A/N: Thank you to Pulsar and dbreezy93 for the reviews, and glad to hear you are enjoying it! As for Anakin, he's just getting started now that he knows the truth behind it all…

Day after day the same. Angry words and accusations thrown, yet progress comes to a standstill, political doldrums in which the Republic turns and turns on its axis. Worlds and war flash and writhe in the vast space beyond the Senate's notice; within these revered halls the falconer calls to the falcon but receives no reply. The worst of this millennia-old body bares its fangs and snarls over procedure and judicial authority and every last empty platitude known to man while the Republic is washed by a blood-dimmed tide. And at the middle of it, in the midst of this vacuous furor within this toothless old beast that is the Senate, Padme cannot help but think that this is exactly what they all deserve.

And somewhere, she knows, somewhere, some rough beast's hour is coming at last.

"…is an outrageous proposition," Senator Lott Dod of the Trade Federation—thank goodness they're still in the Senate, Padme thinks wryly—shouts during the latest do-nothing legislative session. "Proposing peace now that Sullust is falling? Grand Admiral Tarkin's victorious march up the Rimma Trade Route has proven that the Separatists have not won just yet. They have had their victories; so have we!"

"I agree," Malastare's Ask Aak bellows from his seat. "We are on the offensive. Now is the time for strength. Now is the time to follow up on our victories and continue to drive the Separatists back. If we halt, and push for peace now, we only expose our throats to the droid armies."

Padme shakes her head as she watches. No point to even get involved when she knows nothing will come of it. Senator Aak certainly has been busy speaking his mind lately: He was the driving force behind the motion that moved Tarkin and Mace Windu into their two spots on the Supreme Chancellor's podium, and the burly Gran senator has capitalized on that political win ever since. Not a session passes without him opening his mouth. If only Padme could glue it shut.

"Strength? What strength?" Bail Organa, still fighting against the tide, rails from Alderaan's seat. "The strength of a military regime? That's what we are, senators. A Jedi Master and a Grand Admiral lead us now. You call this democracy?"

"What do you call it? We all voted on it," Senator Aak retorts. "It's as much your responsibility as anyone's, Organa!"

"Then let us table these nonsense resolutions already!" Bail shouts back at the Gran. "Session after session, we move to begin the process of electing a new chancellor, and session after session we make no progress. This is absurd. Are we children, now? Can we not even see eye-to-eye on the need for basic leadership? We're not just at odds, senators. We're broken. All of us, broken."

"Senator Organa is right, and it's unbelievable that we must consider this problem at all," Windu grouses from the podium. "How long are we going to obstruct a process as simple as electing a new supreme chancellor? Let it go, senators. Put aside your objections for one matter, the simplest of matters, so that the army and the Jedi can let the Senate go back to popular rule. End this madness already."

Tarkin, who has remained seated during Organa and Aak's row, now rises and clears his throat. "Unfortunately, Master Jedi," he says, and Padme's frown grows into a scowl, "the courts have yet to finish their deliberation regarding whether a supreme chancellor can be nominated and elected prior to a new vice chair, in light of Senator Amidala's successful no-confidence motion of Vice Chair Amedda. Until the judges come to a decision, regrettably, nothing can be done. We are not an autocracy, after all; the democratic process is a winding road."

Padme drums her fingers on her repulsorpod's railing. Of course he points the finger at her. And not Tarkin, for he is simply the megaphone; she knows Amedda speaks through him. The former vice chair must be having a good laugh at his supposed fall from grace. Voted out of power, and he ends up with more power than ever.

Windu shakes his head as he turns from Tarkin. "Nothing can be done? Everything can be done! The war won't wait on the courts, Grand Admiral. Nor will the Republic. It doesn't take a damn verdict to decide on simply having an election. Forget getting anything done; we may as well disband the Senate if that's the case!"

"Mind your words, Jedi," Tarkin says, arching his back and raising his chin. As tall as Windu is, Tarkin still manages to look down at him. "I am well aware the Jedi Order may have their own way of handling things, but the Republic operates on popular rule. Power by the people. Of the people. Here we cannot simply wave our hands and demand things be done as you may do in the Jedi Temple. This is a body of laws. Of deliberation."

"I agree!" a senator from the lower seats shouts. "It was a mistake to bring the Jedi into the Senate! They are separate from the Republic, not part of it!"

"They are sworn to defend it!" Bail Organa shouts.

Tarkin pounds his fist into the podium. "Order!"

Padme chuckles sadly. No Bail, she thinks, this isn't military rule. Tarkin's not ruling. Windu's not ruling. Nobody's ruling. If anything, this is anarchy. No one is in charge. Blood is running in the streets and the police aren't coming. Everyone is grabbing whatever they can as quickly as they can before it all blows up. It's as if Chancellor Palpatine was the only thing holding the Senate together, and with him gone, the fault lines show, the glue dries up and falls away, and great chunks break free from the edifice. If the Separatists broke away even with Palpatine at the helm, then what will come loose next?

The after-session meeting is morose. It is just three of them today, Padme, Bail, and Mon Mothma in the latter's office. They go minutes without saying a word, the minutes passing by, afternoon into darkening evening, clouds veiling the setting sun and throwing a dim pallor over waning-day Coruscant. "This is a mockery," Bail murmurs as he stares out the window, his hands clasped behind his back. "A mockery of governance. A mockery of democracy. A mockery of the Republic as a whole. Chancellor Palpatine disappears and immediately we all set upon each other like animals. It's madness."

"It's the same Senate it's always been, Bail," Padme murmurs, resting her chin on her palm and gazing at a lone speck of dirt on the wall. "The Trade Federation still has a seat. The Commerce Guild has a seat, the Banking Clan…we haven't wanted to see it since we know what the alternative is, but we can't look away now. Without a strong leader to hold back all the corruption, it topped the dam and overflowed."

"You can say that again. It's clear that Amedda has the ear of Senator Aak and all the others who're blocking any vote on a new chancellor. If the only way he can hold onto power is to buy support, he'll do it. And while Tarkin might be a military man, he's manipulating the media and popular perception like a born politican. Master Windu and the Jedi are falling right into his trap; Tarkin's painting them as undemocratic and a threat to the Senate. The Jedi. A threat to the Senate. Of all things. Madness. And some people go along with it."

"Probably Amedda telling him to do so, more than him," Mothma murmurs. "I doubt Tarkin cares beyond his unrestricted control of the military. A new chancellor could take that power away from him. He benefits from this interregnum just as Amedda does."

Bail turns, frustration written in the lines creasing his forehead. "So what, then? We can't simply sit here and complain about it."

"Actually, that's not a bad idea," says Padme.

Mon Mothma raises her brow. "Padme?"

"We're getting nothing done as it is," Padme says. "We know who to blame. But so long as we show up as good little senators and keep following the rules as we know them, we're complicit. So why keep doing it? We're supposed to show up to senatorial sessions, sure, but what if we don't? There are media cams everywhere; they can look at the empty boxes for Naboo and Alderaan and Chandrila and note our absences. And maybe other senators follow suit. Heck, we can spread the word. Tell anyone fed up with Amedda and his meddling to skip the next session. Then the next one. Enough absences and we break quorum. They don't want to elect a new chancellor? Fine. Then they can get nothing done, and everyone will be able to see what's happening."

Mothma shakes her head. "Amedda and Aak and all of that faction will simply blame us."

"They already are. They're blaming the Jedi, of all people. We're long past the point of sanity."

Bail shrugs. "You know what? It's not a bad idea," he says. "I don't know if we're going to round up enough senators-turned-rebels and get enough to block a quorum, but at least it's some ambition. And it will send a message. We can't control if anyone's listening, but we can make ourselves heard. And maybe it elicits a reaction from Amedda, Tarkin, and all of them. Maybe they get angry. Make a mistake."

"Knowing Tarkin, he'll call it rebellion," Mothma sighs. "But maybe that's not such a bad thing. We need a few rebels now and then."

Padme smiles—a natural smile. The odds are against them by a grotesque degree—they are but three senators trying to kickstart a bootleg resistance movement—but it's something. Maybe they do nothing. Maybe they only embarrass themselves. Or maybe they convince enough others to join them, get the media's attention, even sway the Jedi to see things their way. Certainly Anakin will be able to see her way, and the media adores his heroic antics out on the battlefront. She hates to see her husband as just an ally, but she has to look at things realistically—they need every ally they can get if this defiance is going to be anything more than a protest. And maybe, just maybe, each of these little pebbles rolling downhill gather together and coalesce into a boulder, a great rock large and fast enough to knock aside all these obstacles and get the Senate—and the Republic—back on the right track, put an end to this post-Palpatine chaos.

It's a longshot. But Padme's been fighting the odds ever since the Trade Federation invaded Naboo. No reason to stop now.

"Got you covered, Jedi. Hurry in; bugs're running all over the place on this level."

With Falco's warning in mind, Tamri enters the Concordia base's armory with her lightsaber drawn, Korkie right on her heels. Power's humming down here in the facility's lowest levels, but all the bright lights do is illuminate the Killiks running about here as they are everywhere. How many killer bugs did the Bothan and his team breed?

A blaster shot rings out at her entrance. Just past the door a small Killik falls dead, victim of a well-placed sniper bolt to the back of its head. Two more insects scurry away into a torn-out ventilation grate, just escaping a chasing blaster shot that ricochets off of the floor. At the top of three-story scaffolding near the far wall, light glints off of Falco's blood-splattered black armor. Murky olive blood; red blood. Foe and friend alike. "That's the last of them for now. You're clear."

Tamri lowers her lightsaber, takes a deep breath—finally, a moment of peace—and looks about the armory. It's more a hanger than anything, a cavernous, gunmetal-grey bay with wide white strip lighting running the length of the ceiling. Two hundred meters long, maybe more. Numerous skeletal scaffolds rise up around the armory. Between them, work stations, maintenance carts, and mobile analysis arrays litter the floor space, many toppled over or torn apart. The culprit is clear: At least a dozen Killik bodies scatter about in various states of disarray, this one shot in its thorax, that one hit by a rifle grenade and torn in two. Their killer is equally clear. Tamri now has a good idea of just how Falco survived that horde of battle droids on Belderone: The clone isn't much for talking, but he certainly is lethal. No wonder Armand Isard took him on after his army discharge.

Falco continues to scan the armory through his rifle scope as he talks: "You come down here for the Mandalorian weapon?"

"The Basilisk?" Korkie says, enthusiasm breaking through his voice. "You saw it? Where—"

Falco cuts him off, pointing towards the far end of the bay. "Alcove in the back," he grunts. "It's depowered but clearly functional. Watch yourself."

Korkie doesn't wait for Tamri before hurrying off to have a look. As he goes, Tamri prods a dead Killik with her foot, making a face as innards leak from the oozing carcass. "Hideous," she says. For as bad as they look, the smell is worse. Like rotting meat in a fetid sewar.

"Thought these things were supposed to be sapient," Falco grunts from the top of the scaffold. "They're like animals."

"We found a survivor in the labs. He says they were running some experiment regarding…I don't know, simulated hive mind consciousness sort of stuff, it was a lot to process."

"And it went bad."

"Yes. So now they're running rampant all over the installation. They were in the living quarters, Ventress found them in the labs. I haven't even heard from Avea," says Tamri. She looks into those cold black eyes, insectoid savagery within that hard exoskeletal shell. Nothing relatable in that dead glare. It's hard, she thinks, to believe that the Republic had a direct hand in breeding these things. Not just the Taths, but her own people—even if it was this nebulous, vague Special Weapons Group. She looks to Falco. Clones are one thing. Human. Understandable. Soldiers with souls are different from the sheer barbarism she fought against in the habitation zone. Right? "The survivor said he worked for the Republic. Some Special Weapons Group in league with the Taths.

"I believe it," Falco mutters.

"What? How? Bringing an extinct race back from the dead just to turn them into shock troopers? These aren't soldiers; they're monsters. That's not what any of us are fighting for. That's not the Republic. It's not who we are."

The clone looks down at her, expression totally absent from his face. Then he returns to his rifle.

She leaves him to rejoin Korkie. Conversation will get her nowhere Falco. He made it clear on Coruscant how he felt about the Jedi, about her. They will not be friends. Colleagues is enough—if he can cover her with his weapon, that's all she can ask for. Professionals on the job.

There are some people, she thinks, who would say that's all she should expect from a clone trooper. Even some Jedi talk like that. As if the light shines the same in the eyes of a man as it does in the eyes of a battle droid or a killer insect. The light indistinguishable, the reflections equal. A lab on Kamino, a lab on Concordia.

What she finds Korkie examining with wide eyes and open mouth is no soldier, however. This must be what the Bothan, Fen'leyn, was talking about. A Basilisk war droid. To Tamri's untrained eyes, it looks as much a warrior's steed from legends of yore as it does an automaton. A beetle-like armored metal shell the size of a small fighter plays host to a pair of massive brawling arms each tipped with claws longer than Tamri's arm; they look strong enough to rip off hull plating as if prying open a can. The droid's snout-like nose mounts a cluster of what can only be weapons emitters, a half-dozen barrels pressed together in a forward firing arc. Two larger weapon mounts line either side of the snout. To the rear of the droid, a pair of stubby, dorsal maneuvering wings precede two husky booster engines. The whole contraption is supported by a quartet of landing claws like crab legs, spindly, wicked. It's utterly alien, impressive beyond words…and given the boyish look on Korkie's face as if he's running his hand over a slumbering dragon, it's undeniably a terror in action.

"This is it," Korkie breathes as he appraises the Basilisk. "Mandalorians on the backs of these once conquered system after system. We were…they were unstoppable. Now it's just metal rusting in an empty armory full of dead bugs."

Tamri looks to the cables socketed into the war droid's cowling, running up to outlets in the wall. "I don't know about rusting, based on what the Bothan said."

"He said there was a whole vault of them on Mandalore, right?" Korkie says. He shakes his head. "Unbelievable."

"What is?"

He chuckles and smiles. "In school we were taught about those old days. Stories of warriors and conquerors thousands of years ago, Mandalore against the Jedi and the Republic. Just stories. Some people always believed in them, sure—Death Watch being the worst of the lot—but the rest of us knew it was the past. Aunt Satine—the Duchess—fought for peace. For a new day, a new Mandalore. Then Maul came, then the Separatists. Peace was washed away just like that. One bad day and everything my aunt fought for was erased."

"We can still fight for peace," Tamri says. "That's what we're doing. That's what the war is about."

"Yeah. Fighting, all the same," he says. "That was our legacy as a people. Based on everything that's happened, maybe we never should've stopped. It's clear to me now that peace only lasts when enforced by warriors."

"Well, if the Mandalorians and the Jedi fought thousands of years ago, it's a good thing everyone did stop fighting. Otherwise we'd be, you know. Fighting each other."

Korkie looks to her, pauses—then laughs. Then his wrist commlink beeps again, just as it did in the residential wards, and he looks down and frowns. "Huh. There it is again."

"Hm?"

"I don't know how I'm getting a comms signal down here, but I am," he says.

"A signal from who?"

"Bo," he murmurs. "My aunt Bo-Katan."

Thoughts flash through Tamri's mind. Director Isard's warning: A rebellion has been underway on Mandalore…led by a Bo-Katan Kryze, the sister of the former Duchess. "Is it trouble?"

"I fought with her briefly when the Separatists sacked Sundari," Korkie says. "She gave me her all-range transmission frequency. She wants her soldiers to gather not far from here at a war camp."

"Are you—" Tamri starts. She hesitates: She did promise him that she wouldn't stop him if he wanted to leave to help his people. Mandalore is his home, and under occupation; it's not her place to keep him from that. But there is an odd tugging inside her, something she hasn't felt before. She doesn't want him to leave. Especially not for some under-equipped rebel group that will get him killed. "Is…you're…"

Her own wrist commlink's beeping silences her stammering. "Uh—hello?"

"Ah—is this the Jedi?" an unfamiliar voice says over the comm. It takes her a moment to place it—the Bothan, Fen'leyn. "I am at the main power station fort he armory, and have a surge prepared for Basilisk re-activation, yes. Ah—there is problem, though."

Tamri's heart sinks. Uh-oh. "What problem?"

"Err…it is…"

Ventress interjects over the comm: "Killiks converging down there, Jedi. Leave that Mandalorian trash and get out, unless you're too busy treasure hunting to value your own life."

"Wait, wait!" Korkie says, forgetting his own comm. He looks to the disabled Basilisk, grits his teeth, and says, "You can start the war droid up, correct?"

"Ah—yes, yes," the Bothan says, his voice shaky as if Ventress is pressing a lightsaber into his back. Which, Tamri thinks, she very well might be. "Power surge will certainly draw Killiks in the area to the Basilis, but if re-activation does not go as planned, then…well, you may be overwhelmed."

"Do it," Korkie says.

Tamri's heart does a backflip. "Wait," she says. "How many Killiks?"

"If this is everything I've ever learned, it won't matter," Korkie says. "Get that power running again."

"Ah—okay. Will do. Five minutes, yes? Four minutes maybe."

An echoing crack from Falco's rifle tells Tamri that they don't have five minutes before the Killiks show up. "We'll make it work," she says before cutting the comm and igniting her lightsaber. "Too late now, anyway."

Killiks swarm in through the main entrance. Falco launches a rifle grenade, throwing two of the bugs back even as the horde pushes in. "Now's a great time for Jedi powers," Korkie says as he aims his blaster pistol and fires. "Any time now."

"Yeah, that'd be great. I'll get back to you when I learn to shoot lasers from my hands," Tamri says as she levels her lightsaber at a charging Killik. She dodges its attack, swings, and takes one of its arms off; still it pushes the attack. "Falco, they're climbing up to you!"

The clone commando answers with action. As one of the Killiks climbs up his scaffold, he draws a grenade from his belt, pivots away, and sets the charge before the bug. Falco drops down, landing with a somersault as the grenade explodes and throws out Killik parts in a rain of fire and flesh. He gets to his feet in time to intercept another charging assailant with a concentrated burst of fire. Shoot, kill, aim. Shoot again.

One Killik makes it past Tamri's saber and Korkie's blaster. It swats the weapon away from Korkie with a bladed arm before driving him to the ground, slamming a claw at his face that just misses as he turns his head away, a dent in the floor left behind. "Korkie!" Tamri shouts.

She lunges. Drawing on the Force, she summons his dropped blaster to her off-hand, levels it to her hip, and rams down on the trigger as fast as her finger allows. The bolts catch the Killik in its abdomen, eliciting savage shrieks as the insect topples. Korkie rolls away from its twitching body, kicks its corpse, and catches the blaster as Tamri tosses it to him. "Thanks."

"Uh-huh," she says, sidestepping another attacker and wheeling away. Falco is there: He extends a telescoping metal blade from his left wrist and rams it into the Killik's eye. Olive blood geysers out of the screeching beast as Falco dips to his left, jams his rifle barrel into the Killik's thorax, and shoots. Blood bursts from the exit wound.

They fight; they kill. But it's as if the Killiks have focused their attacks here, come together in a great wave that eventually will overwhelm Tamri and the others out of sheer numbers. Then her commlink buzzes—the Bothan. "Jedi? Power activated; you may wish to seek cover, yes!"

A roar like thunder booms from the far end of the hanger. Lightning flashes across the disabled Basilisk, but it is disabled no longer. It shudders, the ancient war droid coming to life, its limbs flexing, power cables snapping as it frees itself from its restraints. It rumbles like a war beast, hungry, powerful. The Killiks back off from their prey, circling about, eyes flicking between the humans and the droid. Falco steps back into cover.

"Get down," Korkie says, grabbing Tamri's arm. "Tamri, come on!"

She follows him behind a free-standing power conduit as a lone, brave Killik rushes at the Basilisk. The droid turns, cumbersome, sluggish. Then it thunders out a cry, its snout-mounted cannons light up, and the Basilisk fires its main weapon at point-blank range.

The cannons link together bursts of energy that comb out in a brilliant shockwave, aerosolizing the Killik. There is nothing left—not even a scorch mark. Everything else in the blast is gone along with it—tables, engineering stations, chairs, two other Killiks unfortunate enough to get caught in the shockwave. The insects howl and charge all at once in retribution. The Basilisk charges.

They meet at the center of the hanger in a lopsided bloodbath. The war droid sweeps a brawling claw and blows apart a half-dozen Killiks in a single swipe. It spins, igniting its booster jets for a quick turn to throw off a pair of Killiks leaping ono its back—then it hits them with a volley of precision plasma shots that burn them into ash. The Basilisk smashes its claw into another attacker, turning it into paste as it kicks out with its landing claws and spears an enemy.

The Killiks fall back in retreat, scuttling towards the door. The Basilisk howls, charges its main weapon—fires. Only a single Killik makes it out; the others evaporate as the shockwaves hit them, blowing the insects apart and burning them into dust.

From her hiding spot on the far side of the bay, Tamri can only watch. Once the Mandalorians wrought havoc on the galaxy. Once these metal beasts killed Jedi en masse. She has no doubt of what they can do to battle droids.

Korkie abruptly stands up and moves out of hiding. Tamri reaches out to him; misses. "Korkie! Wait!"

He does not. The Basilisk turns and spots him, growling. Korkie does not budge. He raises his chin, staring the old war droid down. It pounds the floor with a brawling claw in a challenge, but when Korkie does not back down it settles to the ground, grumbling and groaning, its weapons going cold. "Unbelievable," he says as Tamri slides out of cover. "A whole cache of these things on Mandalore itself, if the Bothan's telling the truth. Just waiting for the right people to find it."

"What are you thinking?" asks Tamri.

He smiles. "I'm looking," he says as he appraises the Basilisk, "at what will free my people and liberate my home. What conquered thousands of years ago can liberate today."

Pressing his commlink's activator, he raises his wrist and says, "Bo? Aunt Bo?" When no reply comes, he frets and tries again. "Bo-Katan Kryze, I have your signal. I've heard your message. If you're listening to anyone on this channel, please respond. I'm on Concordia in a hidden base in the Harrikon Gorge, and I've found something that will throw the Separatists off of Mandalore for good." He pauses. Takes a breath. "It's Korkie."

Fire falls from the sky.

Turbolaser bolts slam down from orbit across Sullust. The battle is over: The planet might hold out for some time, but with the shield domes down and control of orbit secured, the Republic can simply wait out any resistance. Destroy enough surface infrastructure and the Sullustans will surrender—that or face their planet being turned to glass. It's an easy choice.

Obi-Wan looks over the devastation outside of the smoldering energy tower. Clones dead by the hundreds. Blasted debris of battle droids, tanks, gunships. Charred rubble amid the scorched earth. The cost of this war grows ever higher with each fight, successful or not. It's only by luck that this one turned out well, given that the sector forces from Eriadu and Malastare never turned up to help. With one wrong move, the space battle could've easily have gone wrong—and he wouldn't be standing here victorious now.

"That's that, then," Ahsoka says as she walks up to Obi-Wan, smoke spotting her face. Someone, at least, looks good. Her physical injuries may have been great, but the psychological wounds have healed. He can see the old, cheery, confident Ahsoka in her again. A relief, that. All these years and Anakin has listened to so little. At least he listened when it counted, when Ahsoka was on the verge of death and Anakin was beside himself. All Obi-Wan could do then was hope. And hope prevailed.

But where is he now? "Have you seen Anakin?" Obi-Wan murmurs.

Ahsoka shrugs. "Nope," she says. "He went down to the reactor core, right? He must've succeeded, since the planetary shields are down. He hasn't come out?"

"I don't know."

It is Rex that meets them next, the veteran clone captain's armor scorched and scarred but intact. "General Kenobi. Commander," he says to the two of them. "Good to see the battle's won. I wanted to ask—"

"Have you seen Anakin?" Ahsoka finishes.

Rex pauses. "That was what I was going to ask, Commander."

Obi-Wan frowns. "I don't like this," he says. "Anakin's always the first one to celebrate these big victories. And something else feels off."

"What?" says Ahsoka.

"I…encountered someone at the top of the tower," Obi-Wan says. "An old friend. A Jedi Knight…a former Jedi. Someone who's apparently fallen to Dooku's influence—and the Dark Side."

"The Dark Side?" Ahsoka says. She purses her lips. "I guess if Ventress is out of Dooku's service, he needed a replacement."

"That's the thing," Obi-Wan says, rubbing his chin. "Our intelligence networks told us of a Jedi Master, Taron Malicos, who Dooku had captured and turned to the Dark Side. I imagined he was acting as Dooku's new apprentice. But if there's more than one, well…" he pauses.

Dooku's words back on Mandalore come rushing to him. Darth Sidious is dead at my hand. Now I am the Dark Lord of the Sith. Was he telling the truth? And if so, what is he doing? Always two, the Jedi have long believed. Always two, the Sith. But perhaps Dooku believes otherwise. "Something isn't right with all of this. Stay here with the troops, Ahsoka. Make sure the battle's wrapped up. I'm going to go look for Anakin."

The longer the search for Anakin takes, the more Obi-Wan's trouble grows. He knows his history. There was a time, back during the Sith Wars thousands of years ago, when Jedi fell to the Dark Side in droves. When the Sith were not two but dozens, hundreds, an order to rival the Jedi. Names like Exar Kun, Ulic Qel-Droma, Revan, Malak. Names of legend. The Separatists are strong enough as it is with Dooku; with a legion of fallen Jedi they'd be nigh-unstoppable given the instability in the Republic. And Obi-Wan, like the Jedi Order itself, is two steps behind. Sae's fall disturbs him, but the fact that she may only be one of many is far, far more disturbing. How many of those Jedi presumed killed in action has Dooku instead pulled into the Dark Side?

He has no idea how he's going to tell Tamri Dallin about Sae. Blazes, the Padawan is lacking in confidence as it is. His hope was that Korkie would look out for her while the boy found his own path in the wake of Mandalore's occupation, but it was only a hope. The same hope that went into calling up Asajj Ventress and convincing her to lend a hand. Desperate measures for desperate hours, old enemies turned into allies, old friends becoming enemies.

An even more disturbing thought pulls at him: Where, where, is Maul in all of this? The former Sith was clearly ousted from Mandalore. Has he joined Dooku too? Jedi intelligence reports have noted attacks against the Separatists coming from around Hutt Space, particularly regarding a near-total devastation unleashed on the world of Bimmisaari—is Maul clashing against Dooku, Sith versus Sith? Obi-Wan simply doesn't know enough. The Jedi are falling further and further behind the path of this war with each passing day. More and more it feels as if the galaxy is coming apart.

It takes Obi-Wan nearly an hour—and a hike over a kilometer away from the tower—to find Anakin, but in the end, find him he does. His former Padawan does not turn to greet him when he approaches. Anakin looks out over a lava river that slices through the black land, the molten rock bubbling and gurgling as it flows. "Obi-Wan," he murmurs.

"Anakin," says Obi-Wan. "We were looking for you. Ahsoka, Rex. Myself. The battle's over."

"Yes, it is," Anakin says. Still he does not turn. He balls his hand into a fist and lowers his head. "How many casualties?"

"I…I'm sorry?"

Anakin growls. "We sent them here to die," he mutters. "All our men. We threw them into the face of enemy fire just to buy us time. Threw them away. For what? Victory? Give me a break." He looks up, and finally he turns. Obi-Wan takes a step back: A shadow flashes across Anakin's face. Perhaps Obi-Wan is just seeing things, but he thinks—imagines—he sees a glint of yellow in Anakin's eyes. "What's Sullust worth?"

"What are you talking about?" Obi-Wan says, taking a step towards Anakin. "It's a major manufacturing hub, you know this. It's a vital world to the Separatists. We're striking a critical blow to them by seizing it."

"It's nothing, that's what it is," Anakin spits. "It's factories and droids and Sullustans. Nothing. Our soldiers, our men? They're something."

"They knew what they fought for, they're—"

"What? Clones? Gonna lecture me about how Rex and Fives and the others were made for this?" Anakin snarls. He whirls about, back to face the flames. The lava river hisses and spits. "They're more than anyone else in the Republic we're supposed to defend. They're out here giving their lives. Let's see anyone back on Coruscant do the same."

Obi-Wan can feel the turmoil in his former Padawan. Something happened in that tower. Something changed him. Something hurt him. "Anakin, we are no different. The clones, the Jedi—we are sworn to uphold the Republic, to fight for it."

"And what's that doing for us? The public's turning on us, the Senate's a mess—the Republic's already gone, Obi-Wan!"

"It doesn't matter! The Jedi Order is not loyal to practicalities! We're loyal to the principle, to democracy!"

"Democracy?" Anakin thunders, turning about yet again, his face contorted into a scowl. "Democracy died on Geonosis!"

Obi-Wan takes a step back, shocked. "What did you hear?" he murmurs. "What happened in that tower?"

Anakin paces as the lava stream plumes into a geyser, cracking and spilling over onto the torched riverbank. "I met Count Dooku," he says. "He told me some interesting things. Some very interesting things about Darth Sidious." Anakin growls. "Or should I call him, Chancellor Palpatine."

For a moment Obi-Wan's head and heart empty. The world screeches to a standstill. The pluming lava brakes in its fiery arc. The smoke from the tower freezes in its rise. History crashes; the present shatters like a tilting kaleidoscope, all parts in motion, loosened and without the barest notion of order. The spheres in anarchy; the universe unseated. "Impossible," he murmurs. The he collects himself. You know what Dooku wanted. You know Anakin. "He lied to you," Obi-Wan says. "You can't believe what Dooku says. You know—"

"Don't!" Anakin bellows, igniting his lightsaber. Obi-Wan tenses up, but Anakin does not advance. Fury and instinct, not intent. But if Obi-Wan doesn't get a handle on this, that could change. "Don't tell me what I heard! I was there, you weren't! Dooku told me Sidious was Palpatine, and I know he was telling the truth! I could feel it." Anakin wheels about, pacing the bank of the lava river, stepping back, circling as if unsure of where to go. "You know why the Senate doesn't know what to do? Why the Chancellor's missing? Because he's dead at Dooku's hand! This whole time Palpatine has had control of the Republic, he's secretly maneuvered the Separatists against us! Listen—listen! This whole charade of a war has been for nothing. We are fighting for nothing! Our men are dying for nothing! Don't talk to me about democracy when the Senate—when the Jedi Council, you, me, everyone—has been blind this whole time!"

"Anakin—"

"I trusted him! Palpatine! Ever since leaving Tatooine, I trusted him! I listened to a Sith Lord! You did, the Council did, the Senate did! And we all went along with it!"

Obi-Wan reaches out his hand. It's not the Dark Side, he thinks. It's a much simpler, much more human haunt: Betrayal. "No matter who Palpatine was, no matter who Sidious was," he says, "think. You are a Jedi."

"Don't tell me—"

"Please. Please," Obi-Wan presses on. "You have so much still to fight for. Think of Ahsoka. She looks up to you, trusts you, relies on you. You can't give up on her." He leaves the obvious unsaid, because he knows, he knows—think of Padme. "The Separatists and Dooku would take everything from you if they could."

Anakin snorts. He deactivates his lightsaber, and Obi-Wan feels a momentary relief. One thing, at least. "There's no one in charge. No one leading either side if Sidious—Palpatine—was behind it," he spits. "You can have the Senate and the Council. Keep throwing away men like today for world after world. It won't do anyone any good. Dooku told me the only way I'm going to know what happens. He told me about Ziost, about the weapon that's there. He told me what it can do."

"Anakin—"

"You can't stop me, Obi-Wan," Anakin growls. "Palpatine knew where this was all heading. He's dead. Someone has to know. Someone besides Dooku. But don't worry about me. I can do what I have to. I can fight. Because while I don't know where all this madness and death and meaningless leads, I know that the only way to find out is to keep going."

"At least come back to Coruscant first," Obi-Wan pleads. "Think it over. Dooku wants you to make a rash decision. He's counting on it. That's the sway of the Dark Side. Don't let it win. Even if you don't care what I think, think of what the ones you do care about what want. The Dark Side won't help them. It will only hurt them."

Anakin raises his chin and scowls, but he relents. "I'll find my own way back to Coruscant," he snaps, storming past Obi-Wan. "Don't wait up for me."

Obi-Wan lets out his breath as Anakin walks off. A victory? It doesn't feel like it. Hollow, like the rest. They are all falling apart. The Republic. The Jedi. Anakin. Himself.