A/N: Thank you to Pulsar for the very kind review (and to everyone following along)! Ahsoka was definitely a hard one to fit in the grand scheme of the plot at first when I started out (particularly in regards to avoiding having Anakin overshadow her), but she's got quite a journey ahead of her. And fear not about Dooku and Anakin; their paths are rapidly converging…

They are at it again outside.

Anakin leans against the bronzium statue of Shiraya, Naboo's moon goddess, that watches over the veranda at Padme's senatorial apartment. Home. So peaceful here usually, even with the hustle and bustle of Coruscant thrumming and churning in the skies outside, thousands and thousands of airspeeders and skycars zipping past all of these gleaming steel towers. The familiar heartbeat of urban life, the lub-dub vitality uniting so many people here on the ecumenopolis at the center of the galaxy. Today, however, early-morning peace and the calming glow of orange-pink sunrise has been sundered by the squawking and yammering of a protest in the skies not two blocks away.

It's over a hundred airspeeders, as far as Anakin is willing to count, all clustered around a few barges where public speakers bellow through bullhorns loud enough for every senator with an apartment in the building to hear. The timing is no coincidence: Today, as Padme stressed about all last night despite Anakin's every attempt to ease her worries—he even made dinner (the bulk of it was catering, to be fair; mostly he put it all on plates and poured the wine)—marks six weeks since Chancellor Palpatine first failed to show up to the Senate. Six weeks for leadership of the Republic itself. Today Padme and her gang of senators intend to yank the mantle of power away from Amedda and his coalition and seat a new chancellor. The prospect unnerves Anakin. He still wants to believe, however unlikely it may be, that his mentor will return. That Palpatine will show up in the halls of power and bring order back to the Republic's government. But he is a not a boy with fantastical dreams anymore, and the devastation wrought by the Clone Wars has taught him how darkness can strike anywhere. Even, perhaps, at the Supreme Chancellor himself. Even at a man as strong and as noble as Palpatine.

If these protestors have their way, however, it will not be Padme's faction that wins. If he hadn't heard them announcing it at a hundred decibels already, Anakin would still recognize them: The Commission for the Preservation of the Republic, COMPOR. If he didn't know Padme—and especially if he didn't love her—maybe he would agree with the way they support Grand Admiral Tarkin and centralized leadership, how they shout out the military's accomplishments and deride the Senate for its sluggishness and indecisiveness. But he is not one of them, and he most certainly cannot look away from how they besmirch the very name of the Jedi Order.

"…so that one need look no further than the Jedi and their so-called leadership," a speaker on one of the barges bellows over the assembly's chanting and hollering. "Failure after failure! System after system falling to the Separatists! They preach patience and caution, and three years later, what has that gained us? Nothing! We have only lost with the Jedi throwing our brave soldiers and shipmen into the teeth of the enemy, sacrificing men and women by the thousands while they sit and watch from the highest seats in their temple! Where are they spilling blood with our courageous citizens? Where are they when the droid armies raze our worlds and turn verdant lands into glass? These unaccountable, arrogant warrior monks who dare call themselves the protectors of the Republic—where are they?"

Anakin growls. We're right where you think we're not, he thinks. On the front lines, bleeding with the troops. Getting blown up in warships. Fighting and dying and giving everything. But that doesn't make for a good narrative. Maybe he could overlook their slurs if they were peaceniks seeking an end to the fighting, but if they had their way, they'd have the Republic turning every Separatist planet into the same slag they claim is a war crime.

"Are they still at it?" Padme groans as she steps out onto the veranda, her eyes half-closed with lingering sleep, exhaustion pulling at the corners of her mouth. "It's been over an hour."

Anakin slaps the air and turns away. "I don't think their lungs are giving out anytime soon. Wakamuncha sleemos," he grumbles.

"Don't let them work you up. At least not enough that you start cursing in Huttese," Padme says.

"What am I supposed to do? They don't shut up, and they're bald-faced lying about half the crap they go on about. They don't have a clue about the war. They get all their notes from sleezy Holonet gossip. They're like Podracing fans. They just want to see some blood and explosions and get whoever will offer more into power."

Padme frowns. "That's not…exactly it…but it's not all that farfetched. They're far better organized than that, and they have credits to spare. I know they have the ears of several senators," she says, pressing a hand to her forehead and sighing. "You're not wrong about wanting more blood, though. They're calling anyone who even mentions re-starting the peace talks a traitor."

"Doesn't help that the news is just egging them on," Anakin growls. He waves his hand and the holographic news display at the left end of the veranda shimmers to life.

Another victory and another defeat. "The capitulation of Vondarc's planetary authorities to Grand Admiral Tarkin's armada yesterday has military experts predicting that he will secure full control of the Rimma Trade Route in no more than two months' time, knocking out vital Separatist strongholds such as Sullust and Sluis Van," the newscaster, a pretty Twi'lek woman, says. "It's welcome news in light of the recent defeat of Republic armies defending besieged Jalindi, led by Jedi Master Tholme. Two days ago, Separatist forces commanded by the notorious General Grievous joined the Confederacy's six-month-long assault on the world and forced the Republic defenders' retreat. With Jalindi's fall, experts fear that the Separatists' advance down the Hydian Way could soon endanger worlds from Corsin all the way to Arkania, potentially—"

"I can't listen to this tripe," Anakin says, turning away. "Ridiculous. Can't even be bothered to mention that Vondarc's whole garrison evacuated ahead of time. Yeah, that's exactly the same thing as facing Grievous and two whole Separatist flotillas."

Padme touches his arm. "Shh. Relax," she says. "The more you listen to this stuff, the angrier you'll get. Go to the Temple. Go see Ahsoka or Obi-Wan; take your mind off of things. We're making a change in the Senate, starting today. We'll get the process going. It's been hard since Chancellor Palpatine's disappearance—before that, really—but it's going to change. We'll get a new leader. Someone who can unite us and start us down the path to ending this war."

Anakin closes his eyes. He can feel the tremors in the Force, the shaking, the instability, like an earthquake rattling his feelings and warning him of a great, land-sheering cataclysm to come. He sees nothing; he has no premonition, but his feelings warn him that they are far from digging themselves out of danger. If anything, they're only diving into darker depths.

He hopes Padme is right. He hopes her plan with the other senators works. But he looks out to the Coruscant cityscape and hears the COMPOR protestors chanting—and he has a bad, bad feeling about this.

"The unfortunate reality, Padawan, is that we do not know what happened to Sae Tristess. We do not know if she is alive or dead, if she is near or far. We do not know what she was thinking when she flew out of the hanger and left for parts unknown. We can only speculate. And speculation makes for a poor master."

Tamri lowers her head at Ki-Adi-Mundi's words. Back in the Jedi Council Chamber. Back listening to the words of Jedi so much stronger than she is, who know the Force better than she ever will. She has had time to sleep on the reality that Sae is missing. Gone, dead, captured, whatever. In the vacuum of Sae's disappearance does Tamri's destiny stall out and twirl in uncertainty; no action, no reaction. She has no one, then. No one to take her under their wing and lead her into the dark places of the galaxy. No one who could champion her right to belong as a Jedi, as someone who might one day call themselves a Jedi Knight. Tamri is not deluded; she has always known her chances at passing the Trials of Knighthood were slim. Heck, her chances of being chosen as a Padawan were slim. But she has made it this far. To see it come crashing to a halt after all it took to survive from Belderone to Telos…well, she will not cry here. Later.

"I understand, Master," she murmurs, her eyes tracing her feet. Nothing more to do but wait for the drop. Will they stash her away here in the Temple? Send her off on light-work assignments far from the matters of real importance? A wayward Padawan has no place on the war's front line, after all, and it wasn't as if she and Sae were often in the thick of battle beforehand, regardless. The thought of returning to slumming about Nar Shaddaa and other galactic cesspools suddenly seems so dim after visiting the likes of Ossus and Korriban. She never had much ambition, but now…now she wants to see more.

But now it might be too late for that.

Master Plo Koon leans forward in his seat. "Do not look so down, Padawan," he says. "Your feelings betray you. You are worried about what will happen to you in your master's absence."

"Yes, Master. I am."

"Fear not. Know that the Force will always be with you, no matter who you walk beside or where you tread. And know that the Jedi will never abandon one of their own."

Tamri tries to smile. Fails. But if nothing else, she can see why Ahsoka likes weathered old Plo Koon. He has a harsh appearance and the sinewy muscle of a battle-hardened warrior, but there's a compassion to his words, a softness alight on his tongue. It doesn't make her feel any better, no, but she's seen enough of the galaxy's darkness to know that there isn't enough kindness in all that space between the stars. When you find it, cherish it.

Mace Windu speaks next. "That being said, the Council has decided on your fate, Padawan," he says. "At least until we have confirmation on Sae's whereabouts."

Tamri nods. Get on with it.

Glances are exchanged. Unsaid words darting between the Jedi Masters like birds on silent flights. Futures and pasts mingle in the quivering quiet. Then Master Kenobi, his face serious beyond question, says, "I will have you."

Tamri's heart performs a backflip in her chest. Her words fail her, then come back online with her voice sputtering and sparking: "W—what?"

"Not as my Padawan," says Obi-Wan, "and not forever. But I have known Sae a long time, and you and I have spoken enough to become familiar with each other over the years. Until Sae returns and you reunite with her, I will take you under my guidance."

"The truth, Padawan," says Master Windu before Tamri can muster a response, "is that we're losing Jedi too quickly. Casualties mount with each major battle. We've been promoting Padawans to Knighthood younger and younger as veteran Knights fall in the line of duty. We can't afford to keep capable Jedi safely squirreled away as we might have during past crises. This war is too great, too all-encompassing for that. And you proved on your assignment, and beyond it, that you are capable."

Tamri moves her mouth, but the words are stuck in her throat. She wants to sound confident—the capable that Master Windu believes in—but when she speaks, it is with anything but strength. "I…I'm not that strong in the Force," she stammers, falling back on that old weight on her back. "I don't know—"

"Only one aspect of the Force, strength is," Master Yoda interjects before she can make more of a fool of herself. "Wisdom, there is. Insight, there is. Bravery, there is. Compassion, humility. Not strong, are you? Know this, do you? So sure, are you?"

"The Order needs each and every Jedi who can fight and survive, Tamri," says Master Plo. "You have proven you can handle both of those. Even if your confidence, or lack thereof, says otherwise. No matter if you think you are not strong in the Force, the Force is still with you. Have faith in that. And know that you are far more than simple strength."

She nods, and this time, with sincerity. "Yes, Master. I'll try."

Master Yoda looks as if he will say something, but he only smiles. Try, will you? Or do?

"That is all for now," Obi-Wan finishes. "I'll see you downstairs after the meeting is over, Tamri."

While she waits for the Council to finish, Tamri idles in a meditation room, eyes closed, feelings reaching out. Show me something. Help me. They're placing way more faith in me than I deserve, and I don't know what to do. But the Force is silent. Her next move is hers and hers alone. There will be no Sae to tell her what to do.

It's terrifying. Exciting. Anxiety-spiking. Hopeful. She does not know what to feel.

When Obi-Wan meets her after the meeting, his face is calm, warm, welcoming. Despite what he said, Tamri does not feel as if she and Master Kenobi know each other too well. She heard his teachings as a youngling, certainly, and Sae's friendship—a liberal definition that, given Sae's general aloofness—with Obi-Wan meant that Tamri was around him enough when they were all in the Temple for any extended time. But he is a Jedi Master, a Council member, more than twenty years her senior. His Padawan was Anakin Skywalker of all people. What is she in comparison?

But if going from mentoring one of the strongest Jedi in the Order to her bothers him, he does not show it. "My apologies for how long that took," he says. "The Council is discussing sending a task force to assist with the assault on Sullust, and I ran into Anakin after that. Both conversations took more time than I wanted."

What is she even supposed to say? Master Kenobi speaks about the highest echelons of the Jedi Order so casually. "Master Skywalker?"

Obi-Wan grins. "Don't let him hear formalities like that. He's not a Master just yet. Even if he thinks he is."

"I…see," says Tamri, kneading her hands and looking past Obi-Wan. She does not know what to do with anything—her gaze, her hands, her thoughts, her feelings. "Am I…to accompany you, then, Master?"

"First off, relax," says Obi-Wan, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You went through quite a lot, I know. But the Council recognizes that. I recognize that. You should have more faith in your abilities. You're not Anakin or Master Yoda, no, but not every Jedi needs to be. Not every Jedi should be. We all have our place within the Force."

"I know. I think. Sort of."

He pauses. "Secondly—no. I won't be bringing you with me."

Her chest aches. "No?"

"When the Council says you went through a trial, they meant it. Everything in your story, the obstacles you and Sae contended with—combat against battle droids, multiple clashes with Count Dooku himself, divining a path through Jedi and Sith arcana and finding the Celestial on Ziost throughout it all, and then surviving on your own on Telos while in the grasp of the Taths, who I know very well from experience are not to be trifled with—we've promoted Padawans to Knighthood for less. Jedi Knights have to be able to handle themselves no matter the situation, and you certainly did that," he says, his grin fading. "But it's only been four years since you were promoted to Padawan. We can't go promoting you that quickly. You need more of a track record, more established success. But don't let your lack of strength in the Force bring you down. You've shown more than enough resolve and willpower to make me believe in your potential."

Heat rushes across Tamri's face, and she looks away. Tears prick her eyes. Stupid feelings. "Thank you," she whispers.

"That does not mean," Obi-Wan continues, "that you get to go on leave."

"What would you have me do?"

He takes a breath and appraises her. "This information from Telos about the Taths, about their breeding and genetics programs regarding Killiks…it's not exactly easing the Council's worries in a time of war. Those Arkanians have given us enough problems, what with Taris falling and Anakin's findings on Dantooine."

"Dantooine?"

"Long story, I'll send you his report later. Suffice to say, the Taths are a genuine concern, but we lack information on them. Good, hard information. You say that a human replica droid formerly under their control claims Hosha Tath is a part of this GenoHaradan, this ancient guild, but we have nothing to go on. We need evidence. We need more," Obi-Wan says.

"So…"

"So you also reported that the droid had record of another Tath installation on Concordia, Mandalore's moon. I'm going to have you go there and investigate it. Instead of tagging along with me, you'll report to me remotely. You've braved the Taths once. You can do it again."

Tamri nods. "Is there…some other Jedi coming with me? Just me?"

"You said you had others who helped you escape Telos. With a ship, to boot."

"Yes, but we didn't really come to an agreement about what would happen once we got to Coruscant. We didn't even agree on who got the ship."

"Are they still on Coruscant?"

"Yes. I think."

"Try to change their minds. If all else fails, the Order keeps a generous sum of credits on hand to pay for the unsavory types," Obi-Wan says. "I've had enough dealings with that sort of people. So did Sae."

They're not that bad, Tamri thinks. She can see Kesh agreeing to come along; the Selkath seemed uncertain of what the future held after escaping the Taths. Avea perhaps; she was bound and determined to find her nephew, and Concordia was the only lead after Telos. But Dominion was not just a droid; he had all the individuality of a sapient being locked away behind that lifelike face. She has the feeling he will only agree if she makes it worth his while, and unlike with an astromech or a protocol drid, she has no chance of just dragging him along for the ride. "I'll try."

"Apart from them, I have someone else who might help you. Two people, now that I think of it, but only one here on Coruscant right now," says Obi-Wan. "If you're going into Mandalorian space, he'll help quite a bit."

"Er—who?"

He smiles. "The Senate's in session for a major vote right now, so I know he shouldn't be too busy. Come and meet him."

"Now?"

Obi-Wan shrugs. "Are you busy?"

"No."

"Then why not now? I can't say he'll necessarily like you or want to work with the Jedi after what happened on Mandalore, but it's worth a try. Now come."

This, Obi-Wan thinks, perhaps was not the best of ideas.

"You want me to what?" spouts Korkie in the dirty but wondrous-smelling diner. "Mandalore is still under Separatist occupation, and you want me to go to Concordia?"

He had a feeling this wasn't going to go over well with the boy. Obi-Wan's hope was that the Senate would've passed some sort of resolution by now allotting assistance of some sort—a task group, aid to Bo-Katan and her Mandalorian loyalists, something—to drive the Separatists back from Mandalorian space. Given the Senate's complete ineptitude since Chancellor Palpatine's disappearance and the Republic Navy charging off to battle on the whims of Grand Admiral Tarkin, however, Mandalore's fate has long since been forgotten. He hasn't so much as seen a peep of the planet's struggle on the Holonet in the past three weeks. So much for what he told Korkie while escaping Sundari. "You know Mandalorian space well. It's your home," Obi-Wan starts.

"Of course it's my home! My home that the Senate conveniently forgot all about while they were busy self-destructing," Korkie spits. "I spoke before them. I talked with all those senators. Everyone claimed they would help. Did they? No. Nothing for Mandalore. Not even a single credit in aid. So I'm a little skeptical about how waltzing off to Concordia is going to help after you convinced me to come here, Master Kenobi."

An awkward silence. Next to Obi-Wan, Tamri's eyes flicker back and forth between him and Korkie. Plates of untouched food steam on the table between them.

"Ahhh, Obi-Wan, you want another?" the diner's Besalisk owner and head chef, Dexter Jettster, says as he walks past the table in the cramped aisle. Just three years ago, Dex told Obi-Wan his first hint of Kamino, the world that wasn't even listed in the Jedi Archives. Now Kamino is at the center of the war, and Dex is still tending to Dex's Diner. Glossy red seats. Checkerboard floors. Savory smells of home-style food. Odd splotches on the walls that could be anything from spilled booze to the results of a barfight. "It's on the house, my friend!"

Obi-Wan smiles and waves him off. "No, thank you, Dex."

"Maybe a cup of Jawa Juice? Good for the soul, that stuff."

"We've got some business. I'll catch up with you later, talk all about the good old days," Obi-Wan says. He's grateful as Dex nods and wanders off to tend to other patrons; the last thing that will ease Korkie's nerves is Dex going on about his prospecting years out past the Rishi Maze.

For the first time since they sat down, Tamri speaks up: "We're, er, not really going to Concordia for Mandalore."

Korkie looks annoyed. "Who're you, again?"

"She's Tamri Dallin, a Padawan learner," says Obi-Wan.

"Another Jedi. Great. What exactly is so thrilling on Concordia, besides probably harboring the last Death Watch holdouts?"

"There's a, well, you should probably explain it," Obi-Wan says, looking to Tamri.

The girl hesitates. She really needs more self-confidence, Obi-Wan thinks. Funny: Anakin always had the exact opposite problem. That boy had confidence in spades, too much of it most of the time. Reckless, rash. Rushing into battle. Charging forward even as Obi-Wan told him not to, only to need a rescue. In later years he'd do the rescuing. He's certainly not shy to tell Obi-Wan that these days (and how many times has it been, now? Nine times? Ten? He's lost count. Which time was the gundarks?) Tamri, on the other hand, seems cautious around her own shadow, even after surviving two encounters with Count Dooku, a trip to Korriban of all places, and captivity in a Tath research lab on a Separatist planet. Insanity. But that is how it goes. Obi-Wan spent all those years tempering his patience in light of Anakin's fearlessness; it is a wholly different sort of approach he needs to learn now.

What in the blazes was Sae doing with the girl?

"On Concordia, there's—supposedly—a research facility," Tamri tells Korkie.

He looks nonplussed. "I sincerely hope you aren't telling me to come along on a school trip to a laboratory."

"They might be making an army there. Or worse. I don't know the details yet," Tamri says. Obi-Wan groans inwardly. She could at least try to sell the idea to him. "It's a threat to the Republic, though."

"You don't know the details, but it's a threat to the Republic? Yeah, I'm on board with this."

"Look, I spent days locked up in another lab of theirs. I got poked, prodded, paralyzed with drugs, who knows what else when I wasn't conscious," Tamri blurts out in the face of Korkie's disbelief. "They even said they were drawing my blood—Jedi blood, for whatever good that is—to help with these sick experiments of theirs. It's not just the possibilities. The people running these labs are monsters. If you're from Mandalore like Master Kenobi said, then you shouldn't want them anywhere near your home, let alone on the moon. If they want something on your planet, they'll take it. So no, it's not just a threat to the Republic. If they are creating an army there, where do you think they'll test it first? Right in a big battle? Or on Mandalore and the Mandalorian people, who wanted neutrality forever in the war and now are at the Separatists' whims?"

Well now. Where has that been? Turns out the girl does have at least some fire, even if it took Korkie's scoffing disbelief to spark it. Maybe pairing them together will do her some good. "It's the truth, Korkie," Obi-Wan adds. "The people behind these labs—Arkanian nobles called the Taths—are far more dangerous than mere scientists. They're well-connected, obscenely wealthy, and powerful enough that they were able to give Taris up to the Separatists without a fight. Mandalore is one world. It is in danger."

"You don't have to tell me that. How many battle droids are crawling all over it?" Korkie mutters. "Aunt Satine died in vain, Master Kenobi. She wanted peace and neutrality. Now we have neither of those things."

That's a low blow. He grimaces. He told Korkie about the year he spent around Satine while he was a Padawan with Master Qui-Gon—not too much detail, obviously, but enough to fill in a few gaps and inform the boy why he cared for his aunt. No, not cared. Cares. That feeling will never go away. That hole that Maul opened will never be filled in. "Korkie, I know what you're feeling," he says.

"No, you don't."

"I do. I brought you to Coruscant, took you from Mandalore, on the promise that the Senate would provide aid. They failed. I failed," Obi-Wan says. "But it is not too late for Mandalore. If the Senate cannot act based on your testimony, then there is still more you can do for your people. The Senate is still in turmoil, and I have no idea how long that will last. The Republic is fighting against itself in light of the Supreme Chancellor's disappearance. But you won't win anything if you go back to Mandalore alone. You'll still be facing all those battle droids, and Bo-Katan's resistance hasn't pushed them back an inch. But go with Tamri, learn what's on Concordia, and maybe you find something that can aid Mandalore. You still have a destiny, son. Don't let your frustration cloud that. Your aunt would want you to keep fighting."

"You don't—" Korkie starts to shout, but he thinks better of it and scowls. "Fine. Fine. Let's say I do agree to help. Let's say there's something on Concordia that can help Mandalore. It's still Separatist space now. How do we even get to Concordia without getting shot down the moment we jump in-system?"

"I'd actually like to know that, too," says Tamri.

Here we go. Obi-Wan has no idea how to explain this. He does know how to get through a measly defense fleet—he knows just who has a whole wealth of experience with the Separatists, who can penetrate their networks and signals with ease. Better yet, that person is a woman for hire now, given that she no longer works for Count Dooku. And she did give Obi-Wan her personal transponder frequency back on Tatooine in case he needed to call on her. This certainly qualifies. But where to begin?

"Well, I'd say she's an old friend," Obi-Wan says, "but she's more of an old enemy. Much more."

"The chair recognizes the senator from the sovereign system of Naboo."

Here she is again, thirteen years later. Then she was a queen calling for Supreme Chancellor Valorum's head. Now she is a senator, a member of this august hall—and Padme is mere minutes away from throwing down the gauntlet once more.

Floating, insect-like cameras from Holonet news outlets circle Padme as her repulsorpod floats out into the vacuous cavern within the Senate's Grand Convocation Chamber. The eyes of a thousand senators and the whole galaxy on her now. Of course it was Halle Burtoni who suggested she be the one to call for the motion of no confidence in Vice Chair Amedda—"You're the one with experience," the wily Kaminoan had snarked. Of course Bail and Mon Mothma had enthusiastically agreed. Of course Anakin had told her that it was "only right." Now she has the weight of their expectations her shoulders as well, right alongside the expectations of the galaxy itself.

Amedda surely knew this day was coming. He knows the rules and bylaws as well as anyone; he's been Vice Chair since Valorum's time, after all. What surprises Padme is his inaction. As soon as today's session opened, he immediately recognized her, knowing full well what bloc she aligned with. He didn't so much as try to stave off his unseating. Did he try? Did he attempt to put a bloc together and fail? Or does he have something else up his sleeve? Well, if the latter, no matter. Mon Mothma and Burtoni both claimed they have a simple majority's worth of votes. One vote, and Amedda is gone. A new Vice Chair, and from there, a new Supreme Chancellor. Stability returns to the Senate, to the Republic's leadership, to the very course of war and peace. It all starts with a vote. It all starts today.

It all starts with her.

"Representatives of the Senate," she begins. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Burtoni in her senatorial box looking on, beady black eyes gleaming. One vote and we're back to being rivals, Burtoni. You can count on that. "Today we find ourselves in crisis. A crisis of the heart, a crisis of leadership. A crisis that began here six weeks ago with the disappearance of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, a crisis that has left us leaderless and directionless during the Republic's darkest hour. We have left this uncertainty unattended for too long."

She pauses to wet her tongue. Steady. There is no need to rush. Amedda isn't going anywhere. In fact, there he is atop the Supreme Chancellor's booth, looking on with the most serene face imaginable for a man about to lose his job. "In these six confusing weeks, Vice Chair Mas Amedda, a longtime contributor to the Senate ever since the term of Finis Valorum, has led this body. In those six weeks, he has failed to so much as propose a vote for a new Supreme Chancellor. He has provided no direction and no guidance for the highest legislative assembly in the galaxy. He has left a vacuum at the highest position of the Republic, offering the citizens of the galaxy only niblings of hope that Chancellor Palpatine might return. And nature abhors a vacuum. Six weeks later, we cannot cling to mere hope. We must face facts. We must embrace reality and chose the path of resolution. We must see that Vice Chair Amedda has failed in his duty, failed all of us, every member world and every citizen of the Republic! He has failed to provide us a new leader to see us through this war, and it is just that leader we need now! We need a new Supreme Chancellor. And if our Vice Chair cannot provide us a path to that end, then it is his guidance we must call into question!"

The holocams flash. Amedda has not so much as flinched. She expected something by now—a flicker of disappointment, anxiety, fear, anything. Why isn't he reacting? "In order to end this interregnum, in order to put us on the path to peace and an end to this war that has devastated so many, in order to serve a galaxy led by a Supreme Chancellor once more, drastic action, bold action, is needed," says Padme, "I motion for a vote of no confidence in Vice Chair Mas Amedda."

Cheers. Applause. All the usual suspects—Burtoni, Mothma, Bail, Riyo Chuchi. But as Padme stands resolute, the cameras fixed on her, the hairs on the back of her neck stand up at attention. There are so many stony faces staring up from the lower seats of the Grand Convocation Chamber. Down there sit many of the senators from the Rim worlds, senators like her. And none of them are applauding.

Amedda does not so much as blink. "Order," he calls. His voice is unchanged; his tone without fear, without shock. Padme's skin prickles. "Order. Your motion is understood and approved, Senator Amidala, for the Senate's next session three days from now. On to our next speaker."

Padme backs her repulsorpod away, her head spinning. Already her speech is forgotten. Amedda knew, didn't he? He knew exactly what she was going to do and let her do it. Why? It's his job on the line. Why not even fight? No way is he accepting it. So what? What next?

"The chair," Amedda thunders, "recognizes the senator from the united system of Malastare."

Padme's heart sinks. The Gran senator whose repulsorlift now advances, Ask Aak, has been a dedicated supporter of military action ever since the war began. He is a vocal opponent of the peace faction, hard-nosed, stubborn—and charismatic. The Gran can give a good speech and rally a crowd. Padme and the others didn't even bother trying to court his vote, and now she has a feeling—a very bad feeling—that he and Mas Amedda are on the same page.

"Representatives of the Senate! Citizens of the Republic! Free peoples from the Core to Wild Space!" Aak booms as his repulsorpod stops before Amedda, holocams flashing all around him. "I come before you today to ask you a question: What is peace worth?"

Silence in the Grand Convocation Chamber. Aak looks pleased. "Is it worth so little as to be debated in this chamber? Is it worth mere discussion?" he announces. "Is peace worth only what the Galactic Senate can dictate? What is peace, if worth so little? Is it merely a contract between the Republic and the Separatist Alliance, two congresses signing a treaty to dictate life and death? Is that all?"

He looks about and raises his finger. "No!" he shouts. "'No,' says Jalindi, conquered just yesterday after another failure by the Jedi Order to protect a free world full of free people. 'No,' says Mandalore, formerly neutral and home to billions who know the price of war better than most, billions now suffering under the crimes of the droid armies. 'No,' shouts Thyferra, so long under Separatist occupation, now free! Free, free—do you all in this chamber still know what that means? How long have you taken that freedom for granted here among the Core Worlds, where safety is just another word?" He leers at the senatorial seats near the top of the chamber, where many of the Core Worlds senators—Bail Organa for Alderaan, Mon Mothma for Chandrila, Kuat, Alsakan, Corellia, others—sit. "Well, I assure you that on Malastare and on a thousand other worlds of the Outer Rim, where a Separatist assault is only one bad day away, we have not forgotten what security means! We have not forgotten that it is only security that affords peace! And we have not forgotten that it is might—and might alone!—that buys security for the free peoples of the galaxy!"

Whoops and cheers from the lower seats. Padme's heart races. "You, Senator Amidala," Ask Aak says, jabbing his finger at her, "you speak of bylaws and legalities and formalities. How did your procedures defend the people of Jalindi? What good were your procedures for the people of Mandalore?" He swings his fist as if knocking out an unseen enemy right before his pod. "And was it your procedures that liberated Thyferra? No! No, it was our military! It was our brave soldiers and shipmen that have fought our battles, that have won us our security! It is because of them that we have time for such wasteful votes! It is because of them that we speak at all! It is our fleets and our armies, not the Senate, that threw General Grievous and his infernal hordes off of Thyferra and every other world liberated from the savage clutches of the Separatist Alliance!"

"You want a vote?" Aak thunders to the Senate and the galaxy. "Then let us vote! Let us vote not on procedures, not on names, not on such banalities, but on real action! On real might that will win us real security from Coruscant to the Rishi Maze!" He spreads his arms wide and the lower seats howl in approval. "I propose that we forgo these questions of peace talks and negotiations and half-measures against a Separatist foe so monstrous, so diabolical, that the only true solution for them is death! If it is the Supreme Chancellor's absence that is the problem, then I have an answer—the only answer that has worked! Until a new chancellor is duly nominated, elected, and named, I propose military authority be assigned over the Senate!"

There is no one in the galaxy, not even Palpatine himself, who could contain the raucous elation erupting from the members of the lower seats. Padme slumps back in her seat as Bail Organa races his repulsorpod down and speaks up: "Madness! Madness! Do you know what you're proposing? You motion for martial law!"

"Order!" booms Mas Amedda, silencing Bail's speaker with the press of a button. "We will not conduct any immediate vote on any motion proposed today. Alongside the next session's vote on the motion of no confidence, we shall vote too on the senator from Malastare's military authority vote. That is final."

That's it, Padme thinks as she looks on. That was Amedda's plan. He wasn't going to contest them at all—he was going to bait them, content to share power with the same military leadership he elevated. All this time, she, Burtoni, Bail, Mon Mothma—they planned to go head-to-head against Amedda and his cronies in a vote for leadership. Little did they know just how little Amedda cared for democracy. And not just him—all those cheering representatives from the lower seats, Outer Rim worlds harassed by the Separatists since the war's start. Military authority must seem like everyday affairs for them with the specter of Confederate fleets looming large.

And who leads the military now after Amedda unilaterally created the position of Grand Admiral? Who was given credit for Thyferra's liberation, and who just conquered Vondarc, as she watched on the news with Anakin? Who does COMPOR hail as the Republic's champion?

This is a mistake, she thinks, watching Ask Aak wave to his fellow Outer Rim senators. A dire mistake. The kind of blow that can level their democracy for good, all in the name of security and strength. And, oh, how they love it.