can't tell how you humans age sometimes."

"Seventeen. Not twelve."

"Thrilling. What a difference."

Kesh moves between the two of them. "Tamri, this is Avea. Avea Vigaro," she says, her voice shaking. "Avea—"

The Echani, Avea, slides past Tamri and gets in Kesh's face. "I don't care who she is. We had one shot to make this work. One. One shot that has now completely evaporated because you decided to blow your cover, and, yes, they're going to know what you did. Now we have no chance. Now we can hang out here and stick our thumbs up our asses."

"Avea—" Kesh protests.

"Don't give me that. How much did I pay you?"

"That's not—"

"How much? And what did I pay you for? Was it for rescuing some girl who you claim is a Jedi? No."

"Can I speak for myself?" interjects Tamri. It's enough to get Avea to stop and throw her an ugly glare, but Tamri uses the moment of silence to butt in: "Kesh. What did you promise her?"

Kesh glances between the two of them. "I don't know if I should—"

"Oh, who cares. Not like we're doing anything now," Avea says, throwing up her hands and walking away towards the nearby staircase. "Tell her whatever you want, Kesh. Who cares."

Once she's gone, Kesh presses her hands together and sighs. "She's not wrong. She…she, er, paid me a lot. I was supposed to do something else."

"Like what?" says Tamri.

"The, uh, AI in the Tath computer system—she wants it. I was going to figure out how to get it out of the system, but, well…things didn't go that way."

Tamri's chest tightens. So rescuing her was the complication. And all for nothing, at least from Kesh's point of view: Tamri wants nothing more than to get out of here. "Why'd you bother with me?" she murmurs. "If you were going to stick your finger in Yurica's eye anyway, why not just leave me to rot?"

"I, uh, kinda thought about it. But the computer systems were way more complex than I thought, and internal security was getting close to sniffing me out," says Kesh. "Also, I…I kinda thought you might be able to help. You're a Jedi. You do Jedi things."

"Do you even know what those are?"

"I've heard stories. You people make others do what you tell them. You can move spaceships with your mind. You have lightsabers. Everyone knows what those are."

Someone here is in for a massive disappointment. Not only can she not move spaceships with her mind, but the stars only know where her lightsaber has gone. Blown up with the Haxion Brood station, maybe. Or maybe Lendon Rust kept it. She has no idea, but she doubts she'll be seeing it again. "I'm not a miracle worker. I can do a little bit, but…did you have any other plan? Any idea what you'd do once we broke free?"

"Er—not a lot," says Kesh. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize to me. You saved me. I don't care what Avea says."

Kesh looks away. "Truthfully, I didn't like seeing what Yurica was doing to you. What Hosha was going to do."

Tamri swallows the knot in her throat. "What she was going to do?"

"Your blood, with its midi-chlorians."

"Hosha said something to me. She said the facility was part Kamino, part the Jedi Temple, and part…something old. What exactly was going on in there? What'd you—or the Taths—need me for?"

Kesh scowls. "Well, I don't know everything."

"Just what you do know, then."

"They—Hosha has a team of archeologists, that I do know—they found an old, derelict ship. Really old."

"How old?"

"Thirty thousand years. Maybe more. I don't know who made it."

Tamri whistles. "Older than the Republic."

"Yes. It had lifeforms in cryostasis aboard it. Other teams had already stabilized them after thawing them out, and we were, well…making more."

Tamri blinks. "Cloning? Is that the Kamino part?"

"Er, no. Not cloning. Breeding. There was a facility elsewhere, although I don't know where, that was doing the breeding part. We're all in tight cells and we don't know any other cell's location or identity. Part of the internal security protocol."

A chill runs down the back of Tamri's neck. "What exactly were the Taths breeding?"

"Killiks."

"Excuse me, what?" says Tamri.

"They're a race of—"

"Bugs, yes. I know a little galactic history from my youngling days. They died out long before the Republic was ever formed. Extinct. Gone."

Kesh nods. "Yeah. Most of them. But once Hosha's archeologists found the preserved specimens abord the derelict ship, they…well, Killiks were rumored to be strong and resilient. They could make for shock troopers or enforcers or things like that. And in a time of war when one side is cloning its soldiers and the other is using battle droids, it was a lucrative opportunity. That was the gist of it that I got, at least. I don't know all the details. Like I said, we were all cut off from one another. I only knew the intricacies about what I was working on, which was optimizing their genetic code for selective breeding purposes. Yurica theorized that midi-chlorian-rich blood would help in that."

"And that's were I come in. Swell," says Tamri, her heart sinking. "So, great. Yurica used me to help create a bug army."

"If it's any consolation, we'd already made most of our progress before we got you," says Kesh. "You were just…uh, experimental. Like a project. A way we could make an already-existing solution even better."

"That's not a consolation, no."

"Oh. Sorry."

Tamri closes her eyes. Her feelings are a mess: First she nearly gave in—no, she did give in—to all her repressed anger back while escaping the Tath base. Too close; the last thing she can risk while alone and behind enemy lines is skirting the edge of the Dark Side. Now she learns that her own blood is a part of some lab-monster program, the details and scale of which she can only guess at. Once she is off of this planet, she does not want to ever set foot on Telos again. She doesn't even want to hear about it.

This is how Jedi fall, isn't it? One thing after another. Hit after hit after hit. The pit in her stomach cries out for her to collapse into it. It'd be so easy to give in to that anger. That rage at being used. But no—she has to be better. Focus. Focus. Here, in the present. You're safe for now. Focus on the Force all around you, in life, in now. Don't try to control it. Just let go. She breathes in. Breathes out. Slow. There you go. It's going to be okay.

"What's Avea's stake in all this?" Tamri says. "She seemed pretty upset."

"She did hire me to get the AI, and I didn't get it. It was a lot of money."

"It can't just be for the money. Not if she's happy throwing around credits to rent out inns like this."

Kesh squirms. "Her…her family was victimized by the Taths. Eshan—the Echani homeworld—it's heavily influenced by the Arkanians, and Hosha Tath—er, I shouldn't say any more. It's a personal thing for her. A grudge. You can learn from her if you want," she says. "But if you want to leave, you can. I'd understand. Jedi have more important things to do."

This, Tamri thinks, is what Sae must have felt whenever Tamri looked up to her. It's what the Jedi Masters might feel every time someone comes to them for advice or counsel. Kesh knows only the myths and legends of the Jedi Order, but she looks to Tamri—Tamri the Padawan, weak, foolish, always doing the wrong thing—like some sort of savior who can bring this whole mess together. It's insane. But it also lights a fire in her gut, not a blaze but a warm, happy little kindling, a reassurance. The knowledge that even in the depths of this nightmare she isn't alone. Even if that company comes from places and people she never expected. "I'm not going to leave."

"What? You should."

"You saved me. I'll make it up to you," says Tamri. "Also…it's a little pretentious, but a Jedi should be better than just running away. I've done it enough in my life. We're supposed to help people in trouble. To be compassionate. To run to the problems, not leave them for everyone else. And I don't know what sort of problems Yurica Tath is conjuring in that base of hers, but she shouldn't be able to run amok without anyone stepping in to stop her. Maybe the next Jedi she captures won't be so lucky as to have someone help them get away, after all."

Kesh sniffs. "Oh. I'll, uh, talk to Avea then."

"I'll talk to her. I should clear the air, anyway. At least once she's cooled down."

Kesh nods. She takes a step back, looks around, and says quietly, "Thank you, Tamri. I didn't really know what to do."

"We'll figure it out. It'll be okay," says Tamri. "Really."

Kesh's face tells Tamri that the Selkath believes her. What a strange thing: Unconditional acceptance. And from a complete stranger. In truth, it feels completely wrong: Deep down, Tamri is scared out of her mind. She is alone right when she needs a guiding hand to point her the way forward. But she has only herself now. She can't be the weak, mewling Padawan any longer. She has to be strong. She has to stand up. Even if she has to stand up by herself, she has to stand.

Sae. I wish you were here. But it'll have to be a little longer before we see each other again.

Dooku paces around the cold stone antechamber in the base on Ziost. So simple, this place. Little more than a standard-template layout of a command installation thrown up in under twenty-four hours by fabricator drones on top of an existing cave network. Yet in here he is putting together his Sith Order, one by one. First Taron Malicos. And now he has his next acolyte taking her final steps into the embrace of the Dark Side.

He can feel the cold-burning anger inside Sae. It is not the chaos-flame of Malicos, that wild-beast bonfire that lashes out haphazardly and in its recklessness burns everything around it. Sae is different: Her fury simmers. It is a boiling lake beneath a sheet of ice exposed to the vacuum of space. It is a torch wielded in a snowstorm. A flame carried into the void to burn out the stars themselves and set the heavens alight. Sae is not a wildfire. She is a warrior in search of a foe, and should Dooku not direct her, she will find that very enemy in herself.

But she can do so much better than that. All he needs to do is remind her of who set her on her path.

"Think back, if you will," he says as Sae kneels in front of him, "to your younger days. Your childhood days. What you could have been. I know you, Sae. I know from whence you came. You think the Jedi saved you from a miserable life as an orphan, but is that how it was? Or was it what they told you?"

Sae says nothing. She no longer bothers to fight him, Dooku notices. She does not even protest. Malicos and the isolation and her own self-loathing have lashed the rebelliousness out of her. Now she is clay for the sculptor's hands to give form. "Adi Gallia was the model of a Jedi, and the Order left her to die on Florrum," Dooku continues as he circles around her. Before Sae lies her lightsaber in a hundred pieces, metal sprockets and rings and springs all scattered around the one thing that matters most here: Her lightsaber crystal. "Your master, Adi Gallia. A mother you never had. And yet how quick was the Order to throw her away? Think of the Council: How quickly was Adi Gallia replaced by Master Stass Allie on the Council? How quickly did the Order forget Adi Gallia's name? But you do not forget. You know her not as a Jedi, not as a soldier, but as a person. A woman you loved. A woman who loved you. A woman who was taken before her time—taken by the hubris of the Jedi."

He can feel it: Sae's mind is stirring, flinching, quaking with thoughts of her dead master. She sees Adi Gallia in the Celestial's temple, doesn't she? Good. Let her soak in that loss. It gives her focus. Makes her stronger. "And it was not just Master Gallia," Dooku goes on. "How quick were the Jedi to throw you aside? To see you as just another Jedi Knight. Not the ordained, like Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, but nothing more than a tool to be used. And when a tool is used up, it is thrown away. Think, Sae. The Jedi sent you to Ossus. Did they care that I found you there? Did they care that I could have killed you without a second thought? Of course not. Because you were a tool—there are thousands of Jedi, between the Masters and Knights and Padawans and Initiates, all the way down to the Jedi Service Corp. What were you to them? What were you but a number?"

Her feelings are growing hotter. Dooku smiles. She knows where he's going to take this. Good.

"And if you were but a number," Dooku says, his smile growing, "then what was your Padawan? What did the Jedi ever care for Tamri Dallin?"

Sae's eyes open. They flash as they follow Dooku around the room, Sae's face contorted into a scowl. "What did they say when you told them of her fate?" says Dooku. "Did they understand what her loss meant to you? Or did they tell you only to move on? To accept her death?" He chuckles. "What a heartless people, the Jedi. It is because you and I understand pain and loss and sorrow, Sae, that we are here today. It is only because we know pain that we understand the Force better than the Jedi ever could."

"What do you know of loss?" Sae spits.

"My own Padawan was killed in combat. Qui-Gon Jinn," says Dooku.

"He was a Jedi Master when he died."

"And? Would you have stopped caring for Tamri had she lived long enough to become a grown woman with a Padawan of her own?" says Dooku. Sae looks down. "No. Search your feelings. Embrace them. You loved her. She would have always been your girl. Just as Qui-Gon was always my boy, no matter where life took the two of us."

Sae clenches her teeth, but Dooku will not let her go now. He can feel it: She is on the edge. That cold, icy rage is crystallizing, ready to shatter into a thousand fractals of hate directed at the enemy. "The Jedi failed us," he says, crouching down before Sae, across from the broken pieces of her lightsaber. "They left our apprentices to die. They gave up on them. On us. Because they refused to understand that we are not just tools. Not just numbers. We are people. And we embrace our power. Our strength. Our anger is at the injustices hefted upon our shoulders. We know we can make a better world, a world where our pain need never be repeated. Understand this, Sae: It was the Jedi who damned you. The Jedi who killed Tamri. Just as it was the Jedi who killed Qui-Gon." He stands and lowers his voice. "And it took us far, far too long to realize it. Not because we were not powerful. It was because we were afraid."

He picks up her lightsaber crystal. Appraises it. "This crystal called out to you on Ilum when you were only a girl," he says. "The Gathering. It called, and you answered. You bent to its will. You could have chosen any kyber crystal on Ilum, but you chose this—because the Jedi told you that was what you must do. They lied. We are not the servants of any other power. Just as we are not the tools of the Jedi." Again he crouches before her. He sets the crystal on the ground as their eyes meet. "For why would we be the tools of an Order who kills the ones we love?"

Sae's hand clenches into a fist. The kyber crystal levitates, and Sae grits her teeth. The crystal shudders. Quivers. Then lines begin to run down the crystal, hairline cracks that run blood red. The golden core of the crystal darkens, deepens. A flame roars to life at the center of that sword's heart, and little by little the yellow fades. Red rises. Reigns. Sae holds out her hand and the pieces of the lightsaber rise in unison, coming together, fitting one by one into a whole.

It is over in under a minute. Sae stands with her assembled lightsaber in hand. Then she hits the activation switch.

A blood red blade ignites.

And Dooku smiles.

Ahsoka sits on her bed in the Jedi Temple's Healing Ward and stares at her hands. This place is driving her made. She still does not feel whole—not entirely, not even mostly. These parts they have grafted onto her, legs and torso and left hand, all alien, all machine. But she has to use them. She has to make this work. This is her life now—and she cannot slow down. She cannot.

Because people need her. Anakin needs her. Even as he tells her she can't join him on his mission to Dantooine.

"I don't understand," she says, pressing her hand—her right hand, her real hand—into the mattress. Don't get angry. But, oh, she wants to. "You know I can do this. We've been training. I'm fine."

"I know you're fine. I've been taking you to the dojo every day because I know you can do it," says Anakin.

"Then why don't you want me to come? Master, I'm not getting anywhere sitting here and listening to the healers. I need to go out. I need to do something but sit here and go crazy. And you need someone to watch your back on Dantooine. It's way behind Separatist lines."

Anakin shrugs. "Hey, I have R2. And Padme—ah, Senator Amidala."

"That's not what I mean."

"I know. I know. And I do need you."

"Then why—"

Anakin leans forward and places a hand on her shoulder. "It's because I need you that I don't want you coming with me," he says. "We have a lull in the Separatist offensive now that Tarkin's striking out along the Rimma Trade Route. But that's not going to last forever: Before too long, we're going to be back in a battle again. And when that battle happens, I'm going to be there. You're going to be there. And I am going to be counting on you to take care of everything that I can't."

Ahsoka huffs. "How is sitting here and 'rehabilitating' going to help that? Do you know what the healers want me to do? They say things like—"

"I don't care what they want you to do. I know what I want you to do."

"Master?"

Anakin sits down on the bed next to her and looks her in the eye. "When the next fight happens, you and I are going to be shoulder-to-shoulder on the battlefield," he says. He withdraws his lightsaber and ignites it. "Fighting with these in hand."

Ahsoka's stomach skips when she thinks of Grievous having her lightsabers now. "Master, I can just go to the machine shop and put together another lightsaber. They have plenty of lightsaber crystals."

"Yes, I know you can. But I don't want you to," says Anakin. "While I'm going to Dantooine, I'm sending you to Ilum."

"Ilum. Is this the Gathering?"

"Look, it's not an official mission. It's not anything the Council ordered. But you're going. You're going to make another lightsaber. And when you're there, you're going to face all these feelings I know you're feeling. I can sense it. You need to do this. Not just for you, but for me, because I need to know you have my back, one hundred percent," he says. His grip on her shoulder tightens. "Can you do that for me?"

She looks at her hands—both of them, Togruta and cybernetic. He rarely talks like this, Anakin. And there's something else in his eyes now, something new. More than that usual determination. A glint she hasn't seen before in him. "I can do it."

He nods. His eyes never break from hers. "I know."

Anakin stands, looks about at the tiny room, and adds, "Oh, and if the healers say anything, just make whatever up. I'll deal with them when I get back."

"Got it."

"Good," he says with a grin. "Then may the Force be with you, Ahsoka."

"You too, Master."

He leaves, then pops his head back around the door frame. "Oh, and one more thing. Take Rex with you."

"Rex? Is he going to help me make a new lightsaber?"

"Well, if you want. But Falco mentioned to Rex and me that there had been some signals coming from Ilum to the same location here on Coruscant that was receiving from Dantooine and Thyferra. Dunno, maybe you'll run into hostiles. And if not, then hey, you get to watch him freeze. Either way, he looked way too bored when I saw him yesterday. Man's a soldier; he needs to be in the field," says Anakin. He slaps the door frame. "Have fun."

She grins. That's the Anakin she knows. And she won't let him down, even if she is just running off to gather a lightsaber crystal.