There is a common element, Sae thinks, behind everything that has led up to her current state, and she is afraid to name it. After all, it has been at the very heart of her entire existence—her every waking hour—ever since she was first found by the Jedi as an abandoned infant on the Coruscant streets.
Before that, even. It starts with conception—hers, others', the universe's itself.
When she was a girl, a mere youngling, what was she taught? No, wrong question: What did she believe? Remember those old teachings—the Force flows through all life. It transcends space and time, binds everything together. It is within us, a part of us just as much as we are a part of it. She believed in the Force. Wielded it as her weapon. Treated it as her ally. Trained in it under Master Gallia, followed its path to Knighthood, instructed Tamri in its finer points. Follow the Light. There is no emotion, there is peace. Code, creed, belief. The Jedi and the Light Side of the Force, embedded in her heart and her mind and her every action.
Now listen to Count Dooku. The Dark Side is our tool, the Force ours to bend as we see fit. The Dark Side is a means to power, to control, the only path to true agency and freedom over a chaotic galaxy and an unjust existence. The Force can bring order to madness, but only if we use it as it we must. The Jedi fail to see that. The Jedi would leave the galaxy to the maelstrom of anarchy if that was the will of the Force. But he says more, Sae thinks. He tells her that her embracing the Dark Side was foretold. She foresaw their clash on Serenno when she looked into the Celestial's visions. Dooku tells her that a great battle will happen on Sullust, her at his side—all because the Force, through the Celestial's medium, has told him so.
Just as the Force showed her Tamri's death. Just as she saw Tamri's body in the snow in that vision on Ossus. That was no insight by the Celestial. Name it for what it is: The Force. Whether she would follow the Jedi's teachings and abide by the will of the Force or follow Dooku's word and bend the Force to her own desires, the common denominator is the same. See: What is really behind it all? What was lurking in the shadows on her entire path from nothingness to now? And what whispers of the moments to come, the future that shall occur? Is it the Celestial? The Dark Side? The Light? Or the intersection of all those things, of everything?
And what might the name for that intersection be?
She shudders. That thought she's had ever since Tamri's death—it's not fair. It wasn't my fault. It feels like an excuse, but maybe it's not. Maybe the truth is that none of them are at fault. Not the Jedi, not the Sith. When she looks at Pella—her new apprentice, by Dooku's command—she can't help but feel a gut-wrenching fear. If it was never her fault all along, then what can she do for this girl? What could anyone do if all Sae needs to see Pella's fate is to walk up to the Celestial and peer into its visions of the future?
It flows through all life. It is a part of us just as much we are a part of it.
She followed the Light. Now she embraces the Dark. Is it her will behind those choices? And if not, then whose?
As if to get her feelings out, Sae drags Pella out of the Ziost base and into the blizzard. Dooku wants her to make the girl a good Sith acolyte, does he? Sae was supposed to turn Tamri into a good Jedi Knight. Creatures of the Light, creatures of the Dark. Perhaps it's time to just say no. "Stand over there," Sae says as Pella shivers in the howling snowfall, so thick Sae can barely see more than a few dozen meters in any direction. The Celestial's pyramid is little more than a shadowy blob smudging the opaque white world.
"What are you doing?" Pella mutters, her words shaky as her teeth chatter.
"Just stand over there and shut up," Sae says. She has a prop with her—one of the battle droids that stands watch around the base. "You," she adds, pointing to the battle droid, "stand over there across from her. Don't move unless I tell you to. And give me your gun."
"Roger-roger."
Shoddy, crap imitation of a droid. She won't miss it. Pointing to a few rocks scattered about, she looks to Pella and says, "The Jedi tell you to destroy this droid. It's bad, Sith, Dark Side, whatever. Where's your lightsaber? You need it to destroy it, don't you?"
Pella scowls at her. Sae draws the girl's saber—a gift from Dooku to aid her training—and ignites the blue blade. They'll have to change that color if the girl has any chance at surviving around here. "This it?"
Pella looks at it with wide eyes, as if she never expected to see it again. Your weapon, your life. The Force's will made manifest. The right arm of a Jedi. Sae knows all the aphorisms. She tosses it to Pella and looks on wordlessly. The girl grabs it; drops it. Clutches it with shaky hands. The lone flickering ember of her old life.
Sae reaches out with the Force and grabs the lightsaber from Pella's hands. The girl is too slow, her grip too weak; the weapon flies away, and Sae clips it to her belt. "Oops," she says. "Now destroy the battle droid. Get on with it."
Glaring at her, Pella grabs with the surrounding rocks, a fist-sized chunk of basalt, and launches it at the battle droid with the Force. Sae intercepts it with a push of her own and sends the rock flying away. "Hurry up," she snaps. "If I get hypothermia, I'm going to kill you with your own lightsaber."
She can feel Pella's anger and frustration building. The girl grabs another rock and throws, and again Sae pushes it away. Pella stamps her foot. She grabs another rock, and this time launches it at Sae herself. Lazily dodging away, Sae looks to the droid: "Go hit her."
"Uh—ma'am?" says the droid.
"Do it. That's an order."
The battle droid marches forward and swings at Pella. She leaps back. Another rock launched with the Force. Again Sae shoves it away with a push. "Droid, stop," she says. She walks up to Pella as the girl's face reddens, both from the cold and her irritation. "What're you doing?"
"What do you want from me?" Pella shouts at her. So different from Tamri, this one. So hot-blooded. So willing to jump into a fight. None of Tamri's caution and thoughtfulness. Her old apprentice would've solved this test immediately. "You won't let me use my lightsaber. You won't let me hit it with the Force."
"No. Why aren't you destroying it?"
"You won't let me!"
Sae grabs the tossed-aside blaster rifle, now buried beneath a mound of fresh snow. She aims at the droid, fires, and blows its head clean off. "Did Danba Nago never teach you how to shoot a gun? I told you he wasn't any good."
Pella huffs and turns her back on Sae. "Look at me," says Sae, drawing and igniting the girl's lightsaber. "Turn around. Look."
Grumbling, Pella glares over her shoulder. "What is this?" Sae says, waving the lightsaber.
"A lightsaber," Pella mumbles.
"Teleology, not ontology. What is its purpose?"
"I don't know, lots of things. Cutting. Killing."
"Yes. A tool. It kills. So," says Sae, holding up the blaster, "does this. Stop thinking like a Jedi. Stop limiting yourself to what you've always been using. Lightsaber, the Force. If you weren't strong in the Force, could you use those things?"
"But I am."
"What if I'd given the droid its gun back and told you to shoot you? What then?"
"If you would've just let me throw a rock at it—"
"Too bad. Would you have just let it shoot you?" she demands. When Pella looks away, Sae grabs her shoulder and spins her around. "If you don't get out of your old ways, you're never going to make it. Trust me, I know. The Force is just a tool like any other, and it'll fail like you anything else can. Especially if you rely on it for everything, like you just showed. I lost friends at Geonosis. The Force didn't do much good against a horde of Geonosians in that arena. And the Force certainly didn't help my master or my apprentice when they died."
Pella glances at her quickly before looking away again, a flash of uncertainty dulling the shadow in her eyes. "I thought I'm supposed to be wielding the Dark Side now. That's what Dooku says. That I'm angry."
"Are you?"
"I don't know. I guess."
Sae nods. "The Jedi and Dooku both say anger's a path to the Dark Side. But sometimes, it's just anger. You're a human being. Human beings get angry. I sure felt angry when my Tamri was killed, and I'd have been a monster to feel anything else. If the Jedi don't like that, then screw them. That's called being human. You want to wield the Force and be strong in it, then do so, but don't forget about this—" she points at Pella's heart— "and this," she says, poking the girl in the forehead. "If you're only thinking in terms of the Force, then you'd better ask who's really calling the shots in your life. Stars know that the Jedi are too dumb to ponder that line of thought."
"I don't think Dooku would like that kind of thinking either."
"I don't give a shit," says Sae, turning around.
Pella takes a step after her. "What are we supposed to do about that?" she asks, pointing to the destroyed battle droid.
"I don't care. It's just a droid."
"Well, where are you going?"
"Inside. It's freezing."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"I'm sure you'll figure that out."
Pella huffs and hurries after her.
"Killed, your master thought you were, Padawan. And fortunate, it is, that you were not. Most enlightening, your story is," Master Yoda says in the Jedi Council's meeting. The wizened Jedi Master leans forward and smiles with a grandfatherly kindness. "But most importantly of all—brighter, the Force is, with one more Jedi to walk in the Light. Stronger, it is. The hope for the future of the Jedi and the Force, the young are. A part of that future, you are."
Tamri bows her head and nods slowly. She imagined returning to Coruscant and the Jedi Temple—home!—to be a wonderful thing, a most welcome feeling. But she had returned to the Temple right at the beginning of a Council meeting, and these Jedi Masters had summoned her to their chamber before she'd even been able to find Sae, let alone anyone else she knew. Then, once she'd told them her tale, Master Kenobi had dropped the bombshell.
Sae is missing. Video footage has her leaving the Jedi Hanger on an unscheduled departure. After that, we have no leads as to where she may have gone.
Gone. Gone, gone. She thought this would've been it. After being separated on Mirial, after that brief reunion on the asteroid base only to have the Separatist cruiser's attack drive them apart again, Tamri thought she'd finally overcome all the obstacles blocking her from reuniting with her master. Things were supposed to return to normal. She pushed through all of that pain and anguish on the slaver scow and on Telos just to get home. But home has changed. It is emptier, lonelier. And worse, she has no way to find Sae now. Her master could be anywhere—a captive of the Separatists, lost in no-man's-land without a ship or—the most likely outcome, and the one Tamri cannot bear to think about—she's dead.
She would've felt that through the Force right? She would've had to. They were close. So close. Sae was…like a mother. She's strong enough in the Force to have felt that, right?
Her feelings are obvious to anyone paying attention, let alone the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy. It embarrasses her to feel like this in front of such an esteemed audience, but she cannot help it. Sae. Oh, Sae. I'm sorry I took so long. This is all my fault. My fault. Mine. I was always the problem. Always slowing you down, wasn't I? I messed up on Mirial. I didn't get to hyperspace fast enough when escaping the asteroid base.
Why couldn't they have told her in private? Perhaps when she's not making her first solo report to the Jedi Council, of all things? She wants to cry, but she can't do it here. Just hold it in.
"I can sense the conflict in you, Padawan," murmurs Ki-Adi-Mundi. "Quite an ordeal you went through, from Belderone all the way to Telos and back, only to find out that your master is missing. But be mindful of your feelings. They will lead you astray if you let them. Know that wherever Sae Tristess is now, she is walking with the Force as her ally, as you have on your journey."
"Yes, Master," Tamri mumbles.
She looks towards Master Kenobi. Among all those on the Council, he is the only one she's talked to on anything approaching familiar terms. He knew Sae; he'll know what she's feeling. As if of one mind, Obi-Wan clears his throat and says, "What you learned from within the Tath base is what interests me. Perhaps we should let her go and recover from her ordeal, Masters? Discuss this new information in private?"
"Hold on, Obi-Wan," Master Windu interjects. To Tamri he adds, "You claim that this contemporary you escaped Telos with, this Tath researcher Kesh Shurroth, said that the Taths were working on genetically engineering killiks. Killiks. A species extinct for millennia. You're sure about what she said?"
Tamri nods. "Yes, Master."
"Did you ever see one?"
"No, Master."
"We could have this researcher testify before us," Master Mundi says. "Hear from her ourselves."
Master Agen Kolar shakes his head. "With the crisis in the Senate coming to a head, I believe patience regarding the Tath question to be prudent. We can't afford to divide our attention when we may be facing a political cataclysm. Keep the option in our pocket, yes, but allot too much of our attention away from the Senate, I think not."
"But what Padawan Dallin said about the possible connection with this…shadow group, this GenoHaradan…"
"They're not even proven to exist anymore," Master Plo Koon says. "The last record of the existence of the GenoHaradan is from over three thousand years ago, and the Padawan says she only heard it based on one droid's secondhand account. I agree with Master Kolar."
"As do I," Master Yoda says. "Connect all the pieces of this puzzle, today, we will not. Knowledge we have, and stronger for it, we are."
Master Windu looks back to Tamri. "One more thing, Padawan," he says. "Your master told us all about what you found on Ziost. This Celestial, this future-perceiving being of the Force trapped on a Sith world. We mustered an attack against the planet, but Separatist ships defended the world in force, and we were repelled. We lost Master Fisto in the process. Clearly whatever is on Ziost, Count Dooku believes it critically important." His eyes bore through her, and it takes all of Tamri's resolve not to look away. "We heard from Sae, but you said in your report that you spoke to a Sith archive, as you call it, on Korriban that led you to Ziost. You, not her. So tell us in your own words: What exactly is on Ziost? How much of a danger is it?"
Tamri bites her tongue. "I didn't see it personally, Master," she says. "My master wouldn't let me into the temple to look at it in-person; she thought it was too dangerous. And maybe it was. It was only for a little while, but Sae wasn't really the same after that."
"What do you mean by that?"
"The whole journey from Belderone to Ziost, she was set on finding something to justify the effort. She was determined. But once we left Ziost, once she'd looked at the Celestial…I don't know, but she seemed empty. Deflated. Defeated. I don't know what she saw, but it changed her. It changed her a lot."
"Thank you, Padawan," Master Yoda says with an understanding smile. "Rest now, you should. Great hardship, you have endured, and at a young age. Friends, you have here.
Tamri bows. She feels deflated herself. All of her enthusiasm gone, her energy fled, and her nerves are shot after speaking before the Council. She wants nothing more than to tromp out to the Temple gardens and reach into that soft, warm earth once more, all that life, all that energy—but the first thought that comes to her mind is of she and Sae there together right before they left for Belderone. Like poison in the soil. Polluted runoff crippling the plants.
The thought dies, and all she wants to do is rest.
"Ah, Padawan Tano! It has been some time, has it not?"
Ahsoka halfheartedly waves to Master Tera Sinube as she slides past him in the halls of the Jedi Temple. "It has. Let's catch up later, Master. I'm a bit occupied right now."
"Always in a hurry still, I see," Sinube chuckles. "I will leave you to it, Padawan. But don't forget to slow down now and then. Close your eyes and take in the breeze."
She smiles. She has not forgotten his lesson. It feels so long ago, that, when she was a different person. Hasty, yes. Reckless. So much as has happened since. So much has happened to her. But she has not changed entirely from those days. She still has Master Skywalker. And she still has friends from before she had him. Perhaps she sees them less with the war and all those former younglings now scattered about the galaxy as Padawans or members of the Jedi Service Corps, but they're out there. She hasn't forgotten when she was still a tiny initiate with big dreams and a wide-open future.
But now and then their orbits come together, briefly, brightly. And deep in the bowels of the Jedi Temple, down in the Order's dusty workshop where the shuffling of machinery sings alongside the twisting of hydrospanners and the groaning of metal grinders, she finds one of those old friends again.
Past humming yellow industrial lights on steel wall mounts; past a pair of younglings taking apart a training drone; past an old Rodian Jedi Master in front of a desktop littered in iron rings—there she is. Tamri Dallin. They were little kids once, learning, playing, laughing. A lifetime ago. The world before the war. Before the promise of tomorrow became the conflagration of today. There's still so much that Ahsoka recognizes in her. That sunny hair, wide blue eyes. Patience, care, caution. She was never a fighter, never rash, holding back where Ahsoka rushed forward. But they were kids and she was a friend. Now they are Padawans. Ahsoka's legs are steel, her left hand is servos and sprockets; dark creases underline Tamri's eyes, and red capillaries simmer in the whites. Time has passed. So much has changed.
"There's someone I haven't seen in a while," Ahsoka says as she approaches.
Tamri looks up and sets down her hydrospanner. The girl was always good at making things work—computers, engineering projects, plants in the garden. Not the strongest in the Force, but we all have our places, Ahsoka supposes. "Ahsoka!" Tamri exclaims, leaving her work and hurrying up to her. She stops a meter away, eyes lowering. Ahsoka purses her lips. Of course. Impossible to miss.
To Tamri's credit, her pause is only momentary. She embraces Ahsoka, holding the hug for a moment longer than mere cordiality. "I'm glad you're safe," she says.
"You too," says Ahsoka. She gives a wry smile and looks down as well. "A lot's changed. Long story."
Tamri pauses. Takes a breath. "I'm happy to listen, if you want."
She's not much of a leader, but she's always been a good listener. And as Ahsoka begins regaling Tamri of her tale, she finds that someone listening is exactly what she wants. No lessons like from Master Skywalker and none of the military hierarchy getting in the way like at times with Rex. Just another Padawan, patient, understanding. A friend. Someone who has known her for a long, long time, even if their meetings have grown so rare in recent years.
Word after word; world after world. Taris to Sleheyron all the way through Ilum. Tamri waits through the whole story before speaking, only opening her mouth once Ahsoka finishes by shrugging and declaring, "And that's that, I guess. Still alive. New lightsabers. And a little more that's new, too."
"I'm…so sorry," Tamri murmurs. "It's horrible what happened."
"Well, I'm not dead, so not as horrible as it could've been."
Tamri forces a half-smile. "Yeah. I guess," she says. Then she brightens up as if struck by a thought. "You can…do something with that, y'know."
"What?"
"You're handling everything fine. It's a lot of metal replacements, but you're walking fine, using your hand fine."
"It took a while."
"Well, then," Tamri says, ushering Ahsoka over to a workbench. "If you wanted, you could add a little more to get more functionality out of it. Here." She puts a small metal tube in front of Ahsoka. "You could attach a miniature scomp link to the metal wrist mount and connect it with the wiring that makes all the cybernetics in your fingers move and feel. Means you could open doors and get through most security with your hand. Wouldn't need any tools or a droid or whatnot."
Ahsoka laughs. "Are you trying to turn me into a cyborg, now?"
"No, I just thought—"
"Okay, okay. Keep going. Tell me more."
Tamri looks relieved that she didn't offend her. "Sure. With that, you could weld on a computer access port and add whatever sort of slicing software you wanted. Again, you could wire it into the internal circuitry. You wouldn't even feel a thing. Or you could add improved servos to your leg joints to make you run twice as fast as a human. Or jump higher. Or socket in shock absorbers to withstand the force from jumping off cliffs. There's a lot you can do."
"I look forward to my new life as an astromech droid," says Ahsoka. "You have a really weird way of looking at things."
"I just try to look outside the box. A little," says Tamri, looking away and rubbing her neck. "You can't do anything about what happened, but you can make the most of it now that you're here."
Huh. She has a good point. A useful point. Ahsoka powered right through the snow and clung to ice on Ilum with the grip and strength of her prosthetics. It feels strange to treat her cybernetic limbs like she's upgrading a droid, but why let apprehension slow her down? Tamri's right: Use what she has. Make the most of it. Maybe Anakin won't have to drag R2 everywhere in the future.
Her eyes drift down to the workstation. There's more than just the scomp link there. What was Tamri working on? Scraps of metal, conduction rings, energy channels. Then she spots it. Oh.
The Jedi Temple carries spare kyber crystals in the workshop, small ones, just enough to power a lightsaber. A Jedi losing their lightsaber is frowned upon, but it does happen—it's the nature of the work. Accidents occur. Sometimes a mission goes bad. Not every Jedi can afford to take the time to head out to Ilum or another world that has naturally-occurring kyber deposits, and so the Jedi Temple steps in to keep its members active and armed. And right here, there it is: A small green crystal, a faintly-glowing octahedron already slotted into a focusing rack, just waiting for the whole lightsaber construction to come together.
Looks like she isn't the only one who misplaced her weapon.
Tamri notices Ahsoka's gaze. "It's, ah…my own replacement," she mumbles. "I lost mine."
"What happened?" says Ahsoka.
"Just bad luck. I did something stupid. It's in the past."
"You were happy to listen to me. I'm happy to do the same."
Tamri frets, but she relents. If anything, her story is even wilder than Ahsoka's. A frenzied romp through Separatist territory and a winding course across worlds from Jedi and Sith legend. Fantastical stuff. Then she gets to Ziost, and Ahsoka's heart skips a beat. Oh. So it was Tamri's assignment that brought Ziost to the Jedi Order's attention. It was Tamri's findings that resulted in Ahsoka and the attack fleet battling Grievous above the frosty world. And, from a certain point of view, it was everything that began with Tamri finding an old information trove on Korriban that would end with Grievous nearly slicing Ahsoka in two.
Tamri looks away as she sees Ahsoka gazing off into dead space. "I'm sorry. I probably went on into too much detail."
"No. No, it's fine," Ahsoka says quietly. It's not her fault. Obviously. But it's funny how such disparate paths come together so calamitously. Jedi on their individual quests, with their paths intersecting in such momentous ways. It's a small galaxy. "I'm sorry about your master. I'm sure she'll turn up eventually."
"Yeah. I guess. I dunno."
"Cheer up. Believe in it," Ahsoka says. "It's all we can do. For now, just…work on that lightsaber, hey? Gotta start somewhere. Look, if I'm still kicking, you'll be fine."
Tamri smiles sadly. "That's easy to say."
"So go out and do it, then. Try this: Go to the dojo. That's what I did. Or what my master made me do," says Ahsoka. "Work up a sweat. Fight something. If you just sit around in here, it'll get you down."
"I'll try."
"Do more than try."
"Okay, I will. Got it."
Ahsoka smiles for Tamri's sake, but she can feel it: Her friend's heart isn't in it. Her ordeal and the follow-up blow with the disappearance of her master have drained all the energy out of her. The pain compounds; the hits multiply. This war is tearing them all apart.
Normally, Padme could expect some rest and relaxation after coming back from a high-intensity diplomatic call like Dantooine. At least a day or two. But Chancellor Palpatine's disappearance and the resulting political turmoil have thrown all the old norms into the trash. This is the new world, the Republic in transition—unless Palpatine miraculously shows up on the Senate's doorstep soon. Padme expects that Count Dooku will renounce the Dark Side and rejoin the Jedi Order before that happens.
And so, right after returning, she finds herself in another frustrating meeting with the usual suspects in Mon Mothma's secure office in the Senate Executive Building. No time to play. Well, not outside of what she and Anakin got up to in the journey home through hyperspace, at least.
At least her journey to Dantooine is paying dividends. With the message trove R2 recorded from the secure terminal in the ministerial manor, Padme has a whole archive full of messages detailing Governor Matele, Senator Sandral, Orson Krennic, and various Republic divisions all in cahoots in order to move resources, credits, and warships—none of it with the Senate's authority. And for a few senators, at least, it's convincing evidence to bring them around. "This is absurd," the dark-haired, bearded man who sits opposite of Mon Mothma scoffs as he reviews the files. "Dantooine may as well be in Wild Space with behavior like this. And elements of the Republic military are happy to go along with it? Insanity."
Padme lets herself feel a glimmer of hope. Senator Garm Bel Iblis of Corellia is no easy sell. When the war first broke out, he declared an emergency measure for his home sector that allowed Corellian space military neutrality for the duration of the conflict; it also allowed him recusal from senatorial duties. Yet in recent months he returned to the Senate, dismayed by the Separatists' offensives that draw nearer and nearer towards the heart of the Republic. He is a brash man, a bold speaker, and one who carries immense influence. Apart from merely representing Corellia—one of the Republic's most important worlds—Bel Iblis also sits upon the Senate's Security Council, the committee responsible for advising the Supreme Chancellor on military affairs. It's a recent nomination—a condition for his return to the Senate and Corellian space's return to active military contribution—and Bel Iblis has made that influence count.
Yet the Dantooine messages enough will not win him over to Padme and Halle Burtoni's anti-Amedda cause. "Look, this is damning stuff for Dantooine, and some elements of the military, too. Judicial Forces, some of the Rim fleets," Bel Iblis says as he sets the datapad containing the Dantooine files down. "Let me get this straight, however: Based on this, you're considering a motion of no confidence in the Vice Chair? Rather minor escalation, huh?"
"Tarkin's mentioned in these files, Garm," Bail Organa says. "And he was certainly defensive of Krennic when I tried speaking to the director earlier. He's protecting the man. He knows what's going on, and he's happy to circumvent Senate procedure. And who promoted Tarkin to his lofty new title? Amedda. You're going to tell me they aren't all connected?"
"I'm telling you that snow's more likely to fall on Sullust before you get Amedda kicked out. Not before Palpatine either returns or is declared dead," Bel Iblis says. "We're not too far off the same page, Organa, but you've always been too big-picture. Did you even consider that the prospect of having no Supreme Chancellor and no Vice Chair isn't likely to sit well with most people?"
Halle Burtoni leans in, looking predatory. Padme still cannot stand the Kaminoan senator—working with her in this scheme against Amedda has not lightened that distaste—but the woman is useful. She knows her plots. Even if she'll almost certainly be plotting against Padme the moment they pull this off and oust Amedda, if they're successful. "That's why I didn't leave that sort of thing to Bail," Burtoni says. "Mon and I have been working to bring other senators around while Padme was gallivanting off to Dantooine and Bail was buddying up to the Jedi."
"Like who?" says Bel Iblis.
"Kuat's own Giddean Danu, who just so happens to chair the Ethics Committee, and just would so happen to, as a result of his position, helm the group that ensures a stable no confidence motion," says Burtoni with a smile.
Bel Iblis rubs his chin. "Hm. Sly bit of a work there."
"There's more," says Bail. "I've spoken to the Jedi—mostly Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, who sits on the Jedi Council—about this leadership crisis. The Jedi are prepared to step in and ensure stability in the Senate for any leadership vote, if needed."
"All we need is a simple majority, Senator," says Padme. "If the Jedi are willing to oversee things, we have a strong backer. Two days from now we pass the six-week mark since Palpatine's disappearance. Amedda will certainly try and have himself voted as Chancellor Pro Tempore in order to name a new Supreme Chancellor. All he needs is a simple majority, as well, and he knows people want to resolve this crisis. But if we present a different option, a better option, a more democratic option…"
Bel Iblis sighs. "All right, all right, Senator Amidala. You've made your point. And I'm not in favor of anyone, Amedda included, unilaterally declaring who the Supreme Chancellor will be. Fine. You have my vote. And I'll swing who I can."
"That's all we ask, Garm," says Mon Mothma.
"Hope so. You all had better not put my name up for Supreme Chancellor," Bel Iblis scoffs as he rises to leave.
Once he has departed, Padme lets out a long, slow breath. "That's a big one. Good work, everyone."
"We need to get this over and done with. We need a new Supreme Chancellor," says Bail.
"We haven't even talked about who we'd nominate for that."
Burtoni laughs. "Oh, I'm sure we're going to have a nice fight over that one once Amedda kisses his political career good-bye."
"If we're having a nice long fight, we're not going to have a leader in the meantime," Padme says, scowling at the Kaminoan. "I don't agree with you much, Halle, but we need a compromise candidate. We're not all going to get what we want here. None of us will, actually."
"Then let the Jedi handle things while we argue. This is democracy, Padme, it's messy," says Burtoni. "If Bail's right and the Jedi are happy to oversee procedure and keep us on track while we figure out who'll succeed Palpatine, then let them. Better a transition period than choosing someone completely unqualified. I'm not voting you to lead the Senate."
"I didn't volunteer, thank you very much."
"Please, both of you," says Mon Mothma, holding up her hand. "One fight at a time. We're close on the numbers. We can get a majority rallied against Amedda. Leave the fight for the next Supreme Chancellor until we're through with this one. Padme, Halle has a point: The Jedi are not going to disturb matters. They want stability as much as we do. They're defenders of democracy, not change agents. We should take the necessary time to select the right person to become Supreme Chancellor, rather than make a hasty decision."
She certainly has a point, Padme admits. But the longer this draws out, the more time there is for unnecessary complications to gunk up the works. Every day the Separatist navies creep closer. Every day more howling voices on the Holonet rally behind the Commission for the Preservation of the Republic and laud Tarkin's march up the Rimma Trade Route. Every day the Republic seems a step closer towards falling apart. Palpatine picked perhaps the worst time to go missing. Everything is coming to a head. The crisis is spilling over into every vacant gutter. Military, political, social. She wants to take the time to do this right. But time is the one thing that none of them have.